Friday, February 1
First thing this morning I dive into my Amazon Associates account. I have a lot to accomplish! I need to learn more, so I peruse the discussion board. Then I jump over to this blog and reply to a comment. Back to the discussion board. Reply to a comment. Back to the discussion board. And so it goes. Fun!
I move the Amazon link to the top of the sidebar so it can be found more easily. I add a few more links for pets under the “Shopping List and Links” page, like Bag Balm because many readers recommend it for pets and people. I also found an interesting product for tender-pawed dogs who can’t wear boots or wouldn’t to be caught dead in them.
Invisible dog boots — an all-natural wax cream called Musher’s Secret. Anyone used it? On your dog, silly, not your own feet. Although I suppose you could if you were planning on walking around on salt, sharp gravel, or hot pavement and couldn’t find your shoes. Anyway . . .
My face is in my laptop.
The sunshine streams through the window blinds, warm and inviting. Bridget and Spike remind me they need to get outside for some exercise, and it’s up to me to make sure that happens.
I decide we will stay off the road.
We walk the desert instead, stopping often so I can take photos. It’s a delightful morning. You know, the kind of soft sunshine that warms gently and brushes the landscape with magical light. The recent rains have spruced up the vegetation. Odd phrase to use about the desert — “spruced up.” Maybe I should say “saguaroed up.” I let the crew choose our path.
Spike stops short and raises his hackles.
What the heck are hackles? How many does a dog have? Oh well, not important right now. His nose is pointed across the wide wash. He growls and barks.
Spike’s a “mature” dog. I can’t always trust his alarms, what with his bad eyesight. Maybe that dead cactus looks like a monster to him. Or maybe we’re about to be attacked my a hungry mountain lion (not likely).
I do, however, trust Spike’s nose.
I see javelina tracks in the sand and hear a rustling on the other side of the wash. Hmm . . . Bill and Ann saw one not far from here.
The eyesight of a javelina is probably worse than Spike’s.
Maybe a javelina is looking at us at this very moment thinking we’re dead cacti. Or dead meat.
Oh my gosh! There he is! RIGHT ON THIS PAGE!
(heh, heh . . . Hi there, big fella. . . See ya!)
We change our direction and continue wandering between the saguaro, palo verde, ironwood trees, creosote and brittle-bushes.
My walking stick helps my balance going up and down slopes and in and out of washes. It’s easy to have your feet go out from under you on these loose stones. Especially with enthusiastic, canine hikers pulling you.
At first palo verde may seem like dull, ordinary, overgrown bushes.
I’ve come to appreciate the way their prickly branches feather the sky in wispy illusion.
The day rolls by.
I lie in my lounge chair reading and soaking up the sunshine. I think of things I want to do online which pulls me inside. I write emails, answer comments, work on January financial figures, fool around doing Amazon stuff. The sunshine pulls me outside. I read, sip my drink, say “This is the life, huh, guys?” The laptop pulls me inside. Back and forth I go. The crew is confused, but they go with it.
Update on jury duty . . .
Remember I received a summons for jury duty in South Dakota, a thousand miles away from where the crew and I are boondocked in southern Arizona? I email America’s Mailbox, my mail forwarding/legal address company, and tell them about it.
Within minutes I receive a reply.
This is what it says: When you receive the confidential qualification form, check the box marked “No longer living in the county” and write next to it “Full-time RVer.” I put the form in the prepaid envelope and send it back.
I hear from readers who wonder if they could live like I do.
One big fear is whether they’ll be able to solve the problems they encounter while living “on the road.” It can be intimidating thinking of all the potential catastrophes, difficulties, and headaches one might experience. Well, I do what I’ve always done and what you probably do, too, no matter where your live.
I muddle through.
Somehow everything works outs. If you’re going to muddle, you might as well muddle at the base of a majestic mountain, alongside a rushing river, under a canopy of scented pine boughs, overlooking a green meadow with flowers waving, above ocean waves crashing on rocks, next to a still alpine lake, from a red-rock promontory where eagles fly, or in the desert with the winter sun warming both body and soul.
rvsue
rvsue and her canine crew 