Sunday evening Jerry and I went to the Indian Wells Desert Symphony at McCallum Theatre in Palm Desert. The special guest star was Peter Nero and what a treat - a privilege, really- to see and hear this master of masters. I've seen people who can make things look easy, but Peter Nero made playing the piano look effortless - so much so that if someone had said,"Go on. Esther. Go up there and take a turn on the Steinway," I honestly believe that I could have done so. That's just how amazing he is!

It was fun watching the orchestra players watch Nero. He is a musician's musician. His medley tribute to Leonard Bernstein's West Side Story is something that will remain in my head forever.

This is our last symphony before leaving for Vancouver Island, April 1. The Classical Mystery Tour, Peter Frampton, Jose Feliciano - it's been a great season for the symphony, and for us.

Perspectives

The citrus trees are blooming and an orangey-lemon scent permeates the air. It is the most exhilarating feeling to be immersed in such heavenly aromas when one does the simplest things, like going to the mailbox, or taking a walk, or opening a screen door.

There's been a bit of a heat wave (for this time of the year) in the desert with temperatures soaring into the high 90s for the last week or so. People who live here year round are a little distressed, as they worry that the summer heat will be starting early and lasting longer than usual. And it can get very hot! Temperatures soar to well over 100 degrees Fahrenheit for weeks on end.

"Usually, I don't mind the heat," one woman told us when we were out to dinner one evening. "It's hot, but it's a dry heat and that makes all the difference." Her phrase reminded me of my days in Saskatchewan where the winters are harsh. People described the cold as being a dry cold, thereby implying that the cold wasn't as bad as the cold in more humid places. When I lived in Ottawa, I found this to be true. I felt way colder there, even though the temperatures weren't as low.

Where Everyone Knows Your (Dog's) Name

It's a club of sorts. The dog park in Palm Desert is a wonderful facility for dogs and their companions. It comprises two large fenced and secure areas (separate areas for larger and smaller dogs) on the grounds near The College of the Desert. Sid and I walk over almost every morning (with temperatures in the 90s, it's important to go earlier in the day). Sid loves seeing all the college students on their way to classes. At the park, Sid runs and jumps and plays with the other canines who are mostly friendly and happy sorts. The owners sit on benches under a nice shaded canopy and talk, as the dogs romp. Sometimes we throw balls and play with the dogs, but mostly the dogs play amongst themselves chasing each other into frenzies.

Above are pictures of Sid with a few of the regulars - Buffy, Farfel, Hoola and Sparky. Sid and Hoola are the same age and are especially fond of each other.

Puppy Daze

It's been a whirlwind trying to keep up with our furry pal, Sid. So many people told us puppies were a lot of work, and we just nodded and smiled and thought, "Well, we've had puppies before." Like childbirth, I guess we just forgot what the experience was fully about. It's been almost non-stop!

We enrolled Sid in doggy school the first week and it's been awesome for us and Sidney. Lori and Sara, the women who conduct the Good Canine Citizen Program at Dream Dogs are incredible. Sidney enjoys going every week and especially loves all the other dogs in the class. He is the youngest (and most exuberant) in the class, but catches on quickly. Jerry and I go together and thoroughly enjoy the experience of working with Sid in a totally positive way. The emphasis is based on the notion of what you want the dog to do (as opposed to not focusing on the negative behaviour). An important difference.

This David Phelps sculpture is one of my favourites in the park near our home. The Dreamer is larger-than-life and never fails to make me pause and smile no matter how many times I pass it.

This morning we woke to the roaring sounds of Santana winds in Rancho Mirage, Palm Springs and all the surrounding areas. The Santana's rage at over 60-80 miles per hour and even higher in the mountain passes, often uprooting trees, tearing off palm fonds, snapping poles in half, and generally wreaking havoc. The sand storms can ruin the paint finish on cars and even pit windshields. In some places, road advisories warned people not to drive because of poor visibility due to the swirling sand. This is a little reminiscent of the snow storms in Saskatchewan!

Jerry and I stuck close to home today, only venturing out to take Sidney for his walks. Although our little enclave of homes has a lot of protection, Jerry had to stake one of the trees to prevent it from being uprooted by the winds.

And Puppy Makes Three!

Well, it's a little over a week since we picked up Sidney at the Palm Springs Airport and our lives haven't been the same since. Several (short) walks a day, puppy massages, play times, treat times, and both of us trying to be as consistent as possible. It's been a lot of fun, but it's exhausting! When people say puppies are a lot of work, they aren't kidding.

On Saturday we started puppy obedience classes and are working at reinforcing good puppy manners and basic commands, such as sit and stay (good luck). Sidney has the "sit" command down pat and to date, has had only one accident in the house, which was not his fault. We both are vigilant about taking Sid out several times a day and that has certainly helped. We also have to be on puppy watch for his constant love of, and need for, chewing everything in sight. We substitute appropriate chew options such as Kong toys made for this purpose and have taken to puppy proofing our house (e.g., no slippers or shoes left on the floor).

Sidney loves the two older labs named Lucy and Murphy (the best trained dogs we have ever seen) who live a few houses away. When we take Sid for walks he always lingers by their house hoping to catch a glimpse of them. Sid was over the moon this morning when he saw them. Lucy and Murphy wagged their tails politely, and like the elder statesdogs that they are, they tolerate his very enthusiastic tail wagging and licking for a little while before they wander back to their home.

This morning Jerry and I spent part of the morning picking the last of the fruit from the trees in the garden. The picture above is just a sample! Already buds are beginning to flower for the next batch of oranges, lemons and grapefruit. Once the trees begin to flower, they emit the most delicious citrus scent that permeates the air.

The first time I ever experienced the thrill of eating an orange fresh from a tree was in Spain. And having spent most of my growing-up years in Saskatchewan means that I never take this pleasure for granted. Vitamin C never tasted so good!

Today it finally happened. We picked up Sidney M. Doodle from the Palm Springs Airport and brought him home.

Sidney received a warm welcome from us and our groovy neighbors next door who put up a cool banner on our garage door.

Our sweet puppy appears to be making a smooth transition from his former training and stomping grounds with Marybeth and her wonderful family in Washington. After frolicking in the snow, our 85 degrees Fahrenheit weather must be a big change. So far, Sidney is fascinated with the palm trees and the swimming pool. He is a sweet creature: the fun has begun.

Susan's Amazing Adventures!

My friend, Susan, (world traveller, writer, free spirit and adventurer extraodinaire) is one incredible woman! Here's a picture of Susan rock-climbing on a cruise to Mexico. Doesn't she look like a pro?

When I asked her about her latest venture, Susan said: "I picked a nice quiet time without too many others present. It was a challenge, but luckily I have done a bit of cable climbing at Picacho Peak in Arizona, so I knew I had to use my legs more than my arms. By the time I made it to the top, I had an audience clapping loudly as I rang the bell, which was welcomed after all!"

And at 57 and a half (which Susan insisted I put in), she says one is not too old to try something new!

Today on the way into a grocery store, a store employee said, Happy Valentine's Day as she wheeled a cart over to me. Thanking her, I said, "And the same to you." I guess I look the friendly type.

"Do you know long I've been married?" she asked.

No idea, I assured her.

"Well, I've been married 50 years. My husband and I started going together when we were 14 - at the beginning of high school."

"That's a long time," I said, wondering what next.

"Well, in all that time, he never once bought me flowers for Valentine's Day, or anything else for that matter."

"I'm sorry about that," I said, and I meant it. She nodded her head in agreement and smiled at me as I walked into the store.

Interesting what strangers tell you.

I am just back from this evening's performance of Giselle at the McCallum Theater. It was a magical performance. The Moscow Festival Ballet Troupe was outstanding and the music was enchanting. Every time one of the dancers - male or female - did the layperson's equivalent of scissor splits in the air, the elderly gentleman sitting to one side of me kept asking, "Can you do that?" (smile)

I took these pictures a couple of days ago while walking in a park close to where we live. The date palm groves exude a special kind of quiet and peace and the trees serve as a wonderfully majestic and magical backdrop to the desert mountains. In Judaism, the palm represents peace and plenty, and is one of the Four Species of Sukkot. In Kabbalah, the palm also symbolizes the Tree of Life.

Keyboard Conversations with Jeffrey Siegel

Tonight Jerry and I are going to the McCallum Theater in Palm Desert (a regular haunt of ours) for an evening of Keyboard Conversations with Jeffrey Siegel.

We have been to several of Jeffrey's other shows, as he is a marvelous pianist (no matter how you pronounce it). What makes his performances particularly enjoyable are the informal talks Siegel provides before each piece of music is played in its entirety. His overviews (along with nifty demonstrations on the piano and a great sense of humor) are incredibly interesting and fun, adding another dimension to the musical experience. Additionally, after the performance is over, Siegel fields (many times speculative) questions from the audience about the composer's life and music. We always come away invigorated! Tonight, the show is called: "Schubert: The Wings of Song."

College of the Desert Street Fair

The College of the Desert Street Fair, held every Saturday and Sunday morning, is a vibrant shopping magnet for tourists and locals alike. The Street Fair boasts over 300 vendors and artists who sell designer clothing, sunglasses, furniture, jewellery, kids clothing, golf paraphernalia, antiques, handbags, funky socks, exotic orchids, glassware, hats, sculptures, fresh fruits, vegetables and more! Truly, there is something for everyone. Even if shopping is not on the agenda, it's a fun place to walk and people watch.

NEVER AGAIN!

Sounds of children playing, geese quacking and the hustle and bustle of people going to the Palm Desert Street Fair followed me, as I approached the Desert Holocaust Memorial. The Memorial is an outstanding art installation made up of a series of several outdoor sculptures by artist, Dee Clements.

While this was not my first visit, I am always a little awestruck as I approach the circular row of trees (symbolic of life outside of the enclosed fences of the concentration camps) that encase the memorial. Right at the front of the Memorial is a history pedestal containing the names of 12,000 Righteous Gentiles who hid or assisted men, women and children condemned by the Nazi regime during the Holocaust.

In the center of the exhibit, are 7 larger-than-life bronze figures representing the people and different aspects of the Holocaust. The man standing tall is meant to represent the resistance of the Jews and others that fought against the Nazi tyranny. The left forearm on this figure bears the actual number tattooed on a local Holocaust survivor.

The other sculptures are of a mother and her two children begging for mercy, a boy from the ghetto, a rabbi praying, and a man who is alone, dying. The faces and representations were taken from actual photo graphics and news footage researched by the artist at the United States Holocaust Museum in Washington D.C.

Each of the 7 figures is mounted on a granite double-tiered Star of David 20 feet in diameter. The Star of David is etched with a map of Europe indicating the location of concentration camps, as well as the number of persons who perished. The cobblestone and light standards are replicas of those at Auschwitz.

This haunting and spell-binding Memorial is a tribute to the millions of innocent people - friends, relatives, parents, and loved ones who were killed. Undoubtedly, it is a place of reverence, sadness and remembrance; and yet remarkably, it is also a place of hope that we can, once and for all, rise above our prejudices and live in peace with each other.

Here's another teacher memory from Tales Out of School written by Chuck Tatham. It is dedicated to all former class clowns and to the teachers who taught them!
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The Awakening Hormone Crowd

I’d like to tell you about a teacher who changed my life. The effect on my life was not immediate, but I have thought about it often.

Back in the early grades, I was a veritable loudmouth. This is not to say that I am any less long-winded now, but I really did enjoy listening to myself talk back in Grades 5 and 6. By the time I reached Grade 7, I was a candidate for "Class Clown of Canada" and I had almost no regard for any of the activities or lessons I was supposed to be quietly absorbing.

My marks were consistently excellent and I was frequently bored. I had a fine group of buddies who would pick up the verbal slack whenever I got hoarse. All things considered, I was in an enviable position. I assumed that Grade 7 would be a logical progression from Grade 6, the only possible changes being that the quality of the comedy would improve, and the audience (my amused classmates) would be even more captivated than in previous years.

My Grade & teacher was a woman named Jane Tweedale. She was around twenty-five, an attractive, soft-spoken person, whose feminine curves were not lost on those of us in the “awakening hormone” crowd. Her manner, right from the opening seconds of that first day in September, was one of tolerance and understanding. In hindsight, I sincerely believe that she considered us to be mature, sensitive people with a genuine interest in learning.

That was, for lack of a better phrase, an error in judgment. I was an ungodly terror, and by the third week of school, I was spending upwards of two hours a day slumped in the hallway, concocting new and more terrible plans to be unleashed the next time poor Miss Tweedale was foolish enough to allow me entrance to the classroom. Regular visits to the principal proved remarkably ineffective (although I developed a decent rapport with his kind secretary), and Grade 7 accelerated me into a series of detentions, reprimands and more essentially pointless discipline.

And now, with the passing of time, I’ve forgotten exactly what I said and did. All the wisecracks and flying erasers and paper aircraft have blurred into one crazy, distant memory, and they now seem pretty unimportant. What does remain important – no essential – is my memory of Miss Tweedale and how she treated me.

Unlike many other teachers, she understood my intelligence and my need for attention, and while (at the time in her budding career) she might have effectively extinguished my lust for classroom chaos, she never really lost her temper with me. I would remember the way she would look at me as I cocked my arm to fling yet another piece of chalk — an expression of despair and incredulity — and I always felt, well, a bit guilty. I’m not sure if it really was guilt (it’s not easy for a twelve-year-old to appreciate the true value of heartfelt guilt), but I recall a sense of great affection for Miss Tweedale, affection I maintain to this day. She didn’t want to holler at me; she didn’t want to exert authority over me; she just wanted me to shut the hell up!

Tragically, I never did. Nonetheless, after I left Grade 7, it became obvious to me –and the younger kids behind me at school – that Miss Tweedale had lost some of her lenience, and maybe some of her innocence after that year. When I returned for Grade 8, I was no longer in her class, but it was apparent that her tolerance for havoc had lessened appreciably. And that’s not to say that I, in any great way drove her to assume this somewhat less sympathetic attitude. Lord, I hope I’m not responsible, but it sure looked as if she was a bit more of a teacher and a bit less of a well, of an older sister.

I’ve never told Miss Tweedale these thoughts, and I probably never will, but somewhere I’m sure she’s teaching, and I’m equally sure she’s more than capable of handling whatever nonsense today’s prepubescent egomaniacs have for her.

I do remember, one day, however, a few years ago when I was home from university and there was a knock at the door. My father answered it, but I was sitting in the kitchen and could clearly see who it was that was calling. It was Miss Tweedale. I don’t remember the exact specifics of her visit (she sang in the church choir with my mother; maybe she needed an extra hymn book), but I do recall looking at her and feeling nothing but unadulterated affection. She smiled at me and nodded hello, but it was probably difficult for her running into College Avenue Public School’s answer to Lee Harvey Oswald.

Then she left. I haven’t seen her since, but she is with me, in a strange sort of way every day of my life. Now when I encounter someone whose behavior offends me, whose lack of interest distresses me, whose apparent contempt for a topic near and dear to my heart makes me want to lean over and throttle them, I think of Miss Tweedale, and the way she used to look at me. And when that happens, I become unbelievably understanding. Thank you, Jane Tweedale.

A couple of people have asked me to post some stories from the original Tales Out of School, a book I compiled a number of years ago. Here’s an excerpt of one story called, "Once a month we played bingo" by Fran Brown of Lindsay, Ontario. Although it is a very sad story, it's one of my favorites. I’ll include a happier one tomorrow.
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My story about teachers is very negative. When I think about my school years, I realize they were not happy times. We lived in a small town in Hastings, Ontario. My family consisted of my mother and my eight brothers and sisters. Father had left. It was the fifties and we were one of the few families, and I think the only family in the school, who was on relief. We spent time at home and at an orphanage.

Through no fault of our own we were poorly dressed, not too clean and improperly fed. Education was not considered important in our lives then, or in the future. We were shy and had no confidence, but we were well-behaved and polite.

The school we attended had only two classrooms. I was in Grade 5 in the room where grades 5 to 8 were taught. My brother and two of my sisters were in this room, too.

Once a month we played bingo at a cost of ten cents. The money went to charity. One day just before the game began, the teacher announced that my brother, sisters and I could not play, as out mother had not paid the $1.35 that was owed for our workbooks. The teacher took our dimes as partial payment and then sent us to the hallway where we sat on the floor and read for the rest of the afternoon. To this day, I can still feel the terrible hurt my siblings and I felt. Words cannot describe what this does to a child.

At this same school the students would be asked to draw pictures of their fathers and tell the class what they did for a living. It was a very small community and everyone knew that our father was in jail. We had nothing to draw and nothing to say.

Today I hear about teachers asking the same questions about fathers or parents or asking what the kids ate for breakfast, or where they’re going for vacations. These are personal questions and they should not be asked in front of a class. Teachers should live in the real world. Not everyone has a father, or three square meals a day, or holidays that are spent on trips away. Teachers should take the time to speak with the child alone.

A teacher’s role in a child’s life is so powerful and what they say and how they treat you can stay with you for a lifetime. Teachers, if you look into the eyes of a young one with rumpled hair, dirty clothes and looking very poor and tired, try to find that spark of something. It is there. Because if anyone needs a loving teacher, a role model, a ray of hope, these children do. These are the children who will keep your memory alive. Let them be good memories.

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What do you remember about your teachers and school days? Want to send me your story? For informaton, read the blurb on the upper left side of this page and then scroll down to older posts and look up my January 19 entry. I'd love to read your story!

Today it was 80 degrees Fahrenheit - another gorgeous, sun-filled day. I am sitting in a popular bookshop and coffee house at The River, a shopping centre in Rancho Mirage, not far from where we live. It's probably because I was brought up in a family that relished the written word that I am always happy when surrounded by books. It’s a neat kind of place that attracts lots of tourists, as well as locals who enjoy the laid-back atmosphere and the quaint little shops and restaurants that curve around the water.

Although a little crowded when I came in, I was able to find a spot for my laptop and me. There are others here who are writing on their computers, too, but mostly people are looking at magazines and books. Only two are three are in conversation.

I can read some of the titles from where I sit: Rainforest, Healthy Aging, The Abs Diet, How to Cook Everything, Lawn Care, The Healthy Brain Kit. It depends on where you sit as to what you see. The gardening and nutrition sections aren't known for their racy titles.

A man asked if he could sit at my table, as he needed to sit down on account of his bad back. He told me his back has been bad since before I was born. That's a long time, I said. His wife joined him a couple of minutes later. She couldn’t read the titles of the Frank Sinatra songs on the CDs she had chosen, so she asked her husband, Bob, to read them aloud. Unfortunately her hearing wasn’t the best, so it was quite a loud litany. Then Bob had to re-read them, as she couldn’t remember the titles.

He looked at me, shook his head and said: "Growing old, isn’t what it’s cracked up to be!"

"What’d you say?" his wife asked.

"Growing old together is great," he said.

As they left, he apologized for disturbing me. I assured him that they hadn’t.

Sidney News

It's not absolutely sure, but it looks like February 16 may be Sid's expected day of arrival. We can hardly wait!

A few day ago, I picked up a marvellous novel, titled: The Jane Austen Book Club by Karen Joy Fowler at the Rancho Mirage Library. The book centers around 6 diverse people (5 women and 1 man) at various stages of their very interesting lives. At their monthly book club meetings, the members explore one of Jane Austin's novels. What's fascinating is how each characters' distinct and unique way of approaching and "reading" Austin informs his/her outlook on life and the story as a whole. I am about three quarters through the book and I love it. Not only is the concept and structure of the novel wonderful, Fowler's writing is superb. This is a storyteller!

If you haven't read any of Austin's work, you'll still enjoy this book. If you have, you may, like me, want to dig them out for a re-read.

Under the Boardwalk, By the Sea

What a wonderfully sunny, warm (and at times, hot) day at Laguna Beach. Again, the surfers and swimmers were out in full force. Hard to believe it's February! As Jerry and I walked on the beach this morning. I couldn't resist sticking my feet in the water and walking barefoot in the sand. We spent a good part of the day visiting art galleries where we saw some outstanding paintings and sculptures, including some authentic Asian pieces dating from the Ming Dynasty.

After lunch at a Mexican restaurant (the Halibut creviche was delicious), it was time for more sightseeing at the quaint shops and artist studios that line the Pacific Coast Highway. Laguna Beach is a great place to walk with lots to see against the magnificent backdrop of the mighty Pacific.

Laguna Beach, California

Jerry and I drove over to Laguna Beach today. We booked a lovely room in a quaint hotel with a fabulous ocean view. As I write this, it is evening: the patio doors are open and I can hear the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore.

We had lunch across the beach at Johnny Rockets where music from the 60s, such as Wipe Out, Surf City and Little Old Lady from Pasadena permeated the whole restaurant in a fun and upbeat way. The doors of the restaurant were open allowing us to enjoy the warm ocean breezes and a view of the beach, complete with boardwalk and surfers. The whole experience brought me back to Grade 9 in Moose Jaw and summed up what I thought of then as the quintessential American experience.

The beach is absolutely gorgeous with miles of sand that seem to go on forever. People were taking advantage of the sun and warmth today, as they walked, picnicked, swam, and surfed. The town is literally teeming with art galleries and is a mecca for arts in every dimension - paintings, jewellery, sculptures abound! We visited a couple of galleries and are looking forward to exploring more tomorrow.

After dinner at an Italian restaurant, we enjoyed a leisurely walk back to our hotel under the night sky. All in all, a very pleasant day.

Israel: Trip of a Lifetime!

How quickly time passes. Jerry and I can hardly believe that it's been almost a year since our fantastic two-week adventure in Israel. What a life-changing experience for both of us! We travelled with people from all over the world and were amazed at how many people felt the same way. For those of you who have visited Israel, perhaps our photos will jog your memory. For those of you who have not yet visited this exciting country, perhaps they will whet your appetite to explore and enjoy Israel yourselves.

The Stories are Coming In!

Above is a picture of my original book, Tales Out of School, which I am currently revising. Thank you to Jack, Saros and both Susans for sending me such wonderful memories of your teachers and school days. I hope others will join you and feel inspired to do the same. For further information about this project, please read the section on the left side of this blog. Then scroll down and click on old posts and read my January 19th entry. Please pass on to others who might be interested in taking part.

Today was a quiet day. A visit to the gym, a little reading and writing, and time spent with my husband. Life is good.

Remembering My Father

Twenty-three years ago today my father died. He died very young (though at the time I didn't realize just how young). It's always a sad day for me and one of contemplation and reflection.

I remember him telling me that a day never went by that he didn't think of his own father - a man who died before I was born, but who I knew was a teacher, and not just any ordinary teacher, but the best teacher ever. If only he were here, he would tell me, you wouldn't have a worry in maths (he was Irish). I believed him and cursed my luck (well, as much as anyone in Grade 4 curses) that my grandfather wasn't around to teach me. Instead, I was stuck with my father who worked with me night after night. Admittedly, he was a wonderful doctor and a gifted diagnostician, but we both knew (he would always be the first to say this) that patience wasn't his middle name. However, time passed and when the math marks were posted, I had the highest mark in Grade 4. My teacher couldn't believe it, I couldn't believe it and my father was as pleased as I have ever seen him.

Years later, this maths incident became the standard for me. Whenever I needed guidance, whenever I needed a pep talk, whenever I needed a push, a shove - okay a kick - my father would remind me of that accomplishment so many years earlier. See what you can do when you set your mind to it! he would say so often that it still resonates in my head.

I wish he were here. I wish I had listened better to his stories, I wish I could have asked him questions that I have only thought of as an adult - as a mature adult. I can still hear his laugh. I can more fully appreciate his sense of humour, his sadness, his complexity, his demons, and his love.

Happy Birthday, Jerry!

George Sands, wrote: There is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved.

Jerry, you have given me double happiness. May all your dreams come true; you have helped so many others accomplish theirs.

Dr. Anita Brookner, Novelist

I had an interesting chat with my mother about Anita Brookner’s books. My mother has read just about everything written by Brookner, and she, like me, loves her work (some novels more than others, of course). So when I found Brookner's book, Dolly, at the library I called Mum to ask what she thought of it. To my surprise, she hadn't read it yet, but as soon as I hung up the phone, I knew she would be on the hunt to get it.

Anyway, I’ve just finished Dolly and I enjoyed it very much. To me, it’s quintessential Brookner: very character driven and full of delicious psychological detail about women’s lives and female identity. Can’t say that it’s my favorite Brookner novel, but it is a good book and worth reading.

Interesting note: When I was preparing to write this blog, I found that Dolly had been previously published under the title of A Family Romance. (So you see, Mum, you may have read it after all). While Dolly is admittedly a superior title for this particular novel, I find it annoying when authors change the titles of their books. More than once I have purchased a book only to find that I had read it under a different guise. However, a friend of mine who is a writer did this very thing recently because his original title, he said, conveyed a very different image of his novel.

I suppose I must concede. After all, it is an author's right. Far be it from me to ever criticize anyone for changing a name (smile).

49 Palms Oasis Hike

Recently,Jerry and I went on a hike to the 49 Palms Oasis, part of Joshua Tree National Park. It was an incredibly beautiful morning when we set out. The hike itself is about 3 miles (4.8 km) round trip and the terrain and mountainous scenery is outstanding. The rock formations have taken on amazing shapes and you can "see" all kinds of images embedded within them if you take the time to look (a favourite pastime of ours). The juxtaposition of desert plants with the greenery of the oasis is splendid and a treat for the senses. We had a great day.

One of the great things about living in Rancho Mirage, California, are the more than 300 hiking trails available within the Coachella Valley area.