Mr. Chicken Little bites his nails as he picks flooring …

As the three of us spend less and less time on the phone with each other, our typical very short calls are largely for items that are mostly quick updates (“I arrive at the Minneapolis airport at 4:30. Goodbye.”). We’re just not chatters and FaceTimers so the letters step in to partially fill informational voids.

December 5, 2017

Ellen/Reid: Now’s the time for a bit of nail biting as the buyers have until Dec. 15 to pull the plug. To be able to keep their $2,500 won’t be of much solace should the deal head south. My Realtor tried to keep Mister Chicken-Little-The-Sky-Is-Falling calm yesterday; he cautioned that there’s always a ‘list.’ The only bugaboos to me are the water heater and a periodic small drip from the freezer, which I have already disclosed. We’ll just have to see how it goes.

All it’s done is solidify the desire to relocate in Brevard. You know the reasons. There is also something about reinvention of self with a little adventure and the unknown tossed in for good measure. What I do know is that picking flooring is not my cup of tea. Ellen, the lighter shade just seemed right so I’m sorry to have vetoed your choice. The hardwood goes down this week. You will have more opportunity to serve as my decorator; what would you think about plantation shutters? Those are what’s in the current home and I like them very much.

The final nail in the Head West coffin was poking along at seven miles an hour yesterday on I-77. One hour to drive the final seven miles to home. That’s just a deal killer. Three lanes of white lights and red taillights for as far as the eye can see. That’s no way to live, no way to drive. I’m going to do better. Already, I’m Googling things to do in Brevard and Asheville and Hendersonville.


The kitchen is in the final stages of completion. I’m finding the hard way that decor and interior design is not necessarily my cup of tea.

To reiterate, the reason for three bedrooms is so that you and friends from Charlotte and Iowa have a place to stay on the doorstep of the mountains. There will be a definite open door policy for those sorts of visitors. And be sure to tell Tim, Ellen, that I will hold him to his oath for you four to spend next Thanksgiving at my new pad. Reid, you and Liz are welcome, too, although your T-Days seem locked in at St. Paul.

It was a good decision at the last possible moment to head early a.m. to Charleston. The fishing was unbelievable for species I seldom catch, trout and sheepshead. I mean, for a long time it was nice fish after nice fish. Bang. Bang. Bang. It didn’t appear that way at first. The tide was by far the highest I’d ever seen it owning to the Super Moon effect. It pulled the water almost to the top of the docks. It was cold and windy, too. The thought was ‘Here we go again – no fish’. Reid, I tried a new Z-Man plastic lure slipped over a jig that has a big ‘eye’ where the lead weight usually is. The trout went bonkers over it. As per usual, a black man who fishes from the dock at the put in point was the beneficiary of my good fortune. He got a hefty 18 inch black drum and a nice 20 inch trout. After all the gear was stowed at home and the fish cleaned, I dropped some off to my friends Jill and Troy. Nice to share the bounty with folks who will know what to do with it. Troy is one helluva chef. I was wrong, too, about Bowens Island as only marginally further from Brevard. It will add about 60 miles each way. Perhaps it’s time to junk the down-and-back mentality and just stay overnight and fish for two days rather than one.

As for the new hernia, jeez. The doctor cautioned me against too-harsh floor workouts which he attributed, in part, to the new bulge. But since there are no restrictions between now and the surgery date (which has yet to be set) then all will be good in terms of preparation for the move. Ideally, it would be nice to stave it off until after all is said and done with the new house in Brevard. Ellen, let Tim know I appreciate his offer to fly down and help with the packing (and heavy lifting). I may well take him up on it. Reid, I don’t know your schedule beyond Sri Lanka but don’t feel by any means that your presence here is required.

So keep your fingers crossed that the 15th will yield a set-in-stone contract. Toes crossed, too.

Love, Dad


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North Carolina mountains, here I come …

The time of crying wolf (you may have heard my prior threats to move) is over; if the deal holds together, I’ll pull up stakes in Charlotte and move to Brevard. It’s on the doorstep of the mountains in North Carolina. 

Ellen and Reid have heard all the details but this was the first time they got something in writing. I deleted some points in this post but you still get the drift.

November 28, 2017

Ellen/Reid: Talk about roller coaster weekdays. Jeez. Up up and away yesterday, down down down today. One of the worst, or most harried days in a long, long time.

I was on Cloud Nine Monday before waking up like a shot about 4:30 a.m. today with a moderately severe case of buyer’s remorse. I sweated bullets that the rear deck wasn’t large enough and was accessible only through the master bedroom, therein denying it as an entertainment spot with its nice views of the mountains to the south. The Realtor got a panicky call from me this afternoon


Construction isn’t quite finished but there will be a good view of the low-lying mountains and the French Broad River just beyond a treeline.

but he was able to talk me back from the ledge. He reminded me of all the other good points, and that most entertainment would be in the large common room, and, of course, he was right. So tonight the signed contract was sent to him. Looks like a bridge loan is in the offing. Your uncle has helped me understand how those work.

Then my Realtor here used the velvet hammer to beat me down somewhat on the asking price for this place. It’s not the amount I wanted but he was likely right too, although I assured him there wouldn’t be much budging by me to lower the price if there are no immediate takers. This is still a great location and a wonderful unit. Yet this is where things might get a little dicey. If this townhome doesn’t move right away, I risk being on the hook for the balance of the bridge loan in mid-February. Hopefully that won’t happen. But it could. Showings begin Thursday morning. I’ve got one full day to get things ship shape.

Deja vu: for the past couple of weeks my stomach had felt a bit odd and it appears to me that there are the makings of another hernia. It’s in the center of my torso just above my navel and is not close to either of the hernias repaired in April. What a time for this to happen. The surgeon will take a look at me on Tuesday morning to see if indeed my self diagnosis is correct and if so, what might be done about it. The remedy is surgical since hernias can’t heal themselves. I’d like to push the knife off to after the first of the year or until my Medicare supplement insurance kicks in. How much the other two cost me out of pocket is still a very fresh memory.

To top things off I lost Sondra and Jody’s dog for a couple of hours tonight. They were on their way home from Thanksgiving with Chiana in Colorado and they asked if I’d pick up little Maizie, an Aussie, rather than let her again languish overnight in a kennel. Sure, that was fine. The plan was to deposit her at their home and after her leash was off just inside the front door, I turned to retrieve a tub of mail on the porch – and the dog just bolted outside. I tried to catch up but she’d have none of it and after a bit I lost track of her completely. She disappeared for the better part of two hours. I just couldn’t believe it. Somehow she returned to their front porch and a bouncing tennis ball and the promise of a treat was enough to coax her inside.

Part of me has wrestled with this whole move thing. Hard to put my finger on just why; part of it is to dodge Charlotte’s abysmal traffic and adapt to a slower pace of life in a small community, part of it is wanting to be off three floors, and the final part is just a desire to start all over again. But Brevard isn’t so far from Charlotte that I can’t bop down to see friends. There’s a little bit of trepidation over it but things will be okay. Lots of funky shops and restaurants, the mountains, the trout streams, and Asheville and Hendersonville and other small bergs close by. Charleston is about 50 miles further which should put a halt to the insanity of same day up-and-back trips.

Well, I’ve got the housing contract to deal with and some other stuff to wrap up before I hit the sack. St. Paul was sure fun with you guys, and now you may have a new spot to visit next year. We can do the meal all over again.

Love, Dad

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Change is in the air …

Changes – and that’s a real big knock on wood – are afoot. Ellen and Reid got a whiff of the possibilities in this letter; they also got some phone call updates this past weekend. If nothing else, it will give us plenty to talk about at Thanksgiving in St. Paul. And more fodder to write about, too.

November 13, 2017

Ellen/Reid: So it appears the plans for Thanksgiving are set. A 2 p.m. dinner with the girls, then dessert over at Liz’s parents. That sounds fun. Reid, tell Liz, Donna and Tom thank you for the dinner invite but that would make two big meals in the space of a few hours and it would have been too much good food even for my healthy appetite. Ellen, I’ll be baking a lot of the day Wednesday, so if there are any special requests, let’s hit the store Tuesday and early Wednesday. Anything Emma and Georgia would like, other than pancakes or waffles? What’s Tim’s holiday schedule at 3M? Is he taking the bulk of the week off? I know it sounds a little odd to be scooting out of town on Saturday afternoon but I thought you guys might deserve a somewhat quieter weekend after all the hustle around T-Day.

It’s turned cold here, perhaps not by your Midwestern standards, but cold nonetheless. I’m telling you, 30 degrees feels downright frigid. It must be our damp air that slices right through you. Golf this weekend was liking teeing it up in an icebox. But golf might be on hold for a bit; somehow I goofed up something just outside my right elbow. Not debilitating by any means, just very sore. So golf is out of the picture at least for a little while. That’s not entirely a bad thing. Some lettuce and spinach was planted last week as a winter experiment; nothing has popped up so far and the expectations for a good crop aren’t terribly high. But there were some surplus seeds were left over from the summer so into the pots they went. I’ve got to make a do-I-stay or do-I-go decision on the house. This three floor thing is killing me. Not literally, but the heat rises so it’s cold during the day when I’m downstairs and warmish upstairs when I try to sleep. Something has to be done. The real estate market is still reported to be fairly hot and the notion of putting the homestead on the market has crossed my mind once more. Now, where to live?

My friend Tom has tossed out the idea of a rigorous hike around Mont Blanc in the Alps. That would derail plans for the Camino in Portugal. His suggestion sounds of great interest and what it will likely do is shove Wyoming back another year since the plan now, as it is, is to make this trip in late July or August.


Portugal may not look exactly like this scene along the Camino de Santiago in Spain, but the vistas can’t be that far different.

But I absolutely have to be back in time for the September wedding of Sondra’s daughter, Chianna. There’s still the notion of a rendezvous with Sondra and Jody in Paris toward the September but that might not be a fiscal possibility for me to both trips in such close proximity. But there’s a long time to go and planning to be done before this is a done deal. Still, Mont Blanc sounds fun. Tom says it’s a pretty tough route. You have to be adventuresome while you’re still able.

Reid, your countdown to Sri Lanka has started. I’ll make amends when we’re in the Twin Cities for Thanksgiving. Damn, kid, you really get around. It’ll be interesting to get your take on the island. The Tamil Tigers were active there for quite a while and I’ll admit to not having paid much attention to the turmoil in that part of the world. That’s gonna be one hell of a trip for you and Liz.

It is also good news, Ellen, about Georgia’s coloboma. She and her eye are going to be just fine. She really looked smashing in those perky little glasses. So stylish in her sweater and specs. Can’t wait to give you and the girls your trinkets from Spain. I hope they like them. There were lots of things to choose from but I couldn’t very well buy anything too heavy or bulky since there was not much room for extra stuff.

Alrighty, time to sign off for a Monday. I’ve subsisted on C+ chili for the past few days and it’s time to dream up some other recipe. There’s no telling what that will be but it will be something different. Gotta sharpen up the feeble cooking skills before we put it all on the line for Thanksgiving.

Love, Dad

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Two to love, one to not love at all …

It should come as no surprise that I’m no fan of the current president. Far from it. But who I am in love with is sweet little Georgia and her sister, Emma. Yes, these three entities are at opposite ends of the spectrum, but I’ll take those two darlings over the Tweeter any time. 

November 6, 2017

Ellen/Reid: So Trump has been in our official lives for a couple of days short of a full year. The only thing he really is, is a few bricks – maybe a lot – short of a full load. He’s been nothing short of horrific in so many ways. I don’t mean to harp on it, but regardless of what his base says, regardless of his NRA and evangelical support says, he’s still a serial lying-cheating-mean spirited (I’m mean-spirited, too on this issue), Russia-colluding, environmental dismemberment, Presidential debasing, twerp. Your dad is no paragon of virtue but Trump is the Gold Standard for a lot of things wrong with politics and the short sightedness of the American populace.

But enough on Melania’s husband. I’m really excited about Thanksgiving up in the Twin Cities. Ellen, I want to get the girl’s Christmas presents while I’m up there, and I can’t remember (that’s one thing I wish I had, Trump’s now-famous non-Russia situational memory) what it was you mentioned that they wanted, other than accessories for Emma’s American girl doll.


Georgia is only two but already she has her mother’s sense of style. Thanksgiving up in St. Paul with ‘G’, Emma, Ellen and Tim can’t come soon enough.

What should dear little Georgia get? Some guidance is really needed. And for Tim, too, and on your end, Reid, for Liz. Please toss your dad a bone on this.

Things are back to relative normalcy now. The ankle is 100 percent and my sleep habits are back to par, which means I wake up in the middle of the night without jet lag provocation to blame.

I picked up a writing gig courtesy of an old friend, Ray, in California and it’s been fun to put pen to paper on that. He and his wife have a very successful real estate biz and he’s been nice enough to follow the letters from afar. So he called and I accepted the assignment. It keeps me off the streets and out of trouble for the most part.

In an hour I’ll meet my friend Lynn on the driving range to tune up our sorry golf swings and then he and I will walk nine holes over at a muny. I’ve been invited to play in an event this weekend and my game could use the improvement so as not to embarrass myself or let my host down. We’ll play at a truly nice track up in Denver, North Carolina. It’s on the outskirts of Charlotte but still a smooth hour away by car. The others in our group, including two gay women, at really good sticks so we should have a shot at the title.

The frozen octopus is in the freezer waiting to bust out as pulpo. I will give that a shot sometime this week. As for the return trip to the Iberian peninsula, I’m hopeful the Portuguese trek will be in stone before much longer. It gives me something to look forward to and plan towards. The route is somewhat shorter, not quite 400 miles, I believe so it shouldn’t be as harsh on my ankle. It still winds up in Santiago, Spain. I mentioned this formative plan in passing to friends this weekend and they’re on board to meet in Paris once the hike is wrapped up.

Reid, I am so, so excited about the things you’re up to. You are making a go of it in a good way. The contractor project brings in nice money although your mom and I are perturbed at the firm that keeps dangling a full time job in front of you but never seems to follow through. Perhaps it is that as a start up they are up to their eyeballs and see you as frosting on the cake. Hopefully they will get to you sooner than later. The assumption is they wouldn’t string you along unless they had some relatively solid plans for you in their future. I’ll call you for an update later this week, but give us a jingle if/when some good news breaks.

The box of arborio rice is sitting next to the cook top so there’s risotto in my immediate future. Might even roast some brussel sprouts to go with it. Oh, Miss Emma and me will head to Charleston tomorrow to fish. Can’t wait. I’m letting you know so there’s no more ‘Dad-is-missing’ hullabaloo.

Love, Dad

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A guy can dream, can’t he? …

Of course, there are now cheaper plane fares to Spain. But those are only noticed once you get home. It figures. If only I had the nerve to pull up stakes and go back at a moment’s notice.

Still, now there’s something to look forward to next year – a return trip, this time a south-to-north Camino-esque hike in Portugal that may well end up in the interior of France. Ellen and Reid can only hope this is the last they read of it. But they know once their old man is unleashed on a topic they’ll get a steady diet of my plans.

October 30, 2017

Ellen/Reid: It’s been a bit of a slog to get back in the swing of things. There’s been just a little bit of jet lag but a lot of general fatigue. Having slept Sunday morning until 10:30 must be the indicator of such. The right ankle is still a bit sore and tender but it’s on the upswing. Didn’t bother me a lick at this morning’s Y workout. The workout bothered me, but not the ankle.

All the gear is unpacked and stowed and the trail clothes are clean at last. It’s kind of serendipitous to put everything away, wondering when and if those things will be used again. But the answer is of course they will. Since there are different Caminos all over Europe, and since I travel on a budget, the south to north route through Portugal has some appeal. That route, as they all do, ends in Santiago, Spain. So that’s what I’m gonna do next fall: the body willing, return for another hike that will mirror this just-concluded one. There’s another incentive. Sondra and Jody have tickets to the Ryder Cup golf event in Paris at the end of September and what I might do, what I could do, is time the walk so as to meet them in France for the tournament.


I want to experience more of this …


… and this …


… and eat more of this.

There’s a lot of planning to do but mostly that will be the plane ticket and knowing the route since I already have the 16-17 lbs. of gear thing down pat. I did find octopus at Whole Foods and am primed to take a stab at preparing pulpo, a delicacy in northwestern Spain. You boil the octopus for about an hour, slice the tentacles into disks, then drizzle it with olive oil and paprika and course salt. It’s divine and way better than it sounds. I looked for it at every cafe on the trail and would eat it when I could.

I’ve been following the domestic events in Spain with some trepidation. I watched the demonstrations only yards away from the flag wavers and Civil Guard lines. The Catalans take independence very seriously but there are a lot of Spaniards who take keeping the nation together just as seriously. There were an estimated one million pro-Spanish marchers in Barcelona over the weekend and part of me wishes I’d still been around to witness that spectacle. My friend Franky, who lives in Alicante in southeastern Spain, has sent me a few messages about the goings on. He has family up in Catalonia and he’s worried about them but my sense is the Spanish are civil and genial enough to avoid any sort of protracted violence. It appears the majority of Catalans aren’t in favor of separation but the region is so wealthy it kind of bristles at having to share its wealth with the rest of Spain. Spain has only had independence since the facist Franco regime was upended in the 1970s. So in a way they still are undergoing some growing pains.

There have been two Airbnb guests here since Friday and they’ve been just fine. The couple was here for a wedding and are set to leave this morning. They brought their little dog with them and aside from some barking here and there she’s been a good girl. I was a little hesitant about their reservation since they made it while I was in Spain but it was hard to turn them down even though I really wanted the weekend to be one to relax alone rather than worry about having the place ship shape. But all in all it’s been good. I’m still on the fence about this Airbnb thing.

Looking forward to seeing you both, the girls and Tim for Thanksgiving in St. Paul. Ellen, I really do volunteer to do a lot of the cooking. Is Tim planning to smoke the turkey? That would be great. I can concentrate on the stuffing, fresh bread and other side dishes. The photos of the girls in their Halloween costumes have just been adorable. It reminds me of how I used to sneak the chocolate candy out of your bags when you were kids. Must be some sort of adult tradition. Heaven forbid you and Tim would do that.

The weather is cooling down here quite rapidly. Nice to see the change in seasons. Had to turn the heat on for the first time if only to keep my weekend guests comfortable. And their little dog, too.

Love, Dad

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Habitaciones, por favor?

The kids got one final wrap up once I got my feet back under me. I haven’t written today’s letter yet and there’s a strong likelihood there will be a few touch-up items here and there; the uneasy Catalan situation, other overlooked high points – and more details on newly-hatched intentions to go back in the autumn of 2018.

October 25, 2017

Ellen/Reid: It’s good to be home. The hard part is believing the whole shebang is already over and done with. The walk is a blur; it feels like a year ago even though scarcely six weeks has passed by. A part of me would go back to Spain in a heartbeat but the reality is my right ankle is still sore and that would have to heal up first.

It was really everything friends told me it would be, and more. Part of it was just being in France and Spain at all, the other was the entirety of the experience. Reid, you’ve traveled so much more than your old man so you know none of this is exactly new news; and Ellen, your time will come for such an adventure. What I do know is that the Camino de Santiago was fascinating in all respects. The history, the buildings, the people (both Spaniards and other walkers), the scenery, the vistas, the food, the sleeping arrangements, the everything.


Spain has its own set of domestic and economic issues right now but on the whole, it is one helluva country. There’s so much good about it, so much to like.

Imagine, Ellen, people – many dozens if not hundreds of them every day – walking between your house and the little home just to the west of your deck. What is that? 15 feet at most? What I wasn’t prepared for was the vagaries of the route itself. Not just the open trail through quaint small towns and the countryside but how hikers would cut between a farmer’s barn and his house or through an industrial park with warehouses and car repair shops just a few feet away on either side or the paved shoulder of a busy highway. Bizarre but interesting. Some of the path was dirt, still more was pavement, some was cobblestones, some was crushed rock.

Every night I opted to sleep in albergues, Some slept 10 in a common room filled with bunk beds, while others squeezed in 50 or more. The incessant snoring threw me off the first few nights as it filtered through my ear plugs but as the trip went along it became so much white noise. Some albergues were okay, others not so much and some surprisingly nice. You paid your money and took your chances (5 – 12 Euros. All that got you was a paper fitted bed sheet and a common shower). Lots of folks called ahead to book space but it was fine with me to simply walk in to ask (‘Habitaciones, por favor?’) if they had a spare bunk. There was always room for one more. That approach was easier for me since, for the most part, I walked alone. I plodded on some stretches with people but it was fine enough to truck alone.

What took a little getting used to was how Europeans – women and men – were so blithely casual about walking around in little if any clothing. I’d wake up to a woman standing in a thong next to my bunk or a man in some skimpy underwear and nothing else. But hey, I eventually went with the flow although I limited any showmanship to dress pretty quickly and be on my way. Most mornings I’d hit the road before dawn with my headlamp (‘torch’ in European lingo) to light the way. Once I was limbered up and motoring I’d find a place in the next town with stiff black coffee and some rustic bread toasted with butter and jam. That was divine.

I still scratch my head at how/when my ankle went south only 10 days in. I have no clue what went wrong but for a terrible moment it crossed my mind that there would be no way to finish. Honestly, I’d hobble out of the sack (the ‘Camino Shuffle’ an Australian friend named Cam called it) and the first few kilometers were excruciating. But on I’d limp until the pain subsided. It always did.

But what impressed me most were the highly civilized Spanish. Not that they were overtly friendly, but they weren’t overweight, were family oriented – adult children typically accompanied parents on strolls through central plazas – and you almost never heard car horns honk. In fact, they aren’t nearly as car-centric and impatient as Americans are. I’ll find out next fall if the Portuguese are the same way; the plan is to walk another variant of the Camino through Portugal. I’ve got the bug, I guess.

Love, Dad

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Before and after: Back to BAU …

The Camino de Santiago has come and gone. Damn. I’d go back tomorrow. Or later today if a reasonably priced flight was available.

So after 20-some posts on and about the walk, it’s BAU. Ellen and Reid got one final letter before the trip to France and Spain. 

Here it is. (I put a post-hike wrap-up in yesterday’s mail.)

September 11, 2017

Ellen/Reid: Irma is here. The first drops of rain are falling and the wind is up. Somehow we’ve managed to dodge the Big One when she inexplicably turned to the west. All the panicked shelf-clearing raids on the grocery stores for water and provisions appear to be for naught although the forecasters say we’ll get heavier and possibly damaging winds and 2 – 4 inches of rain as the day moves on. I hear planes overhead so the airport is still open for business.

That’s what I was really sweating bullets over; that the Charlotte and Miami airports would be shut down and there would be no way to get out of here on Wednesday. I saw the projected path of Irma  when I got off the water in Charleston and it was to make a beeline for the Carolinas. I got American Airlines on the horn to see if I could change my flight to Thursday or Friday of last week – but got turned down flat. Without a ‘weather alert’ being issued, they wouldn’t change my flight without a $300 change fee plus the difference in the price of a new ticket. I thought that was kind of short sighted since if they dealt with me at that moment, they wouldn’t have to deal with me – and thousands of other panicked travelers – this week if the hurricane had raised holy hell. So that was disappointing. But as of now – knock on wood – things look relatively normal for a Wednesday departure. My friend Andrea will give me a ride to the airport.

She and two others, Mickie and Anita, helped with my final 11 (mile) test walk last Friday. Those ladies can just step on the gas so it was a good shakedown cruise to get me ready. Everything I’ll need is literally in the pack right now. I could travel at a moments notice. The Osprey is just such a great and comfortable pack. It really is. Absolutely no issues with it.


My friends Tom and Sondra laughed at something at a soiree at a fun joint on the South End. It was great to kick out the jambs before The Walk.

Once the Atlantic is reached (the traditional end point is Santiago de Compostela in western Spain) I’ve given myself about a week’s cushion to visit Madrid for a couple of days then take the train on to Barcelona for four or five days. Part of me wonders how antsy I’ll be to make the return trip home since my nerves have not quieted as of yet. Almost seven weeks away is a long, long time, especially when you’ve never made such an extended trip, at least of the vacation variety, before. Sondra was nice enough to host a going away dinner on Friday night at some hip joint in Charlotte’s South End, and I was lamenting my lack of day-to-day planning to my friend Dave Wallace. He dismissed that altogether and said just throw a pin at the map and see where it sticks. So that made me feel a little better in terms of not being so rigid in carving out a hard-and-fast agenda or itinerary.

I’m struggling with the worst case of poison ivy I’ve ever had. It’s traversed all over my body and has been tough to contact. Remedies have included IvaRest and other balms or simply rubbing salt on the open, liguidy blotches. I hope this damn stuff subsides by Wednesday. Geez, it’s been way bad.

Ellen, that deck looks so cool. In nice weather you will live out there. That you and Tim chose composite planks will eliminate any worries about splinters with the girls. I would, however, get plastic inserts for the metal furniture since it will scratch the decking. What a nice addition to the house. You just bumped the value considerably. I dunno. By $10,000 at least.

Sounds like things are moving ahead nicely on the freelance/contractor front, Reid. It’s all about marketing yourself, getting referrals and plugging away at building a little business so you don’t have to depend on one or two clients.

Alright, enough for now. WhatsApp has been downloaded and Verizon sold me a $40/month overseas plan. Not sure how often I’ll be in touch, but I will be at some point. Buen Camino.

Love, Dad


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