While that may sound like the start to an Irish proverb of sorts, the above turn of phrase is attributed to Albert Camus who was decidedly an outside-the-box kind of thinker, a characteristic I always appreciate.  Although our respective time in Algiers was separated by decades and I’m pretty sure he never made it to Bend, I think he was spot on and I believe I have found where I want to live next. Our whole family loved it as well, but Flight’s commute to and from Bend might prove to be an insurmountable challenge.

Permit me to give some background…

We had visited Bend five years ago over the 4^th of July. Our brief stay was nothing short of enchanting. We watched people hefting their flotation devices over one shoulder and sporting some local brewery product in the other hand as they purposefully made their way to the center of town to float the river. We rented a quad-cycle for the family to tour through town. Eight-month old WoodSprite was strapped to me in the red Moby Wrap and Keeper and Firebolt were appropriately garbed in red, white, and blue in the front two seats.

As we were cycling around Drake Park, a local pointed to the way we were headed and told us, “Watch out, The Freedom Ride is coming through any minute.” ??? Apparently hundreds of cyclists make a parade through town on Independence Day and, in seeing the front end of the wave approaching us, we promptly did a 180^o just before we were overtaken by the surge. Trying our best to look like we belonged, we simply joined in the parade, our kids high fiving townsfolk along the way and yelling, “Happy 4^th!”

After our incredible bike ride, we strolled through Drake Park where there was a market of sorts set up. Local artists and crafters were selling their wares. One of the local bagpipe bands was auctioning off a beautiful SUP board with glorious Celtic knot work artistry. And there was Scottish Country Dancing – seriously, did they know I was coming? If memory serves (and it usually doesn’t), we ate an incredible dinner and retired to our place at Mount Bachelor, basking in the enrapturing day.

I was a bit dazed leaving Bend five years ago, not sure really what happened but convinced that the place is magical. Flight and I spent the next stretch of our road trip wondering what it would be like to be in Bend some other time as clearly the city had donned its holiday finery to woo us. Would the charm then hold?

Five years later we (sorry, Flight, I…) know the short answer to that question is yes, unequivocally so.

The long answer is a bit more nuanced, mostly owing to the requisite (and potentially brutal) commute for Flight, yet our time in Bend was no less enchanting this go around. We spent several days exploring some of the bounteous and wide ranging outdoor activities in the area – and we know we didn’t even scratch the surface of all that is offered.

Unfortunately, we stayed well outside of town, actually closer to Sunriver than Bend. The campsite was fine and offered enough space to sprawl out a bit (see Flight’s picture below), hugely welcomed after our stay in the tight KOA construction site campground, but it meant some time in the Suburu for any outings.

Our first day was a hike along the Deschutes. Starting at the Benham West Trailhead, we followed the path the river had carved out, where it was sometimes gently flowing, sometimes intensely rushing.

It was awe-inspiring and I was thrilled to be surrounded again by the pure energy of a real forest, and by that I mean the centuries of massive growth topping out at more than 200 feet (I can’t wait to get to the Redwoods!).

The energy of such old growth seems to streamline my own and being surrounded by such trees is so perfectly centering. Oh, to live so near such a sacred space…

Just beginning our hike, the girls asked why we had to go for a hike and repeatedly wanted to know for just how long we’d be hiking. However, about a quarter mile into it, they left off that line of questioning and were eagerly foraging for their own hike souvenirs. Firebolt collected as many sizable Ponderosa pinecones as she could manage, momentarily depositing them on the side of the trail to explore a downed tree.

She then deftly retrieved them and surprised me by quickly rapid-fire launching them into the river to assess how fast it was moving. And then she announced she would collect more pinecones to see if the river was moving faster or slower in other places. The whole world is a scientific laboratory when you really think about it and I love that she sees it so as well.

Keeper loved being out and about on the hike, climbing some rocky outcroppings awfully close to the rushing river, which made his mother a little nervous. Flight reassured me that that’s just what boys do and I need to let him do it.  Hoo boy.

The ease by which Keeper has transitioned to thriving outdoors is very welcome to observe, especially considering he’s a far cry from where he was earlier this summer. At one point he called home from Boy Scout Camp to inform me and Flight that nature was attacking him and we should come collect him (which we most certainly did not). Apparently desert mountain climes suit our boy more than tick-infested humidity. Good to know.

We concur.  Is my joy obvious?

WoodSprite was entirely in her element. She found some bark discarded by the pervasive Ponderosa pines and we noted it looked like a computer representation of what bark should look like or maybe thick construction paper cut outs pressed together. Whoa! WoodSprite thought her selected piece would make a perfect umbrella for her miniature princess dolls.

With a nod to Dr. Seuss’ Sleep Book, I admit I didn’t quite, quite understand her vision, but she and Firebolt labored together to make it so when we returned to Davista. Exceptional engineers in the making those two…

After enjoying gourmet burgers (no burger is complete without avocado, bacon, grilled onions, cheddar or blue or goat or feta cheese, maybe some Trader Joe’s sauerkraut, or Pickapeppa sauce or homemade Guinness mustard, or any number of other less conventional condiments – we take burgers very seriously in our family) and fresh corn back at our campsite, I crawled into bed that night feeling as though all was right with the world.

The next day Bend upped the ante. We FINALLY got to float a river and our time on the Deschutes was accompanied by perfect weather and minimal crowds, save a wedding party we made it a point to paddle far enough past to not hear their boisterous renditions of Abba and the like. As he’s posted several times, Flight had been jonesing for this opportunity and I was right there with him. It was glorious to be out on the water and just simply be present while slowly taking in the passing scenery.

Still scarred by our paddle in String Lake, Firebolt announced she was going in the double kayak with Flight. Keeper went solo and I had the pleasure of toting WoodSprite and various princesses, because why wouldn’t you bring them if you have them?

I can’t remember which of the kids initiated the game of tag on the water, but Keeper was the one who became a tad too aggressive in his attempt to tag his sister and ended up capsizing. Doh! After he went in all I heard was a repetitive chorus of, “Cold. Need to get out. Really COLD water. Need. Out…” Ever the good father, Flight braced the Firefly so Keeper could climb back in it without ending up back in the water. Fresh mountain run-off, that’ll wake you up.

Up until we pulled our kayaks out of the river we weren’t exactly sure just how Flight’s retrieval of the car was going to go down as we were batting .000 in such endeavors. Fortunately a fellow who worked for the local community HOA gave him a ride to our put in spot and we were dry and happily bundled back into the Suburu in short order. Our day on the brisk water made for five hungry peeps, which brings me to our first dinner out.

The vast array of Bend’s gustatory enterprises had my inner foodie lamenting we’d only be here a few days. We had to choose very, very wisely with only two days to dine out. No pressure. Crux Fermentation Project is a brewery poised at the top of a hill and won our vote for the first dinner.

As we approached this mecca there was a wide-open field to the right that was lined by several food trucks and dotted with blankets and people enjoying picnic dinners in the retreating sunlight. This looked far too festive a venue for the everyday, so I pointed at this vision and said to Flight, “Shoot, do you think there’s an event tonight? Will we even be able to get in?” “I guess we’ll find out,” and he dropped me off to inquire within.

When asked how long the wait for a table might be, the twenty-something at the register (there’s no host podium at Crux) said, “Actually, it’s open seating, so if you find a table, you can grab it.” “Wow, okay, great. Hey, quick question, what’s going on outside?” “Oh, well, you can order here and eat out there (gesturing to the field), or you can grab anything from any of the food trucks, if you prefer.” “Seriously?” “Yep (big grin), that’s just kinda what we do here.” I love Bend.

From Crux we had a hankering for some gelato and headed downtown to Bonta Natural Artisan Gelato. As we made our way to our destination, we couldn’t help but notice yet another place festively illuminated, this one with streets open only to pedestrian traffic.  To get to our gelato required wending through Bend’s Oktoberfest.  I swear, they must have these celebrations just for us.  As we meandered, we even passed the gelateria’s kiosk, but bypassed it for the real store. Although I was disappointed they didn’t have pumpkin in the proper store (I was drawn to that flavor at the kiosk), Flight reminded me it was still summer and I shouldn’t be enjoying pumpkin flavored anything yet. Fine. Dulce de Leche & Sea Salt it is.  And it was heavenly.

Yet another blissful end to a delightful Bend day… I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings…

It seems absurd that with a year to travel we would need to make difficult choices between places we would very much like to visit.  Yet there we were looking at Bend vs Hood River / Portland, knowing that with the commitments we had already booked, we would not be able to see both, at least this go around.  Ultimately the wildfires made our decision for us, as the State Park near Hood River was still closed upon our departure from Park City.  This was fortuitous – we would not have wanted to miss Bend, as we would soon find out.

First of all, getting there – not especially nice.  No offense to Idaho, I’ve always liked it and still do, though when thinking of Idaho it’s always important to remember that there’s the mountains in the north and there’s the not-mountains in the south.  The latter half of the state is pretty in its own flat, farmy, check out our potatoes sort of way, but we didn’t navigate it especially well.

 

That’s two days of driving, to be clear.

We wanted to get at least halfway to Bend on the first day, and so we skipped what were probably some of the nicer campgrounds and hot springs along the Snake River Gorge. Evel Knievel anyone?  No?  Never mind.  Anyhow, my intended destination (pronoun intentional — I’m taking full responsibility for this) was Bruneau Dunes State Park, near Mountain Home.  Dunes, mountains, state parks… win win win, right?  Nope, not right at all.  I was already well aware that “Mountain Home” is a gross misnomer, so that part wasn’t a disappointment.  What was a disappointment was Bruneau Dunes State Park.  This is more or less what we saw when we pulled up to our destination, after driving several miles down isolated 2 lane roads.

This is one of those times when the picture, rather than not conveying the grandeur, doesn’t convey the misery.  The RV campground area looked similar, but with a smattering of gravel pads and electrical hookups, and a wayward outhouse or two.  There were probably a hundred sites, and only 3 or 4 people staying there.  Also no cell coverage.  Again.  “Sketchy” as a blanket adjective is a gross understatement, but it’s all we had to describe what we saw when we arrived.  So for the first time this trip, we turned right around out of a place we’d planned to stay and moved on.

The next area we would hit would be Boise, and I’d heard good things about the town.  Unfortunately, we chose poorly there too.  Opted for the KOA rather than one of the several other campgrounds near downtown, and it turned out to be west of Boise in Meridian, and in what amounted to a busy parking lot surrounded by construction.  Tightly packed, too.  Ah well, it was only one night, right?  At least we could dump our toilet tank.

Firebolt made friends with some girls there, as she’s wont to do, while out riding her bike around the lot with Woodsprite.  That was cool right up to the point that their new friends gave our girls unfrozen Otter Pops from their trunk and then came back to our RV and practically forced themselves into it.  I’m not necessarily anti-Otter Pop (though I kinda am — I just think it’s a little hypocritical since I had so many as a kid), but the “we’re coming into your house now” part was weird.  I slowed things down to make sure the girls were ok with these new friends invading their living space (Firebolt yes… sorta, Woodsprite no), but had to draw the line when they came straight in, went into the girls’ beds, started opening compartments, and then resisted me a little when I told them that wasn’t ok.  It was all a little funky yet at the time I couldn’t have told you how exactly.   Boundaries were crossed but I couldn’t articulate which ones.  Instead I just told the new friends that it was time for them to head back, which they did.  Fortunately the whole episode was short-lived as well, and we were off in the morning.

The drive through Eastern Oregon was bleakly pretty.  I imagine most people picture Oregon as green and wet, but of course that’s only the half on the west side of the Cascades.  The other half, with the exception of the far northeast corner, could just as aptly be called Northern Nevada.  Same dry, mountainous, and very sparsely populated terrain.  We followed the Malheur river up to near its source then continued back down toward the heart of Central Oregon.

The closer we got to Bend, the more obvious it became that we were solidly in volcano country.  The soil became deep reddish-brown with a generous smattering of pumice rock lying around.  There are perfectly symmetrical cinder cones visible in most directions.  What’s more, the pine trees started kicking in as well, likely due to the elevation gain as we approached the Cascades.  It’s gorgeous.

Unfortunately there was still lingering hazy smoke, or we’d have seen the Three Sisters and Mt. Bachelor looming behind the city with their obviously volcanic shapes and year-round snow.

I’ll dispense with my only Bend complaint from this go-around now, because everything, and I do mean everything else about it was overwhelmingly positive: there are not many options for RVs.  If I were to live there I’d probably like that fact about it, but in our current situation it was problematic.  There are two places in town, neither of which looked appealing, and then another, which we opted for, south of Sunriver.  Sunriver is basically a resort-town hybrid, though more resort than town, about 15 miles south and upriver from Bend.  Both lie on the Deschutes river.  The campground was well-wooded (though dusty), sprawling, and offered some decent privacy, but felt a bit isolated and with heavily dated facilities.  That’s it though, done semi-griping, because Bend was… awesome.

So here we were, coming off of a long Park City stay that had us talking smack about how we could certainly live in Park City, and in strolls Bend to blow our minds.

First of all, the layout and size.   It’s right about at 100K people, which is just small enough not to feel big, but just big enough to offer all of the cultural, food/drink, and retail options we appreciate.  It’s, as previously mentioned, bisected by the Deschutes, which is a clear mountain river with rapids both north and south of town, and a slow-moving part through town that people float on all summer.  It even has both a free shuttle to take you and your floating device of choice back upriver to meet your car or to float again, and a fairly new whitewater park right in the middle of town so that you can practice your river kayaking or even surfing moves.  The climate is dry, hot, and sunny in the summer, and sunny and cold in the winter, with a good bit of snow.  Mt. Bachelor’s lifts are about 20 minutes up from town.   The whole place smells like pine trees.  And there are trails EVERYWHERE.  Bike trails, walking trails, water trails…   To top it off, something like a dozen breweries and two cideries, plus a thriving food scene.

But OK, the truth is, we knew all this ahead of time and yet we were still blown away.  I’ll try to flesh it out a bit.

On our first day there we opted for a fairly slow morning followed by an afternoon hike.  Once we fought through the kid inertia (WHYYYY do we have to do a HIIIIIKE?  We ALLLLLWAYS do hikes…) they found, as they normally do, that hiking is a great idea.  In Bend it’s an especially great idea.  We chose just a short section of the Deschutes River Trail, which follows the river all the way from Sunriver to Bend I’m pretty sure, and as far I can tell, is nothing special trail-wise by Bend standards.  Yet I felt like we were hiking through a National Park.  Clear, rushing river on one side, recently (geologically speaking) cooled lava flows on the other, with huge, vividly colored Ponderosa Pines everywhere.  Everything seemed laid out just so, as if it were designed. But it wasn’t, it was just a trail – one of many in town.  And that pine/river/clean smell!  It permeates everything.

 

Afterwards we headed into town, stopped by the whitewater park and then checked out Crux Fermentation Project’s taproom / restaurant, which ups the brewpub ante by adding a sunset-behind-the-volcanoes view and a huge grass field full of cavorting kids and Portland-style food trucks.  On the way back through town (in search of good gelato, which wasn’t at all tricky to locate), we found ourselves in the middle of a block-off-the-streets Oktoberfest celebration.

The next day we floated the Deschutes in Sunriver, which was just about everything the Snake River Float should have been (though without rapids).  The kids made friends with a few ducks, who are evidently used to being fed by their human river-floating companions.  Keeper got a little too up close and personal with the river when he got over-ambitious in a game of kayak tag.  But all of them caught the river bug.  We want more!

 

 

On the penultimate day, we took a drive up along the Cascade Lakes Loop road, which appeared to offer yet another cavalcade of trails, pristine mountain lakes, campgrounds, and the like.  Once again the smoke obscured what would’ve undoubtedly been an incredible view, but also once again it didn’t really matter – we hiked around one of the many lakes and clambered all over the volcanic rocks.   The kids said it was the best hike yet.  That day we topped off with a dinner at 10 Barrel Brewing (sensing a theme?), where what appeared to be a small bluegrass band turned out to be playing ‘80s and ‘90s alternative standards on a fiddle, among other instruments.

 

 

And I haven’t even mentioned the mountain biking, which we didn’t have time to partake in, but is everywhere, world class, and easy to access.

Really though, it was more about the vibe there than anything else.  Some places you just feel. We probably all experienced it in different ways, but everybody agreed that we could very easily live there, and that it just seemed right.

But ARGH, what to make of that, though?!  All this talk about our desire for previously established connections where we move, and in Bend we really don’t have that.  We do know two families there, but nothing resembling a support system.  And the commute!  Oh man, the commute.  There’s just no getting around the fact that for me to get to work and back, I’d be flying two legs out of / into a small airport.  There’s one flight per day to LAX (as of now) – all the rest would be connecting flights.  Plus this would require me to transfer back to the Long Beach / LA domicile, where I would lose much of my relative seniority and consequently my ability to bid a desirable flight schedule.  I’m pretty sure I’ve passed the age where a two leg, cross country commute to work would be something I could do reliably.  Back in the day when I could be asleep within 15 minutes in any location and position, maybe.  But now the idea of spending 8 hours in planes that I’m neither flying nor sleeping in, just to get to and from work… well that makes me shudder.

Recapping… we have, over the last 7 weeks, decided we could easily live in, and made compelling cases for, Anacortes, Seattle, Park City, and Bend.  And we haven’t really even spent time in New England yet, which was arguably the front-runner before.  Our goal was to narrow this choice down, and we seem to be expanding it instead.  On top of that, we still have a house in Annapolis that evidently no one who can pay for it wants to buy, which may make the entire discussion moot.  We’re clearly making progress, but toward what?

Back to enjoying the journey I suppose.  Maybe that’s the point.  Maybe?

As under the radar as my time in Maryland had been, we similarly departed Park City most covertly. We packed up (Flight was well versed in doing so having moved to three campsites in as many days while I was away – !!!) and got on the road.   Our travels to Idaho provided sights unlike anything I’d ever seen before, even though I had routinely made the trek to Pocatello from the U for my NROTC Unit recruiting duties.

I mean, seriously, what is this?

There were several in caravan. Perplexed, I snapped this pic when they got off the highway. ??!!?! No idea.

Then the landscape evolved from Park City-esque to Napoleon Dynamite’s natural habitat in about 15 minutes.

Flight perfectly described how unpleasant our prospective campsite at the dunes was, but allow me to offer a few more pictures.

We tossed around the idea of getting out here and having a roll down the sand just so we could say we did, but in less than 30 seconds we thought of all the ways it could go horribly wrong (I would hate to break my coccyx) and chose to move on.

All the way to Boise.

On the way, there was even a sketchy (extremely narrow) bridge (it’s construction season in Idaho too) we had to traverse. I’m very thankful Flight was happy to drive and he even earned his Fly Ace designation while doing so (not while traversing the bridge).

Although there weren’t many, one highlight of this thankfully brief stay in the KOA was Firebolt’s reintroduction to the card game Golf. Although I’m not sure I want to play with her anymore. This picture shows the third round she managed with a perfect hand. I have never seen anyone score -10 points in a round so readily.

The other highlight was WoodSprite’s artistic endeavor. She was outside slaving away in the dark and came up with this lovely chalk drawing.

I would say that I’m sorry I missed the earlier drama with pushy children who snack on (or maybe just share) unfrozen Otter Pops, but that would be untrue. I was very thankful Keeper and I had been off to Trader Joe’s to restock the larder when all that unfolded. Flight is a rock star for deftly handling that mess.

And amidst the clamor of large pieces of construction machinery tirelessly working to build a new neighborhood, we sailed out of Boise as early as we could manage. Eventually I hope we can get back to see some of the hot springs littering Idaho. I know that the state has some beautiful places to visit, it just so happens not a single one presented itself on our transit through to Oregon.   Bummer…

 

I arrived in town to find our house exactly as we’d left it, save for the kind note from the realtor who’d hosted our most recent Open House the previous weekend.   That was weird (not the note), the way our house had seemed to stand still, patiently waiting (?), entirely untouched (indifferent even?) by our absence or the threat of a new denizen, alleged felon or no. Instead of feeling like a supportive anchor amidst all the changes we’d been experiencing, ones I was desperately trying to process in my short window of grown up alone time, the house’s nonchalance seemed to make light of my discomfort, which made me feel that much worse. Like I said, weird.

Although I was back in the place we’d made into a home for four years, it was a sterilized version of my recollection. In accordance with all the staging recommendations I’d read, nowhere did we have a family picture still adorning the walls. Most of the items that had designated it as our family’s home had either been brought with us in Davista or packed away in boxes. Yet everywhere I looked I was bombarded by poignant family memories, all of which only faintly matched the current reality. The disconnect was so overwhelming that I retreated outside to escape.

I spent the afternoon harvesting tomatoes and ground cherries from our garden gone wild in our absence. Cape gooseberries (the other name for ground cherries) are cousins to the tomatillo, with a similar dried husk indicating their ripeness but with a tangy sweet flavor. We first sampled them dipped in chocolate on our honeymoon in Venice – see, this theme was forming even before kids came into the mix. I also, for the first time ever, cleaned the pool because 1) it desperately needed it before the next Open House scheduled in two days time and 2) the mindless labor allowed me to postpone being in the house again while I tried to understand what my reaction to being in it again meant.

I think my processing went something along these lines, although maybe not necessarily in this order… Do I miss Maryland? It’s hard to say definitely yes or no with so much capturing my attention daily. Frankly I haven’t really thought much about that. Do I miss our house in Maryland? I think only the space we created in the basement, because, really, who doesn’t love a craft space steps away from the kegerator. What about the way of life we carved out? Since that’s definitely not how I want to live our next chapter, I’d have to say no. Do I skim first and then vacuum? Shoot, or should I let out some water first? I think it’s too full (apparently it’s been raining here while fires rage out West), I should probably text Flight for his recommendations. Is this overwhelming reaction because I am acutely missing my family? Hmm. I guess I really do like them and we have been together 24/7 for the last six weeks. I’m not sure when that’s ever been the case. How much was my feeling their absence compounding my reaction to being back in the house? 94%? I don’t know.

After getting briefed on Flight’s SOP for tending to the pool, I went back to harvesting more goodies from the garden while the siphon hose dumped our excess pool water under the trampoline generating the standard temporary swamp. Unless you want to buy our house, then it’s got perfect drainage…

Although it didn’t come to me until I am now typing this, the disconcerted feeling reminds me of the uncomfortable reintegration process following previous Navy deployments.   While deployed with a VP squadron you spend six months living with the ten other members of your crew. In addition to routinely flying 11-hour missions together (not including the preflight and post flight requirements), you spend much of your time traveling in a pack and there is very little alone time. I became so accustomed to living this way that returning to the quiet that comes with living solo in a small house really threw me for a loop. If memory serves (and it usually doesn’t), it took just over a week to find my stride again. Interesting parallel.

Not wanting to disturb the museum quality of our house and not having an operational refrigerator within (they’ve all been unplugged in our absence), I eagerly jumped on the opportunity to dine out.

All by myself.

That’s become sort of a joke between me and Flight.  About six months ago we went to lunch at Lures in Annapolis. They always have fresh caught goodness served a number of interesting ways and boast a solid on tap menu for beer (and cider) geeks. Happily sated by our lunch, I asked Flight when he’d come here before as he seemed to know the menu. He mentioned he’d been to Lures three times previously. I couldn’t believe this was then only my first outing here and asked him with whom he had dined. “No one. I ate by myself.” “What do you mean by yourself? Who goes to a restaurant to eat alone?” I had always considered dining out an extravagance, something I would only do with company and certainly not while I was surrounded by plenty of food at home. “I do it all the time on the road. You should try it some time.”

So I did.

I went to Paladar and ate all five of my mini tuna tacos all by myself. They were crazy good and the experience was quite liberating. I believe I’ll be doing that again as soon as I can make it work.

The morning came way too early (I was still on Mountain Time) and I powered through my Navy Reserve day, no great hardship I assure you. I was intrigued by the opportunity to once again dine alone. I tried a couple other of my nearest favorites and found them all to have ludicrous wait times (apparently other people go out to eat on Saturday nights too – a lot of them and few are parties of one), so I grabbed some dinner at Whole Foods along with simple brekkie fixings for the next morning. I had the option to go to the Navy football game and/or visit with any number of friends in the area, but I realized I needed some down time of my own and savored my brooding in solitude.

The second best part about my brief stint in Maryland was that I was able to scour our house for several elusive items, most critical of which were Firebolt’s glasses (even though they had become her second back-up pair after a visit to the optometrist in Minnesota) and more long pants for Keeper (who donned them all as highwaters when we were reunited – shoot!). Truly the best part was that I got to dine with our cousins who live 1.1 miles from our house in Maryland. Our whole family has missed their gaggle (WoodSprite and their youngest were in preschool together the last couple of years) and, as they are part of GiGi’s brood, they are some of my favorite people.

And so I departed Maryland early the next morning still not really understanding how our residence seemed to have made no imprint on the sterilized husk of our house nor how being in it again evoked so much visceral turmoil. I’m just happy to be rejoining the rest of the family on this long strange trip…

Maybe I need to dine out again all by myself to try to sort it all out…

Park City I mean, of course.  Though actually it’s more the other way around – Park City isn’t Utah.  Which is also incorrect, because it’s very much Utah, but it’s always been somewhat of a thorn in Utah proper’s side, even from its early days as a rollicking mining town rife with all the things that tend to accompany a group of isolated, mostly single, hard-laboring men who spend most of their day underground.  Today it’s known more for its ski areas, Olympic venues, and the Sundance Film Festival, but there’s still a (completely unofficial and somewhat speculative on my part) sense that the rest of Utah, Salt Lakers in particular, wish it would just go away or secede, or maybe just pretend it and Utah don’t actually know each other.

I remember when we first moved to Park City and TC was working down in Salt Lake at the University, I would get a lot of vague comments from random people down the mountain along the lines of “why on Earth would you want to live up there?”  When pressed, the reasons for the distaste were never entirely clear, and ran the gamut from “oh, the weather’s just bad” to “the roads aren’t very good” (?), and when pressed even further, I usually got something along the lines of “it just isn’t NICE up there.”

Tacco and I, on the contrary, found it very nice up there.  She lived in PC for 3 years, the last of which I joined her for after I returned from my last active duty Navy gig in The Netherlands.  This was the newlywed / no kids days, so they’re probably easy to idealize for just about anyone, but for me it was enhanced by being not yet employed (I’d interviewed with JetBlue but didn’t start for several months) and being a ski bum in a ski town with a season pass.  What a life.  That was the year I decided I’d get decent at snowboarding, and just about every day went something like this: get up, check the snow report, get my snowboarding gear together, drive Tacco to the base of Deer Valley where she sold lift tickets while finishing off her Masters degree, drive back to the coffee shop at the base of Park City mountain and have a cup of coffee while I waited for the lift to open, then “take a few runs, just to see how it is.”  In quotes because inevitably “a few runs” became the whole day on the slopes.  Why wouldn’t it?

ANYWAY… back to the present day.  Any time we’re in Park City, there’s a point during our visit when we look at each other and say “we could totally live here again.”  This time was no exception.

Our going plan, if you recall, was to stay a couple days and then move on to Oregon via Idaho.  We ended up staying just shy of two weeks, in increments of “just another day or two.”  The first few days were a fantastic blur of family and friend visits interspersed with a bit of relaxing time up at Jordanelle.  Tacco’s got a lot of extended family in Salt Lake whom we always love to visit, though it’s overwhelming when we only have a small amount of time (when we arrived we didn’t realize we’d be staying so long).  Her parents were also in town, which I already mentioned.  On top of that, I have an aunt/uncle and 3 cousins + kids who live there, and we managed to meet up with them on Labor Day evening, which was an outstanding visit.  Brisket, more garden fresh veggies than we could’ve eaten in a week, and invaluable catching-up time. When we lived in Utah 15 years ago, we completely failed to spend much time with them – huge mistake, as they’re an amazing family.

 

The next few I was away working for, but Tacco will cover that as well as the other family visits I’m sure.

We solved the “no place to stay Sat/Sun” dilemma by booking a hotel room at the base of The Canyons ski resort – correction, that should read The Canyons base area of Park City Mountain since the two merged a few years back creating one mega-resort.  I was surprised how reasonable it was, and the kids enjoyed the hotel beds / shower, as well as the live music at the base of the lifts.  Still no Wal-Mart parking lots! [knock, knock]

We also had dinner with the same friends (minus the dad, who was out stalking a deer near Moab) at a friend of theirs’ stunning house which they house-sit at times.  Check it out.

 

To be clear, we will never, ever live in a house like this in Park City or elsewhere.  This is high end, even for PC.  But there are a lot of these, some of which back up to the slopes.

After I returned from work things slowed down a bit (by necessity), and a combination of the continued burning of the Pacific Northwest fires in our desired destinations and flight convenience convinced us that we’d be better off staying in Park City all the way through the following weekend, when Tacco returned from her Navy duty back in DC.  This put us behind with respect to seeing Oregon, but felt like the right call; we sorely needed some “stop moving!” time.

Keeper broke the fishing curse with a little perch he pulled from the shore of Jordanelle.  It wasn’t the Kokanee we were hoping to pull in, but something is better than nothing.  Firebolt followed with a few even smaller ones.  The hook was almost as big as their bodies – how did they manage to snag themselves on it?  Must’ve been really really hungry.

On the second to last day, with TC still away, I decided to treat the kids to all day passes at the base of Park City Mountain, where they have an Alpine Slide, Alpine Coaster, zip lines, mini golf, etc.  I think I prefer this sort of thing to an amusement park.  Though as the sole adult it was tricky to balance the supervision needs of all the kids (and by that I mean “oh maaann, I wanted to play too!”).  I’d have liked to throw the lift-served mountain biking into the mix, but that wasn’t to be.  We did find out that Firebolt is quite the climber – she got the highest of the three kids on the climbing wall!  And Woodsprite swallowed much of her fear and jumped on the ropes course and mini-zipline, which is excellent progress.

 

 

The kids were all very positive about Park City when we dialed them into our “we could totally live here” conversations.  There is a big wild card though – they all profess to not liking skiing.  Which is completely ridiculous since none of them know how to ski yet, but much like lacrosse is a center of gravity for kids in Maryland, winter sports are the same if not more so, I would imagine, in Park City.  It would be a bit pointless to live in PC and not have a desire to get on the mountain, and beyond that I would speculate that the non-winter-sports-loving kids have a harder time fitting in there.  Tangentially but perhaps more importantly, Keeper has yet to master a skill that takes a lot of effort to conquer.  Firebolt, too, but she’s only 8 – she has time.  It took Keeper several years for the light to come on with soccer / team sports – I’m hoping it doesn’t take that long with individual sports and skills.  In his mind he tries something once and if it doesn’t come to him immediately then he’s “not good at it.”  That’s where he is with skiing (he’s tried it exactly twice for a couple hours, 2 years apart – he never had a chance).  Not that I find it necessarily important that he ends up a snow sport wizard, I just fervently want him to experience the pleasure of mastering a difficult skill.  So I guess what this all means is that we need to explore all of this a bit further.  We’re talking about taking a month or two this winter, whether or not our house sells, to park the motorhome and do a month in a ski town.  Originally we were thinking Alps, but we’re now leaning more toward a return to PC in February-March-ish.  If we end that month with 3 slopes-addicted kids, that will change our calculus quite a bit.

Which leads me to what we took most from our Park City time (other than the home-offer story, which Tacco either has already covered or will shortly) — a great set of discussions about where we want to live at the end of this.  It’s a recurring theme of course, and we only approach an end decision through the tiniest of baby steps, but we spent quite a bit of what down time we had reflecting on how much we enjoyed being in a place where we already have a few connections and people we want to be around.  Park City would be near the top of the list without any of that due to its exceptional amenities and the general vibe there, but we’ve got both family and friends nearby, and that is starting to feel like a factor we need to weight more than we have been.  We were fortunate to have family already in Annapolis when we moved there, and I think it’s easy to forget what a difference that made.  Though we’ve both moved to several places where we didn’t know anyone, this was pre-kids and often pre-marriage, and always under the auspices of a Navy squadron, where a support system is built-in.  It’s tough to envision what a move to, say, Portsmouth, NH would look like when we settle in without a name to put in the “In Case of Emergency, call _______” space in the many sign-up forms for the kids.  It’s doable, to be sure, but do we want to put ourselves through that?  I don’t have an answer yet, but we’re inching our way there.

Still trying to work out where in Oregon we go next.  We had three general areas we intended to spend time in: Bend, Hood River / Portland, and the Coast.  We’ve realized that we can’t do all three now and are going to need to pick and choose.  Plus it’s all still on fire, and the weather is taking a turn for the worse, though in some sense we’re staying just a tad ahead of it.   We just learned that it’s supposed to snow all week in the places we just left — chasing mild weather indeed!

Stay tuned.

Flight already covered our dinner at his aunt and uncle’s house, but permit me to add some family history background. Flight’s grandmother was affectionately referred to as GiGi for Great Grandmother as she met 42 of her great grandchildren before she died at 102. She was an incredible woman who raised five amazing kids who have all raised delightful children, one of whom I was fortunate enough to marry. Seriously, on all counts.

I remember telling some of my friends I was going to my husband’s family reunion to celebrate GiGi’s 95^th birthday and most replied, “Oh, geez, have fun with that.” I had to further explain how this family is very unusual in that there is not a single bad one in the bunch. Most people have families that know to avoid Uncle Fred, especially when he’s had more than three drinks, or there’s a common understanding to not get Cousin Louise talking about her religion, her cats or her corns. In contrast, every single one of GiGi’s offspring is truly delightful to be around. Each is smart, engaging, and interesting, so it’s always an enjoyable time when we connect and this dinner was no exception.

Aside from the delicious food and equally delightful company, our kids had a blast. Flight’s uncle took them to the neighborhood golf course in a golf cart. And when I say “them” I mean ALL the second cousins at once:

They loved it!

We dropped Flight off at the airport before we scooted back up to Jordanelle. In his absence we spent the day breathing easy and going to the beach with friends. Although the beach was quite rocky, much to our kids’ dismay, its proximity to where we were parked was quite a luxury.

Our girls had been invited for a sleepover (and they gleefully emphasized “with NO parents”) at my third cousin’s (the same contractor’s daughter whose house we camped in sans Davista), which afforded Keeper and me some rare mother-son time. After we dropped the girls off in the late afternoon, we ran some Keeper-centric errands and were able to check out Stanza (a delightful Italian restaurant near the University) with my folks and my godfather. Keeper swore his lasagna was “the best anybody’s ever made.” He might be right.

The following day evolved into insanity (mine) owing to a host of challenges, the greatest contributors of which were the 102^oF heat down in the valley, our real estate brush with an alleged felon and sorting out the potential consequences thereof, and my overscheduling our family. Note to my dyslexic self, there are only 24 hours in a day. Not 42. Maybe someday I’ll get that straight. Sigh…

There were two dazzling bright points among the chaos, however.   First, after we collected the girls, the kids and I enjoyed our abbreviated visit to the Utah Museum of Natural History. The family engineers delighted in building earthquake proof structures and evaluating land mass erosion across the millennia:

After that we made our way to the Viking Exhibit, which was truly fascinating. While the older kids played Hnefatafl (try saying that three times fast), WoodSprite and I admired the reconstructed ship display (those are all the iron bolts used to pin the ship together which were all found in situ in a Norwegian burial site) and the penannular broaches, of which my mom has several of the Scottish variety.

We had also hoped to make room in the day to see my late godmother’s art exhibit at the Utah Museum of Fine Art, but time got away from us. Again, I’m surprised to learn there are only 24 hours in a day. Shoot.

We had to press on for yet another Family Dinner (I may have mentioned we’re related to half the Salt Lake Valley), this one back at my cousins’ place where the girls had just slept over. On our way we stopped at Cummings Studio Chocolates (perhaps you see a theme here, as we’ve made it a point to check out local chocolatiers wherever we wander) to pick up some chocolate covered strawberries (delicious yet somewhat ubiquitous) and chocolate covered grapes. I had never heard of these before my time at the U and was so thrilled they were still making such a delicacy. Don’t love ‘em ‘til you try ‘em. Seriously.

The second highlight was this third and final Family Dinner, and a bonus was that my parents were able to join us. Although they haven’t had nearly the years of experience in hosting such gatherings as our contractor relative, my cousins set a fine table.   Dinner was scrumptious and it was especially lovely to spend some time getting to know the younger generation of cousins, one of whom is getting ready to ship to Great Lakes Naval Training Center to begin his time in the Navy – WOO HOO!

The following day was a flurry of down time, which probably makes no sense. Permit me to explain. Flight was due back in the early hours and (thankfully) decided to rent a car for a day to come back up to Jordanelle, which was perfect since the kids (and maybe I too) were DONE with going up and down Parley’s Canyon (see picture above) and I could take it back to the airport for my departure. Originally I was to head to the airport that evening to fly back east for Navy Reserve work, but Flight and I had some serious debriefing and planning to do and, aside from meeting the pool guys who were scheduled to close our pool, I had no other obligations that might necessitate the red-eye arrival early on Friday morning

After spending the day getting our ducks in a row, doing laundry, unpacking (Flight) and packing (I), we went to one of our favorite places in Park City from back in the day. Our Park City friends joined us as well, all four of them this time since they now had a freezer full of venison (in the words of Napoleon Dynamite – “Lucky!”). Loco Lizard is perched on what the outskirts of town used to be in Kimball Junction, which is now bustling with activity. Near the Olympic Park, several new commercial areas have sprung up around Kimball Junction, including the largest Whole Foods in the U.S., which unfortunately hasn’t opened yet. The old one around the corner, however, was still more than adequate and suited our needs just fine.

That evening, Flight told me he wasn’t going down in the Valley even once while I was gone, except to collect me on Monday.  He further offered he thought he might not even leave the campground. I didn’t blame him. I had overbooked us plenty in his absence and he (and the kids) could certainly use some down time while I was sporting my Navy poly-wool uniform in Maryland for the weekend.

I’ll explore my seemingly alternate-universe trip to Maryland in the next post…

Saturday morning we packed up camp and made our way to where our friends were housesitting. Upon arriving at the house, we disconnected the Toad and I again gave my thanks for being married to a skilled pilot, one who can coax Davista into the nookiest of crannies. Despite the driveway’s steep slope and curving nature, Flight backed in with no issues – it’s like he’s used to flawlessly driving large pieces of gear, which, of course, he is.

Flight took the girls over to the Sundial to check in and Keeper and I followed with my friend and her girls. We were all going to take a welcome dip in the hotel pool as it was solidly in the 90s, rare for Park City. I thought it must be blistering in the Valley’s triple digit heat and was happy we wouldn’t descending below the smog layer until Family Dinner tomorrow.

After grabbing luxuriously long showers at the hotel (in the words of Ruff Ruffman uttered upon unpacking non-frustration-free packaging, “Sorry, environment…”), we rejoined our friends to make dinner and savored our time with them at this gorgeous home (see Flight pics below). As Flight said, their father was out tracking a deer in the desert (we were getting updates through his wife) and wouldn’t be joining us until he had found it so he could return home loaded with venison. I mentioned to her that we’d heard we’d be getting the official contract to sell our house any minute now and she said she’d been saving a bottle of bubbly for when it becomes official.

We grabbed a few necessities for our hotel overnight and headed back to the Sundial Lodge to sleep in proper beds. The next morning we enjoyed a bit of a lie in and popped back to Davista to collect new necessities for this evening’s overnight before heading back down the canyon. We were sleeping at my cousins’ house after celebrating Family Dinner at her father’s.

I should explain what this particular Utah custom entails. When I first moved back to Utah in 2000, my father told me I should make the opportunity to go to Family Dinner. He told me about the weekly Sunday evening gatherings he first went to at my grandmother’s first cousin’s house (the same we drove by in the Avenues a few nights ago) and, the way he described the quaint gathering, there were roughly a dozen people around the table enjoying together dinner, fellowship, and the occasional musical recital en famille. My grandmother’s cousin taught music and everyone in the family played at least one instrument. Wait, what?! My father assured me the musical recital business was likely a thing of the past and I could go to Family Dinner at my second cousin’s (once removed) without any performance anxiety.

Imagine my surprise when I walked in my cousin’s house to find 47 people would be dining together for my first Family Dinner. When I expressed my feeling a little overwhelmed to my 9-year old cousin given there were so many people here, she (rather unsympathetically) added to my flummoxed feeling saying, “Yeah, and you’re related to all of them.” !!! Since the days of my father’s regular attendance, the family has clearly grown exponentially. My grandmother’s cousin’s four children have had 20 children among them and many of them have gone on to have their own children, the oldest of which have gotten married, including the helpful former 9-year old. The years between their family’s generations span far fewer than between ours. I later learned that particular night was so heavily attended because it was the night of the Oscars, which they make into quite an event, and normal attendees numbered only in the high 20s. And they do this every week. Great googlie mooglie!

Flight has expressed the same overwhelmed discomfort in that setting, so I guess it was no surprise when Keeper squirreled himself away in the car for some alone time before dinner. Our girls, however, had no problem blending right in with the chaos and disappeared into the pandemonium upon arrival. Every now and then they’d make a giggling pass through the house to remind us they were still within its walls.

In addition to my eleventy billion shirttail cousins, my parents were able to join in Family Dinner festivities. They arrived about fifteen minutes behind us toting fresh pies (purchased, not made) while I slaved over our appetizer dish of similar requisite preparation time. Flight’s sister shared this recipe with me and it’s so deliciously easy (and easily (and maybe even magically) delicious), I thought I should pass it along. From Trader Joe’s, purchase a package of cooked lentils, a package of bruschetta topping, and a container of crumbled feta. Open all containers, dump into a bowl, stir until mixed, and serve with pita chips. Like I said, delicious. I would know because I ate most of it.

To help illustrate what Family Dinner is really like, I should explain that my second cousin once removed is a contractor. He built their house SPECIFICALLY to accommodate hosting Family Dinner. For example, in the kitchen there are two built-in dishwashers (I have never had more than one in any place I’ve lived, including Davista where I currently serve in that capacity), an enormous stove that would make any chef salivate, and an equally sizable fridge capable of storing Baskin and Robbins sized ice cream tubs in the freezer.   The dining room was built adjacent to the kitchen, separated by a pass-through counter space with cupboards above to hold dozens of plates, glasses, and serving dishes. This space was designed to be large enough to hold an impressive table that can seat 20 (or so), yet still fit other tables where the younger generation can dine.

No matter how many times I have been to Family Dinner, I am still always surprised (impressed?) by the amount of food that comes out in short order. This evening’s menu boasted roast beef (prepared two ways), cream cheese mashed potatoes, salad, bread, and several varieties of fruits and veggies and lined the counter that doubled as a buffet. After saying a blessing, everyone collected dinner and I thoroughly enjoyed catching up with my cousins (and my parents) around the table, which meant I was far too engrossed in conversation to take any pictures.  However, most fortunately for everybody involved, I was not called upon to play any music.

After loading up on pie, we made our farewells and zipped across town to stay at yet another cousin’s (a third cousin straight up, not removed – you’ve got to keep up, genealogy is serious business in Utah) house where the daughter of the contractor and her family make their home. This particular third cousin and I were fast friends from my previous time in Utah and, as per norm, we were up until the wee hours chatting away.  She is notorious for having some sort of a black hole/time vortex swirling about her, which means time passes at a ludicrous pace in her presence.  We haven’t discovered the exact mechanism by which this works, but we have often been surprised by the sky’s lightening when we had only just barely (Utahism) started our conversation/scrapbooking/etc.  After I awoke from my brief nap, we enjoyed a lovely Family Breakfast before heading back up the mountain to move Davista back to Jordanelle, where the Angel was waiting for us.

More on that in the next post…

I’m sorry. Where were we? Right, our time in This is So Not the Place…

First, I guess I should dedicate a few words to Jackson, WY, which was our lunch stop on the way from Grand Teton National Park. We enjoyed an insanely good brunch at Persephone Bakery. After seeing how tight the streets were looking to get there, I recommended to Flight that we go directly through town, find a place to park Davista for a couple of hours, and pop into Jackson proper in the Subaru.

Our kids opted for a sweet breakfast creation and the Bread Pudding French Toast was crazy good. Flight had the Summer Grain Bowl with heaps of smoked salmon and veggies topped with a poached egg. I had a Truffled Egg Skillet, which was all sorts of delicious goodness on top of a cheddar scone and smothered in a heavenly concoction involving Dijon mustard and cream, lots of cream, and truffle oil. It was sublime.

After looking for reasonably priced Jackson Hole t-shirts, we split up and I headed to the local yarn store while they recovered the car. I found exactly what I was looking for, so once I finish knitting a Christmas present, I can begin what is sure to be my new uniform sweater. I use “uniform” not because it has USN stenciled inside it, but because I know I will wear it all the time. I have one such sweater that I knit using alpaca yarn (it is with me now because it is a uniform item) and it has logged many hours in 9 short years. I hope to finish this new one just in time to have a need to wear it.  Although we didn’t spend much time in Jackson, aside from the astronomical price tag associated with available real estate, I really enjoyed our brief stop for lunch and necessities (yarn absolutely falls under that category).

At last, we made our way to “Sin City,” as the folks down in the Valley refer to it.

In truth, Park City is very different from the Salt Lake Valley. The smog doesn’t make it past the Wasatch Mountains, the desert heat isn’t nearly as stifling, and there’s a different type of energy emanating from the town. There is a huge focus on taking advantage of the mountain lifestyle and everyone’s daily exercise (and I mean everyone’s, not just that of the elite athletes in residence) involves celebrating the outdoors regardless of the season. And it’s only 30 minutes from the airport. All good things… Hmm…

Despite the holiday weekend, we managed to secure a spot at the Jordanelle State Park for Thursday and Friday nights, but on Saturday and Sunday we were out of luck as they were full up. We turned in early to try to figure out where we’d call home the remainder of Labor Day Weekend.

The following day we went into Park City, into the town itself I should say. While the food was delicious, the best part about our lunch at Bistro 412 was the separate table accommodations. The girls played “Another Version of War” with Firebolt’s mini-deck of American Girl doll cards until their meals came and Keeper, Flight, and I enjoyed a quieter lunch with good conversation. Check it:

From there we meandered down the main drag and I found a long-sleeved t-shirt I really liked. You’d probably like it too, but not maybe for the bargain price of $185. It stayed on the hanger, but I admired it all the way out the door.

We did take the opportunity to make it a school outing as well and made our way to the Park City Museum. We had been there about eight years earlier, but I didn’t remember much from our visit, likely because I was in the thick of the newborn parent fog with Firebolt. The kids really enjoyed the exhibits on the town’s mining history (there is a spot to simulate dynamite detonation), various treasure hunters (oooooooh, pirates!), and the old jail (“This is where they put the bad people,” observed WoodSprite).

Before we returned to Jordanelle, we stopped by the Park City base, which was hopping. Our purpose in checking it out was two fold: 1) to see if we might park overnight for the weekend (we just did so at Grand Targhee for the eclipse) and 2) to check out all the summer activities they boast. First and foremost, they have an alpine coaster and an alpine slide, both of which are totally legit. We chose to all ride the alpine slide, WoodSprite in the same sled with me. If you’re not familiar with these, you sit in a sled of sorts and control your speed (joystick forward to accelerate and back toward you to brake) as you wind down the mountain.

The ride up the chair lift was beautiful. I might have managed to take some pictures were I not hanging on to WoodSprite for dear life. I have mentioned my having issues with vertigo in a previous posting. Watching things move in my periphery while receiving no confirming input from my proprioceptors (dangling legs) really sets my world adrift. Feeling as though I might be falling off the chairlift or, worse yet, that WoodSprite was about to plummet to the ground 30 feet below made for a very long, albeit aesthetically pleasing, ride.

After the wooziness on the trip up, I wasn’t sure how WoodSprite and I would manage the ride down. Fortunately, she was a little tentative about the whole evolution and I felt no need to maximize our speed to go tearing down the mountain, potentially pulling a Digger (Flight’s cousin) and jumping the track.  Flight was kind enough to share this picture as we made our way to the end.

WoodSprite was beside herself excited when we dismounted from our sled and, while I heard a repeating chorus of “Let’s do that AGAIN!”, I looked around for Firebolt to make her appearance. Exuding (excessive?) caution in response to some rather surprising triggers, Firebolt will occasionally refuse to participate in an activity, even once underway. “That’s was AWESOME, Momma! Woo hew! Let’s do that again!” WoodSprite sang.  Still no Firebolt.  Flight and I made eye contact and both silently wondered which of us would need to hike up this hill to retrieve her. We looked up to the top of the run. Neither hide nor hair of Firebolt.  I think I was mid-sentence asking a fellow who worked at the lift how he might best recommend collecting a child who may be frozen on the run when she methodically came into view. Never mind. As she made her way down I saw that she wore a look of deep concentration mingled with a perplexed expression, which I didn’t know how to interpret. I was quite relieved when it transitioned into a slow smile accompanied by a reticent, “That’s was fun.”

Phew. I hadn’t realized I was literally and figuratively holding my breath and exhaled deeply in response to her restrained joy.

Before we left the resort, we stopped in and asked at the information desk, “Hey, we have an RV and were wondering…” at which point we were cut off. “No. No overnight parking. At all. Nowhere in town. You might try Walmart out by Kimball Junction, that’s the only place…” Um, okay, I guess we’re not the first ones to ask…

From the base we headed down Parley’s Canyon to enjoy a Thai dinner at Red Basil in South Jordan with my parents, my aunt and uncle, and my godfather.   Sadly, my godmother passed away two years ago, after which my parents have been routinely making the trek to Salt Lake to help manage my godparents’ estate. This week was one such trip and it was lovely that our time in Utah overlapped.

In their earlier years, both my father and my uncle used to celebrate their Indonesian heritage by eating insanely hot traditional dinners. The result? My father especially can no longer stomach anything remotely spicy (he told me he thinks he must have “burned out his system” and what I know of East Asian Medicine makes me think he’s right) and seemed to watch Flight order his dinner (“Thai hot”) with a mixture of envy and maybe mild admonition.

It was in the middle of dinner, actually, that we heard from our realtor who told us the buyer had officially accepted one of our counter offers and we could expect the formal paperwork over the weekend. Upon learning the news Flight and I were a little awestruck and Keeper immediately and respectfully excused himself to go outside to process. We gave him some space and Flight went out to check on him a few minutes later, coming back in to report, “He’s fine, just a little overwhelmed.” Me too.

From dinner, we made our way to my godparents’ house in The Avenues, right near the University and only about four blocks away from my former office in the Department of Naval Science. Because we made our approach from South Jordan more speedily than my folks, we took a longer tour through the Avenues and spotted the house that my father had first called home upon immigrating to the United States, as well as the one where I spent my first few years. Our kids were far less interested – I got a half-hearted look out the window, “oh, cool” in between Geometry Dash runs – but I was happy for the brief glimpse down memory lane.

I’m always a little nervous about having our children set foot into my godparents’ house. My godfather is the former Dean of Architecture at the U (his friendship with my father dates back five decades when my father was a very young tenured professor in the same department) and maker of beautiful furniture (seriously, two pieces of which are on display in the Smithsonian) and his late wife was also an architect but is better known for her art. Their house resembles an actual museum in all the ways our Davidsonville residence does not, most notably that both his one-of-a-kind chairs and tables and her intellectually meaningful and mathematically relevant artwork are on display throughout the house. Considering everything we currently live with is made to careen down 8.2% grade at 60+ mph, our kids don’t presently live where they need to be especially mindful. Like I said, I was a little nervous.

I knew that my godfather was a fan of gelato, but I didn’t really understand what that meant. In his freezer there must have been nearly a dozen pints of the really good stuff with flavors like basil, honey-lavender, and anise-hyssop, along with the usual suspects. Following our dessert, the girls favored us with one of their shows with Firebolt singing (impressively making the song up as she goes) and WoodSprite dancing (similarly choreographing on the spot). The gelato and the prolonged visit well was worth overcoming my initial appprehension and I am happy to report that nobody broke anything.

As we navigated back up the mountain Flight and I talked about our options for the next few days, unable to even contemplate what the upcoming weeks may hold. Upon check out tomorrow, we still had no idea where we’re going to be parking this thing. We happen to be Marriott Rewards members, which means we can occasionally get a night’s accommodation for free. I asked Flight if he thought we could maybe stay at one of the Marriott places in Park City and stash Davista in the parking lot during our stay. We’d previously checked into such an option at Great Wolf Lodge and they had been very accommodating with such a request. However, by the time we got back to Davista and did the bedtime dance with the kids, a room at the Sundial Lodge (not Marriott) was the only place available and their idea of where to park an RV didn’t quite marry up with ours. Fortunately, our Park City friends let us know they were housesitting a beautiful place with a treacherous ascent to a perfect, level spot and were happy to let us park there for a couple nights before we could return to Jordanelle.

Okay, impending crisis averted, let’s tee up the next one…