All Together Now

Is “in one’s altogether” a regional expression? Have you heard the term used in conversation? Do you know what it means? I found out the hard way, and I remember the day.

Whenever I tell a story about Kwajalein I feel I need to preface it with “it was an unusual time in our lives, and we were in an unusual place” but that never quite explains it all. Indeed, a time and a place like no other.

One of Tom’s closest friends was Rich, a colleague at Lincoln Lab and maybe a few years older than Tom, but not by much. Rich was married to Joan, and they were lovely people and Tom and Rich loved to talk food and finance on their flights (or boat rides, if the airplane windshield doesn't cooperate) to work, because it was Kwaj and it was unlike anyplace else. In my earliest days, as I met all those new people I would write descriptions in the margins of the phone book (because it was 1998 and I had 2000 names to learn) and the decription next to the Sasielas was “elegant, tall people on the flight from Majuro” because they were objectively very tall; but the first thing you'd notice about them was that they were even kinder than they were tall. I was stressed, Tom and I were probably bickering (we called ourselves The Bickersons for a reason), and these two sets of hands reached down from on high and grabbed our babies and said, Now, breeeeeathe. It might have been five minutes and it could have been five hours, but what I remember is how kind they were to on the last flight of my first trip to Kwajalein with two kids under two, and I immediately loved them both.  The fall after we arrived Rich and Joan’s daughter, son-in-law, and grandchildren moved there for work, too, and Amy became and remains one of my dearest friends.

It was a very small community on a very small military base, and we all lived within easy walking distance of each other’s homes, in a very safe environment where we rarely locked our doors. Amy and her family had left for several weeks (most of us came back to Boston at least once a year for work and that’s likely why they were gone) but their kitchen door was open as I knew it would be. Probably their front door was, too, but we were kitchen door friends, and often let ourselves in.

In what will come as surprise to some, I don’t actually make a habit of entering the homes of my friends when they are not there, but I had good reason to do it this time, I’m sure, even if I don’t exactly remember why I did. I probably was dropping off a dish, or maybe I was leaving a meal,  anticipating their return because that last flight, the third of three five hour flights from Boston, was a killer.

So imagine my surprise when I opened the back door to Amy’s house only to be  greeted by Rich, my friend’s father, and my husband’s best friend, cooking bacon at his daughter’s stove and not even wearing an apron! To cook bacon? Who cooks bacon without an apron?

I lifted my jaw up off Amy’s kitchen floor, backed slowly out the door, and in those days before email and cell phones, immediately called Joan, asking for her to apologize to Rich for me because in my … stupor? … I had not done so, and I explained what happened. 

Joan laughed, explaining, “Oh, that’s just Rich cooking in his altogether." Which doesn’t quite mean without and apron. If only it had.

While I have your attention, this is what climate change is doing to the Marshall Islands.

I can see my house from here 

We called the house Four Palms (bonus Geof adds scale)

We never lacked for fresh potassium straight from the backyard

The main route home after work, they called this spot the Callahan Tunnel

Originally published in April 2023

Happy Birthday, 98

98's birthday was last month, and I gave him tickets to Blue Man Group.   We didn't go until tonight, a month later, because this was the first 5:00 pm show I could get five front row seats for, and I knew I couldn't be trusted to stay awake for the 8:00 pm show.   It was: me, 96, 98, and two of 98's friends, let's call them Curt and Rod. They weren't twins, but if I had twins I would totally have named them Curt 'n Rod.  I am happy to report that I survived the evening without running away screaming, leaving them to take the train home alone spent the evening with four teenage boys. I love all four of these boys, and would run in to a burning building to save any of them but man, oh man, are teenage boys insufferable.

They argued about Pokemons (the plural of which 96 has reminded me more than once is Pokemon, but I say Pokemons because, well, I know it bugs him) and they argued about how long ago 15 minutes was.  They disagreed about 'Droid or iPhone.  They debated the merits of public vs. private vs. parochial.   They each knew stuff that the others didn't know, and they each had to make sure that all the others knew they knew this stuff they didn't know.   Do you remember Charlie Brown's teacher?   By the end of the car ride, that's all I heard.   That, punctuated with the random, "No, you're wrong," and "Shut up," and "You don't know anything."    Good to know it's not just mine.

The other thing I noticed about teenage boys: They havetohavetohaveto have the last word.   Every. Single.  Time.   The last word.  Spoken.  Has to be theirs.   And not someone else's.

See how annoying that is?

All's well that ends well, though. 98 made it home with a piece of spit-paintball-artwork from one of the bits.  As we were leaving I handed him a sharpie to ask one of the Blue Men for an autograph on the way out. The Blue Man did him one better, and swiped a bit of blue ink/makeup/whatever it is off his face and planted a cool thumbprint in the corner.  And the next time we go, we're going to count how many marshmallows that one guy ultimately crammed into his mouth.  Double digits, for sure.

Valentine's Day, 1996

It seems to me I'm always mentioning how I find treasures rifling through drawers and files while I'm looking for something else. Today's tale is no different, except I don't recall that I was particularly looking for anything.  I just recently stumbled across the little card I used to tell Tom I was pregnant with Agent 96 on Valentine's Day, 1996. And even with the evidence in my hand, including the positive pregnancy test, which today still shows the [+] (and no, I'm not going to show you a picture of it!), I honestly have no recollection of doing this. I recall the card; in fact, when I was putting together photos for his memorial I wanted to include the card, a small, die-cut tiger.  A little secret between us was that I called him "Tiger", and he called me "Kitten". Eww, I know. What worse, when 96 was born, we called him "Tigger" sometimes. (Remember that rattle Zoet chewed up? It was 96's Tigger.)

Quick, get the insulin.

I remember giving him the card for Valentine's Day in 1996, I just don't recall the whole "I'm having a baby" spin.  How does a person forget something like that?

Usually, events with the second child take a back seat to the first: 96's baby book is complete, including the first day he sat, unaided, in a grocery cart (5 months) and his first fat lip (during the April Fool's Day blizzard in 1997); I sold 98's baby book in a yard sale, factory seal unbroken. The photos in 96's first year album are labeled; I don't even have a first-year album for 98. Of course, I famously have both boys' umbilical stumps in a carton in the attic. They are in the jeweler's boxes my engagement ring and wedding band came in.  Suffice it to say, saving those little belly buttons had me off raisins for a while.

Back to Agent 98. It's hard to imagine a memory burned more strongly into my synapses:. There I was, 40 years old, in the upstairs bathroom: 6-month-old 96 (who was still nursing full time, for the record) in one arm, and there, in my other hand, another [+].

"Tom ... can you come up here for a sec?"

Interstate Adventures

I found myself in Cranston, RI this morning, where Agent 98 had a bowling tournament at Lang's Lanes. (Don't miss the chili cheese fries!) It was our second time bowling in Cranston in as many weeks. He didn't have the best day, but with a high score of 103, he beat his average, and that's really the point anyway.

So I get on the highway to come home after we're done, and notice a couple of interesting buildings that I hadn't noticed on the ride down ... and then another one ... and then I think to myself, "Where'd Providence go?"   I had driven eight miles on 95 South before I realized my mistake.

If that was only the first time I'd ever gotten lost on 95 that would be one thing. Or if it had been the most lost, I could accept that. But I have an even stupider lost than that. One that makes me cringe every time I think of it. Thankfully, I was alone in the car when it happened.

I had just moved to Medford, and had previously had few, if any, reasons to take Rte. 2 west to 95.  I was headed to Waltham (this was in our Costco days) which meant 2W to 95S. After a couple of minutes on 95 I noticed that the Burlington Mall was on the wrong side of the road (and later learned it wasn't even along my expected route). I absolutely believe that any normal, functioning human being, on seeing the Burlington Mall on the left hand side of the road but expecting it to be on the right, would think "Oh, I'm going the wrong way." Totally normal reaction.  But me? I thought to myself, "Hey, when did they move the Burlington Mall?"

So you try waking up with this brain every morning.

It Was Bittersweet

It was bittersweet.

Today Agent 98 had a bowling tournament in Lowell and the Garmin sent me up on 95 to 495 which is my preferred route to points north.  But it brought me home via Rte 3, a route I always detested because before it was rebuilt many years ago it was narrow, curvy, slow, and crowded -- and all speedtrappy whenever it wasn't slow and crowded. I have never have gotten into the habit of using it, and almost didn't today, but it was a Sunday afternoon, so I went along with the instructions.


It was bitter, because for the first time since May 10, 1994, when we crossed 110, I didn't hear how Mr. An Wang had bought the land and built the Wang Labs building (which is shaped like a "W" you know) for something like $60m in the 70's and sold it for something like $100k in the 90's. It was sweet because, well, for the first time since May 10, 1994, I didn't hear how Mr. Wang had bought the land and built the building for something like $60m in the 70's and sold it for something like $100k in the 90's. I mean, really, Tom? You've told me that story before. Like. Every. Single. Time.

So what did I do? When we crossed 110 I pointed out the building and told 98 the story of how Mr. An Wang had bought the land and built the building (which is shaped like a "W" you know) for something like $60m in the 70's and sold it for something like $100k in the 90's.

It wasn't quite the same, but family traditions have to start somewhere, right?

Buried Deep in the Back of my Already Overpacked Linen Closet ...

About a week before Tom started his first drug clinical trial (mid-2009) we spent an afternoon and a fair pile of cash in our local Vitamin Shoppe, GNC and CVS on vitamins, supplements and whatnot. Of course, one of the caveats of clinical trialdom is "no non-prescribed drugs or supplements". So while he had consumed a few pills from some of the bottles, some of the bottles are still factory sealed.

Here's what I have. If I note that the bottle is open, then only a few days' worth are gone.

• American Health Chewable Super Papaya Enzyme Plus 360 tablets - open - exp 6/11
• MushroomScience Certified Organic Coriolus Super Strength 90 tablets 600 mg  - exp 1/12 (I have five of these factory sealed and one open)
• Osteo Bi-Flex 120 tablets - open - exp 2/11
• Vitamin Shoppe Selenium 300 tablets 200 mcg - open - exp 10/10
• CVS Glucosamine Chondroitin Double Strength 120 caplets - exp 9/10 (I have one of these opened and one factory sealed)
• Nature's Way Reservatol Synergistic Formula 60  Vcaps 37.5 mcg - open - exp 2/10
• GNC L-Glutamine Powder 8 oz -  factory sealed - exp 5/11
• Vitamin Shoppe Borage Oil  300 softgel capsules 1000 mg -open -  exp 10/09
• Vitamin Shoppe Soy Isoflavones 120 tablets  - open - exp 1/11
• Vitamin Shoppe Turmeric Extract 95% curcumin  300 capsules - open - exp 11/11
• Vitamin Shoppe Green Tea Extract 75% Polyphenols 300 Capsules 250 mg - open - exp 8/10
• CVS Natural Fish Oil 198  Softgels 1200 mg - factory sealed - exp 7/11
• CVS Spectravite multivitamin 250 tablets - factory sealed - exp 1/10

If you are interested in any or all of these dietary supplements, drop me a comment or send me an email and we'll work something out. I don't want to sell them; I want to give them to you. I'll even pay postage. I just don't want these to go to waste.

You will see that some have passed their expiration date. Keep in mind that I have codeine in my medicine cabinet that was prescribed in 1998 after my son was born (in case you didn't notice, their blog nicknames are their birth years - Agents 96 and 98) by a doctor in Medford. Then we moved to Kwaj for nearly 5 years, and we've been back in Medford for 8 more years. And I took one a couple of weeks ago when I had that sinus headache. So no, we're not so much into expiration dates around here. I won't side-eye you if you respect them.  Just don't lecture me that I don't.

Welcome to My World

"Mom, do you think the cider will be warm enough if I zap it for 15 seconds?"

"No, 98, I'd zap it for a minute."

"Do you think 30 seconds would work?"

"No, I think a minute would be enough."

"Okay, I'll try 30 seconds."

True Story

You May Want to Come Back Later if You're Having Lunch Now

I've had some pretty disgusting moments in my history of marriage and parenting. I was with my husband for sixteen years, and I have two boys, now teenagers, and we've had more than ten pets, if you count all the cats, frogs, turtles, snakes and the dog. And during this time, I have had some pretty disgusting moments. I'm not sure I've ever told my most disgusting moment story from beginning to end.

My most disgusting moment was not the very early on poopy diaper contest, which I won by default when my newborn son turned up on the changing table with poop on the top of his head, and the soles of he feet, and most spots in between. It was also not the time an out-of-town friend so admired some cardinal feathers she found that she displayed them for the rest of her visit on the edge of my upstairs bathroom sink. Unfortunately for us, those feather were still attached to a wing, and the wing had been recently ripped from the shoulder socket of poor Mr. Cardinal, which I knew because flesh still hung from the bones. The bones which rested so artfully next to our toothpaste and soap.


It was also not the great fly debacle, which was not so much a disgusting moment as a disgusting and very long month-and-a-half. Our cat, Alpha, had found an already-dead (read: maggot-infested) frog, which he brought into the house before I could stop him. He ran  into the cellar with it, and I ran after him, but I never found the frog. Days later, flies started showing up in the house; first in ones and twos; eventually we had scores, and probably hundreds of flies, mostly in the dining room and kitchen. So at least our tv watching wasn't too impacted. Only our food prep and consumption. I would herd flies into the area between window and screen and then quickly close the window, cross my fingers and then just wait patiently for all the flies to die. I hoped they wouldn't reproduce in there, envisioning my brand new windows closed and permanently nailed shut as generation after generation grew and thrived: our own miniature entomological Great Barrier Reef, Medford-style, in the making.

And over the years I have simply gotten used to picking up every sort of dead animal, or remaining parts thereof, with the longest-handled shovel I own, and flinging it across the fence into the Fells, or into the creek behind the house for burial, eventually, at sea. So dead rodents aren't involved in my most disgusting moment, either.

Agent 98 is.

He was 8 or 9, and came to me with a hangnail. I kept an eye on it, because there's really nothing but time that can heal a hangnail. A day or so later, a soothing soak in epsom salts. A day or so after that he showed me the finger again, but by now it was swollen and red, and really quite infected.

Look away now if you're still eating.

I did the only thing I could think of: I squeezed it to get rid of the infection.  I heard an audible "pop", and 98 felt instant relief. I found a tiny speck on the kitchen floor, and cleaned it up with a wet paper towel. I recall being a bit surprised that his giant swollen finger didn't leave more ... ahem, sorry ... evidence. But I cleaned up, and went on with my life. Ah, not so disgusting, you say?

Weeks later, Tom was in the kitchen, glanced up at the ceiling, and spied what he immediately recognized ... again, ahem, sorry ... as the missing piece of the puzzle.

Yup, I took a picture.

No Dog Yet, You Say?

I started wanting a dog when Tom was sick. I'm sure the pain is the same whether your spouse has brain cancer, or heart disease or any terminal illness (Tom considered his cancer "terminal" with the quotes, having read much about long-term survivors. Few though they were, they were not non-existent.), but brain cancer had already robbed me of my hard-working, cuttingly-sarcastic, animal-loving, handyman-project-doing, car-guy husband, and my sense of loneliness was all the more acute because Tom was alive, but no longer, well, Tom. A dog would love me, and keep me warm, and fill the hole in my heart that I shouldn't have had because I should have just been grateful my husband was there, sleeping right next to me in the bed every night, drinking his coffee and reading his paper every morning. But that emptiness in my heart continued to grow, and my desolation darkened. And that dog? I really just wanted a dog to love me. I wanted somebody to love me. And for God's sake, at least the damned dog wouldn't die of brain cancer.

Then, Tom died. I don't know how else to explain it. Tom died, and the loneliness that I felt finally at least felt normal. My husband was dead, my sons' father was gone, and that the loneliness was expected made it somehow more tolerable. Getting from today to tomorrow became easier after Tom died, as I found myself already partway through the process of grieving his loss. The desperate yearning for a dog slowly subsided, replaced by the quiet belief that there's a place in our family for a dog.

So there we were today, at the Northeast Animal Shelter:  the place Tom took me on our second date; one of his memorial charities; and the place where the sweetest little  Belgian Schipperke x picked us for her forever family. She came with the utterly unacceptable name Skippette, so we're down to business picking out a name. I think her name is supposed to be Zoetje, dutch for "little sweet one". Any dutch speaking readers out there? Please advise.

And say hello to the newest Gentile, Zoetje.

21°21′59.82″N, 157°47′49.06″W

My little corner of paradise is relegated to my memory banks, now. Soon enough it'll be back to the everyday mundane, but just one more vacation post, if you don't mind. I'm not much of a photographer, and my digital camera is usually just set to automatic, but here are some of my favorite photos from the trip.

Rainbow eucalyptus at the Hono zoo. I wish my photo did this tree justice. I think God must have invented Crayola crayons just so He could make these trees.

I love hibiscus. They remind me of Kwaj, and I really miss being able to have them outdoors, in the ground, year-round. Hibiscus is the antidote to winter. Hibiscus => sundress => tan lines on my feet => ahhh. You can't have any of those things in New England in the winter. I haven't mentioned recently how much I hate winter but I'm sure that'll be a post in about 6 months. I'm sure I'll write about about using my brand-new snowblower, which was delivered just after the last snowstorm of last winter, so the warranty should just about have run out the first time I start it up. If the flood didn't already do it in, that is.

Agents 96 and 98 weren't interested in climbing Diamondhead -- they were much more interested in being unsupervised at the hotel. So one afternoon I abandoned them with their comic books (There's this whole new marketing ploy for comic books: bind them together and sell them to parents as "graphic novels". I don't care how thick it is, it's still comic book, and I'm not going to pay you to read one) and their gameboys while I hiked up to the crater's edge by myself. I loved this little cactus I found trailside. I looks like it could be a landscape scene with trees and plants and gravel and boulders, but in reality it was about 6 inches across. When I got back from my hike the hotel was still standing and no police were on site, so it was a winning afternoon for all of us.

Another one from the zoo. You can see how it got its name, Bird of Paradise.

Interesting leaves always evoke Kwaj for me. I loved gathering leaves to texture my pottery. I think after the school year begins in September I'll start up with pottery again.Winters notwithstanding, Boston has its share of interesting textures, too, so I'll be fine; but one thing that's better on Kwaj: free pottery studio time!

This tree reminded me of the angry apple trees in the Wizard of Oz. The branches look ready to throw an apple at the next person who walks by. And I swear I see scowly eyebrows in the bark!

I think my favorite spot, my favorite moment,  on vacation was Pali Lookout. Too cheap to pay for, and not really interested in taking, a  bus tour, one morning we nabbed a bus company's guided tour itinerary, and picked a few of its most interesting-sounding sites to explore on our own. As we arrived at each one, we saw the bus companies carting their passengers to and from, but we were doing it for free and on our own schedule, making it all the sweeter. At Pali Lookout we were greeted by a flock of hungry chickens who enjoyed part of my sandwich, but by few other humans. We had the place almost to ourselves. A hot a humid day, a cooling mist fell as we left the parking lot for the short walk (too short to even qualify as an easy hike), but the clouds parted in time for breathtaking views. I couldn't pick a single favorite picture.

One of the boys, and I shan't say which one, bellyached that I was wasting time taking pictures of a bunch of branches, apparently unaware that this is a living Hau tree.

And besides, it's not wasting time, it's "being on vacation", thankyouverymuch.

Kualoa Ranch, North Shore, Oahu

Photos you won't see anywhere else on the worldwide web ...

Agent 98 riding Chico ...

Agent 96 riding Romeo ...

You'd better sit down now ... Are you ready for this?

Me, riding Cowboy. I'm still sore.

  And we're all home, safe, sound and just a little bit tired!

Mom-to-English Translator

I always feel particularly maternal when I share a memory with one of my kids. I can remember having this exact conversation with my mom at this exact same place on the highway when I was Agent 98's age. Driving home from New York last week, 98 saw the sign on the Mass Pike -  Trucks: Test Brakes. He asked me why trucks needed to test their brakes. With a hopefully inaudible roll of the eyes I explained that trucks need to test their brakes so the driver doesn't lose control when braking on an upcoming steep stretch of road.

Mom, what's that runaway truck turnout for? See, when a truck loses its brakes, and the driver knows because he tested his brakes, he can divert off the highway, and stop safely, and no one gets hurt. Clever civil engineering, huh?

Mom, why do the signs always say toll booth ahead? Mom, what's a fortnight? Hey, Mom, I figured out that if you put Momo's collar on her backwards, she won't bite you when you're putting it on her have you ever tried that because Momo gets pretty excited when I'm trying to put her collar on and she scratches a lot but she likes to be scratched behind her ears have you ever scratched her behind her ear Mom cause she really likes it. The next time you have a tube don't throw it out because I need it to make a mortar with some tape and that leg from a broken chair, just like they did on Mythbusters. Okay, mom?

I don't recall being a chatterbox as a kid, but I reckon I must have been. My mother explained mortality to me, at about this age: God grants you a certain number of words, Linda, and once you use up your words, you die. I think that's Mom for "Oh, for the love of God and all that's holy, please, I'm begging you, please, shut up already, for Pete's sake!"

The trick is that we don't know how many words God has granted us: did he give us a lot or only a few? No matter; either way we certainly shouldn't squander them. Especially when Mom's driving.

Ninety-eight, why don't you take a nap for a little while?  

Ninety-eight, maybe you should pull out one of your books and read for a bit.   

David, can you let 98 listen to your iPod for a while, please? Please? Pretty please? I'll give you cash.

By the end of that car ride with the kids I was humbly apologizing to my mother for every "Mom, it's raining. Should I close the windows?" I ever sent her way. At least she didn't let me hear her eyes roll.   

And I was silently praying that 98 got into the word line twice.

Who Needs Canine Teeth Anyway? We're A Cat Family ...

Agent 98 saw his orthodontist today. We have been waiting for his eye teeth to come in, making room for them before we can really progress with the braces. He won't get the bottom braces on until those two top teeth are dealt with. One's coming in slowly, and will likely need a little "nudge", by which I mean an oral surgeon will open a hole in his gum, attach some kind of bracket to the tooth, and attach a wire to that bracket, so that the orthodontist can begin slowly yanking it down into its proper position. Eww. And that's the good news.

The second tooth, the one on 98's left, not so much. That tooth is growing nearly sideways; in fact, since the neighboring teeth have proceeded to grow in since he got those top braces on, the wayward eye tooth has less guidance, and is moving even more out of alignment, making it look virtually impossible to bring down correctly.

We haven't ruled this out altogether, but the orthodontist isn't really holding out a whole lot of hope that the tooth can be rerouted. We'll know better after consulting with the oral surgeon later this week, but it looks like the decision to be made will be: does 98 get a bridge or does he get an implant?

How do I make that kind of decision for my 12-year-old?

Memories: All Shapes and Sizes

Don't get me wrong, I like the occasional souvenir refrigerator magnet, t-shirt and model, as witnessed by the treasures we returned with from our recent trip to Niagara Falls. But I like my memorabilia a little bit on the funky side, too.

When we first checked into our hotel, there was a very small construction project taking up a couple of parking spaces in the lot, and the area was demarcated with some traffic cones labeled "City of Niagara Falls, Ontario". Ooh, boy, I wanted one of those construction cones. For a souvenir. But it was performing a safety function, even if barely, and I couldn't just steal it. Alas, I had to let the dream of my perfect Niagara Falls souvenir slip away in the wind, like the mist over the Falls.

I needed something --  I don't remember what -- from the car later in the vacation, and there they were: the construction workers, burying the whatever they were burying in that parking lot in the morning sun. I got what I needed from the car, and was returning to my room, coveting the cone once again, but silent about it, when it spilled from my mouth, uncontrollable, "Hi, fellas -- I really want a funky souvenir from this trip, and that construction cone just fits the bill. Do you think it would be okay if I took it?" They looked at me, looked at each other, shook their heads as if to make sure they heard correctly. Whaa? You want our construction cone? THAT construction cone? We chatted for a couple of minutes (I think they were glad for the break from the labor on that very hot day), determined that I did, indeed, want one of their construction cones. They were happy to accommodate, but advised me to wait until the foreman wasn't looking to take it away. With the foreman out of sight, one acted as lookout while the other brought it over to my car while I popped the trunk and threw it in. (Fade out Mission: Impossible music.)

At the car later I showed the cone to the boys and the friends who had joined us on the trip, and told them the story. The boys didn't believe me, and I think they still think I stole it; and my friend Debra suggested I turn it so the label of ownership at least wasn't showing.

Martin wondered what would happen if it was discovered during the border crossing. So, of course, I obsessed about the border crossing for the rest of the trip. But not so much that I would have discarded my booty before being hauled off to jail. I briefly wondered how the boys would get home if I was arrested, and I tried to act innocent when the border guard was interrogating me at the crossing. I must have played my hand well enough, because there it is out there in the driveway, keeping the car away from the basketball court: one wicked awesome safety cone from Niagara Falls.

Home Again. A Few More Photos to Share

We're all glad to be home. I can only speak for myself: I had a wonderful time, but I'm really not a very good traveller. I missed my own bed, and the cats, and the Globe in the morning, and 12-packs of Pepsi priced four for $10 instead of $1.99 per can.

A very pretty rainbow over the falls, from the US side.

Nope, on second thought, this addition doesn't improve on nature's majesty

Ah, here we go. That does the trick!

This was our last day on vacation. We stopped briefly on the US side before we hit the road for home.

During the long ride home, we took a break at Old Erie Canal State Park. What a lovely, serene setting.