Category: OBC blog

It’s always interesting, the experience of anticipating a big event for several weeks, and it keeps getting closer and closer, and then it’s just a few days away, then tomorrow, and finally you wake up that morning, and the first thing you think is today’s the day. It’s here.

That’s what happened to me today. Which is, of course the day we left the California desert and began our journey of 3,000 miles, back across the country…all the way to Western Massachusetts.

I got up, did some last minute packing, went for a last dip in the pool, finished loading the car, put the pets in last, and set the GPS for our Day One Destination: Flagstaff AZ.

As expected, Clyde complained loudly for about an hour and a half, then settled. Timi (as always) was great in the car, as fine a canine traveler as any. We stopped twice, for about 15 minutes each time, to break up the 6.5 hours drive. I listened to the classic rock station out of Quartzite (All Right Now was a highlight), and inspirational podcasts on Spotify—Joe Dispenza, and Marianne Williamson. Mind over matter, Oneness, love, and forgiveness were the themes. 🙏🏼✨

Traffic was light and the weather perfect all the way to Flagstaff, where we pulled off I-40 for the night. Got to spend a few hours with a dear friend who lives here; she treated me to a delicious Vietnamese dinner, and Timi treated her to kisses when it was time to say goodbye. Feeling blessed…my heart is full.

We are off to a good start. ♥️

It might have made sense to adjust my circadian rhythm to West Coast time when I moved to California for the winter, but that’s not what happened.

To be fair, I still am working full time for an East Coast company, so as far as my workday is concerned, 6 to 2 is the new 9 to 5.

Fairness aside, it is somewhat strange to wake every morning, even on weekends, in deep darkness. And of course, my animals’ daily rhythms mimic my own. Not necessarily in terms of sleep — let’s face it, they sleep all day, no matter what! But in terms of feeding, and toileting, which in Timi’s case requires walking, which brings me to this morning.

Around 4:30 AM as I was stretching and yawning in bed, Timi made it clear he needed to go out. Still in my PJs, I bundled up California desert style (down vest, scarf and hat, UGG boots) and out we ventured, into the 48° darkness.

Having seen it rise the previous night, I knew the moon would be full, so naturally I looked for it. (One of the greatest advantages to waking up extra early is the opportunity for pre-dawn sky viewing.)

Sure enough, there she was, saucer-round and spotlight-bright, going down behind the San Jacinto Mountains which flank this valley and are thrillingly located right across the street, on the other side of Highway 111.

I did not have my camera with me, or I would have snapped a photo for you. Instead, I allowed myself to be present in the fleeting moment of moonset, bathed in silver light. Then I came home and found, lying on the plush grass under our lemon tree in the darkness, what appeared to be an orange. But it was not an orange. It was a giant lemon! A lemon so ripe, fat and juicy it had grown nearly as round as the full moon.

This reminded me of an old story. I was a little girl, only four or five. My dad and I were driving into New York City in our 1956 Ford Thunderbird—gunmetal gray, with white and red interior—having one of our deep conversations. Apparently, I’d been noticing how the sun moves across the sky and I was curious about day and night, so Dad was explaining how it all worked.

“Imagine the sun is a lemon,” he began, “floating in the sky.” He held up his hand as if to place a lemon in the air, and I imagined it suspended there. “No—imagine the sun is an orange,” he re-suggested, thinking it a better solar representative. “The sun is an orange, burning bright and round.” Following along intently, I now imagined the orange.

Dad then went on to choose an apple for the earth, hung it in the imaginary sky near to the orange, and explained how the orange never moved, but the apple was spinning. It spun around once a day on its “axis”, and depending which side of the apple was facing the orange, that side would be in daylight. The other side would be in night. As the apple (Earth) continued to spin, its dark side would eventually turn to face the orange (Sun). That is why to the teeny tiny people living on the apple, the orange appeared to be “coming up,” even though it truly wasn’t moving at all!

I paid really, really close attention to this entire lesson, and when it was complete, I understood! The sun stayed in place, the earth turned, and as a result night and day occurred! However, one question remained.

“But, Daddy—What about the lemon?”

What about the lemon, indeed! My father burst out laughing. He loved this story so much that upon our arrival, he told it to the friend we’d been on our way to visit in New York. This friend loved the story so much, too, he soon sent me an unexpected gift: a realistic cardboard solar system mobile from the Museum of Natural History. This extraordinary present was assembled and hung from the canopy foot of my fourposter bed, accompanying me through childhood. I have not seen it in many decades, but I remember it well.

Meanwhile, I have a new idea. Tell me, what do you think? The lemon can be… the moon. 🌵OBC🦉

P.S. Tonight, the full moon will pass in front of and “occult” (block out) Mars for about an hour and a half. Watch this celestial dance live and close up on the Rancho Mirage Library and Observatory YouTube channel, beginning at 6:15 PM Pacific time (9:15 PM Eastern)!!

Two weeks ago today—practically to the minute (!)—on Saturday November 12, 2022, the OBC Caravan arrived in Rancho Mirage.

Since that date, Timi Hendrix and I have taken many walks in the immediate area of our new home and around the perimeter of our new gated community, always staying within the walls. The idea has been for him to learn the scent and extent of his new territory.

Today, after 14 days of this intensive “territory training”, we ventured beyond.

Just behind our complex is a lovely trail called the Butler-Abrams. It runs alongside a sandy culvert known as The Wash. In the event of flash flooding, this is where water will rush down from the mountains like a river. It hardly ever rains in the desert, but I guess when it rains, it pours.

Timi and I walked beside the wash all the way to Wolfson Park, then looped back on Frank Sinatra. Many streets here are named for 20th century performers and politicians who lived and golfed in Palm Springs—Dinah Shore, Bob Hope, Gerald Ford, etc.

Near the end of the walk, I noticed some dates on the ground, freshly fallen from date palms lining the sidewalk. I collected a handful to bring home and enjoy (after washing them and checking for bugs, of course.) Delicious!

I wrote about dates and how nutritious they are here, in one of my previous blogs from another lifetime.

Altogether it took about an hour to walk the Butler-Abrams loop—a perfect length of time. Timi was very well behaved on his leash all the way, and friendly to every dog we met on his exciting first foray outside the complex.

Happy 2-week Anniversary to us! 🌵OBC🦉