Juggle and Dance

For Sale: Older family home on the outskirts of Beaumont. This is a must see and will not stay on the market long.

Years ago when Ken and I were in the market to purchase our first home together, we scanned the newspaper and we relied on friends to give us the scoop on choice properties they had heard about. This was before we had a computer in our home, mind you. Back then, we used the old-fashioned style of networking.

We saw some beauties, as we traipsed around every weekend from one open house to the next. Most of these beauties we could not afford, of course. But we dared dream big for someday’s sake.

(Wouldn’t this be lovely. Actually, it is Pittock Mansion in Portland, Oregon.)

(Trevor and I washing our feet, above, after working outside in our garden, below, Spring 1999)

The house we settled on was not my first choice, but it was in a good neighborhood, top-notch school district, and it was on a cul-de-sac and was fully fenced. All these were important for my children and so trumped, for instance, a larger kitchen or a basement. It had three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a two-car garage.

In the thirteen years we lived in our home, I longed for a larger one. I longed to have an office and a guest room and maybe even a family room, instead of all those rolled into my daughter’s old bedroom. I grumped and grumped about it only having about 1200 square feet of living space, yet in the end, when illness took over, I could no longer even keep that small of a home clean without help.

Then we lived in the tiny duplex for three years. This was a major adjustment, being so  much smaller than even that 1200 square foot home. But we did it, and I grumped about all our junk, day in and day out, until I could grump no more.

Now we live in a 32 foot Firan Raven motor coach with no slide outs. It is crowded. We cannot seem to get rid of all our junk. I guess it’s human nature, our junk, our mess. We all have something hidden in our closets, or spilling out as the case may be.

Even though it’s crowded and we have to juggle and dance more often than not, I love living in this confined space. Most everything I need is close at hand. Our bedroom is wall-to-wall mattress and pillows. Most nights I sleep like a baby tucked safely in a crib.

I am claustrophobic, but this arrangement does not bother me. I have the whole out-of-doors as my living space. At most resorts, we have a pool and a hot tub a short walk away, and with all the beautiful, new surroundings, I am eager and willing to walk Tinker Belle every day, too.

Sure, I would like a large house some day, but I can clean this one, end to end, in under an hour. How could I ever beat that, without hiring help?

Blessings are where you look for them.

Love,

Jenni and Ken

Busy as a Bee

Life on the road is busy, busy, busy, despite my assumptions to the contrary. I thought I would have plenty of time to write, to paint, to do whatever my heart desired.

(Hey! We finally spotted another Firan Raven. This one’s a 1995. Ours is a 1996.)

Well, maybe life wouldn’t be so busy, if I hadn’t suddenly developed a gregarious attitude/outlook on life. There are so many interesting people out there, and I want to hear all of their stories. I crave the laughter and sharing that happens amongst family, friends, and new acquaintances alike. I cherish each touch, each word, each gesture given or spoken with compassion of heart and honesty of soul.

Among the full-timer set, I thought I might not fit in. I’m considerably younger than most. Though many are more spry than I, in body.

Even so, there’s a unity, a bond, a special cohesiveness, within this ever-changing body of elders with whom I spend my days—and they accept me as one of them. One leaves, another picks up right where they left off. Conversations and laughter ebb and flow with the comings and goings of old and new friends.

We have all chosen this life, though our reasons may be as varied as our personalities.

Ken and I have chosen this life, and I love it. I am grateful to my husband, for without him, I could not have all these new adventures.

Thank you, Lord, for placing Ken in my life and placing us on this path, this journey of a lifetime. Amen.

Love and blessings,

Jenni

About Two Puffs

Having nowhere to be until August 5th, at first we decided just to head toward Sacramento and see what happens. I had been trying to get internet service for some time, without luck. Then we decided to just call RPI and see what they could do for us, since we are members.

I told the RPI specialist that we did not have an internet connection, so I could not find a park on my own. Could she please find something between Redding and Sacramento for us? After tossing around a few ideas and her making some side inquiries, we had to widen our search both toward the coast and toward Nevada. There just wasn’t anything available along the I-5 corridor.

We termed this new way of deciding where to go, “RV roulette.” Letting someone else or fate or whatever decide where we will go next. Another way to play would be to lay a map out flat, close your eyes, and point.

The roulette way of life isn’t new to us. When Ken and I were first together, he worked two jobs, while I worked one and was raising two kids as a single mom. We often played movie roulette by showing up at a theatre and seeing whatever was playing next. Sometimes we saw some really bad movies, a few times we walked out they were so bad, but mostly we had a great time and saw some good movies we otherwise would not have chosen.

The RPI specialist gave us two choices: One toward the coast and one toward Nevada. Since the fires have been especially bad this year, and it definitely looked worse to the west, we decided that heading east was the better option.

We got general directions and headed for Snowflower RV Resort, with optimism in our hearts and not a sign of anxiety in mine (see post from a few days ago). Little did we know how far it would be or that we would be climbing to over 6,000 feet before we got there, well after dark. Maybe we should have asked a few more questions, but then we would have changed our minds, and I am very glad to be here. It is overwhelmingly beautiful and peaceful amongst the trees, and we have a spot right on the lake. Being in a high fire risk area, campfires are not allowed. Plus none of the smoke from all the forest fires has reached this far, so the air is crisp and clean.

The view from our door.

Since I’ve been able to log on to the internet, I’ve since found out that a bad fire started along the I-5 corridor, where we had just come from, in the Shasta-Trinity National Forest. The area has been choked with smoke. Maybe that’s why God directed us away from Bushytail.

Speaking of the forest fires, our last day in Yreka, we had breakfast at Black Bear Diner. On our way out, an older gentleman saw that our truck had Oregon plates, so he asked, “Are you coming from the north? How far until the end of the smoke?”

“About two puffs,” Ken replied.

As the gentleman walked away chuckling, he said, “There’s always one in every crowd.”

Peace and love,

Jenni

Beautiful People

Morning finally came after a fitful night of sleep, dry camping at the rest stop where the Raven had broken down. My nights are especially fitful when we dry camp because, without power, I am without my CPAP. I have a very bad case of sleep apnea, which includes episodes when my brain forgets to tell my body to breathe.

The AAA tow truck towed us ten miles into Yreka to a garage called A1 Auto. Their first assessment of the situation was as we had feared—the starter and solenoid needed to be replaced. Didn’t we just have our regular garage overhaul the starting and charging systems? Yes. Yes, we did.

We signed off on their estimate, but after they began the work, they found the real problem. Now, I’m not a mechanic, so I don’t know the proper terminology. Just bear with me. The last person who replaced the ignition module thingy did not do the most crucial step of smearing grease or goo or insulation gel under it. Without the goo, it shorted out the whole system. We were not happy, and needless to say, we have to go back on the first guys for financial resolve on a few matters.

My stress level and lack of quality sleep were eating away at the last little bit of fortitude I had remaining. When they said our rig would not be completed that night, well I was very near tears.

We (including Tinker Belle) parked ourselves in the coolness of their waiting area for the duration of their open hours. I found a bible amongst their reading material and read a bit. People came and went. A nice Hispanic family joined us for a short while. They had picked up a few peaches at a stand down the street, and she gave me one. It was a sweet blessing.

All the people we had dealt with up to this point in Yreka have all been beautiful people. When I say beautiful, I am not talking about outward appearances. I mean the beauty from within, the beauty God sees. The glow of a kind and generous soul. The bubbliness of a joyous spirit.

Then a very beautiful woman and her son came into our little sanctuary from the outside world. We had such wonderful, beautiful conversations, and if we had not been traveling in different directions, I venture that we could easily have become fast friends. Her name is Willow, and I believe her mother named her correctly, as I can see the grace and beauty of a magnificent willow tree in her actions and words, the way she so openly cares and gives of herself, joyously.

Willow told us a bit of wisdom from her grandmother, which is that “Breakdowns lead to breakthroughs.” We’ve yet to encounter that breakthrough, though.

The guys at A1, by all rights, could have told us to go find a motel for the night, but they allowed us to sleep in our rig, inside their locked fence. (Yes, we had the  lock combination in case of emergency.)

All of the staff there was so wonderful to us that Ken had to bring them a box of donuts from Raley’s to say thank you.

By noon the next day, we were all fixed and settled up with them, and ready to hit the road again, but we no longer had a destination.

You will have to tune in tomorrow to see what happened next!

Love and blessings,

Jenni

This Is The Day

“This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.” Psalm 118:24

The above psalm is one of my favorites. In fact, it is one of my life verses, those few verses that really resonate in my soul and that I strive the most to live by.

July 27th was the day we chose to set out again, after spending a week at home with the boys. After a long, grueling week, finishing all the things we had left undone a month ago, we set out. Since our reservations were for Bushytail Campground in the Shasta-Trinity National Forest (and that’s such a long way from Portland), we decided to spend one night dry camping at a random rest stop along the way.

We tried to sleep, but sleep would not come easily, and we ended up leaving the rest stop early the next morning. We were both so full of excitement about our upcoming adventures. Crossing the Oregon/California border, in my mind, was the point where there was no turning back. We were actually on our journey.

Portland is no longer our home. It is where we hail from.

This realization came with many more realizations and with many tears last week as I said goodbye to Portland and all I love who live there.

When we finally crossed the California border, we sailed right through. The mountainous highway was heating up the Raven, but she was hanging in there. We stopped at the rest stop just inside California, to let her cool and also so that we could take a break and regroup. We still had too many miles left to go without a decent rest first.

Up to this point, I had been having much trepidation about the long drive to Bushytail, but I could not put my finger on any specific reason. I chalked it up to general anxiety about having to drive the truck by myself, following Ken in the Raven, the whole way. I do have the pleasure of Tinker Belle’s Company in the truck with me, and she is a great comfort, but she’s not a relief driver.

Concerning me driving: I am a perfectly capable driver, but I have these pain issues. Ken and I had many long talks about the need for me to drive. We also agreed that how far, or even whether, we drive would be dependent on me and how I felt that day. If I need to stop, we stop. No questions, arguments, or cajoling. We simply stop when I say stop. We carry walkie talkies to communicate as we drive. This is much better than trying to call him on the cell phone, which is illegal, as we all know. A walkie talkie is so much easier to use, anyway. When I need to say something, all I have to do is push a button and talk. If that fails, I flash my high beams.

After two hours of rest, we got back into our rigs and prepared to hit the road again. Click click. Click click. The Raven would not start.

My anxieties grew. Had we made the right decision? Five surgeries (Ken three, Trevor two) and a stint in the ICU (Ken) had kept us tied to Portland for the past three years. Was God telling us, again, that this wasn’t the time? Lord, please tell me what to do next.

We decided to let the Raven  have a few more hours to cool off, thinking that was the problem, and I resolved to live the psalm I quoted earlier. No matter what, I had to find the joy in even this situation, because whether I became angry or happy, it was all a choice within my power. We took the camp chairs, a blanket, some food and drinks, and a toy for Tink, and we settled ourselves beneath a large maple. And we laughed. We people watched. We saw deer as they came down out of the hills for water, as evening approached. We took a nice walk along the river. We played fetch with Tink. We had a wonderful evening.

All this joyousness despite the situation, yet I still had this underlying anxiety about Bushytail I could not shake.

We tried to start the Raven again. Nothing. We tried cross jumping from the house batteries. Nothing. We tried jumping from the truck. Still nothing. So we gave up, resolved to call AAA in the morning, preferring not to spoil any more of the Lord’s day (as it happened to be a Sunday) with any more of this trouble. Out of necessity, there would be a second night of dry camping.

But there was still our reservations to deal with. If we didn’t make it to Bushytail by evening, we would lose our space and the money we already shelled out for it. The decision was made to try to cancel. I called, and luckily, we were able to get most of our money back. They kept the first night’s charge, plus a cancelation fee.

I cannot explain it, but my anxiety evaporated after canceling our plans. Was this God’s way of saying He didn’t want us to go to Bushytail? I may never know. What I do know is that after the Raven was fixed, we had an equally long drive ahead of us, and I hadn’t an ounce of anxiety in my whole body.

Love and blessings,

Jenni

Providence

The weather has been mighty hot this past week. So painfully hot, especially with our high humidity. After we settled in to our spot here at Pheasant Ridge in Wilsonville, I ascertained that Ken had indeed hooked us up to electrical, and I switched on the AC. I waited patiently, knowing she’s an old system, she’s an old Raven, produced in 1996, the last year Firan was in business.

I waited patiently a little longer, and longer still, but the best she could do was tepid air. I so desired my sweaty body to put forth goose bumps in response to her chilly breath, but I was sadly disappointed.

Poor Tinker Belle was suffering more than we humans, though. Pugs are notorious for not tolerating the heat, or the cold for that matter. When a dog pants, she is quickly forcing air across her palate the entire length of her snout, and this helps cool her. Dogs cannot sweat. Being a brachycephalic breed (smashed face), Pugs are at a major disadvantage because they do not have a snout, nor a lengthy palate, to help in the cooling process.

Round about the time I became most worried about my little girl, I had been icing my leg. I had a major fall last week. One heck of a goose egg right away, and now a smaller goose egg (but still sizeable) and major bruising from my knee down.

Simply dampening Tinker was not cooling her. She gulped water until her belly bulged. I feared she might go into another seizure or have a heart attack. I asked Ken to hand her to me, and I laid her across my icepack. Surprisingly (or not) she chose immediately to stay on that icepack, and she stayed there for a few hours, until my homemade icepack finally melted.

With the rest of the week threatening to stay in the humid 90’s, we chose to take Tinker back home, where Trevor could care for her with our two other dogs and without me worrying about losing my precious pup to the heat.

Today we had to take the Raven in to have a new AC installed. The mobile repairman, who came out promptly the first day of our crisis, said that with its age, replacement was about our only option. This Raven, I love her, but she’s a greedy beast. Laurelhurst Heating and Air Conditioning in Portland did an awesome job, on time, and saved us money, to boot.

I love it when God’s divine intervention helps us. That is, when we actually listen. God’s providence put us close enough to home to resolve our problem with little stress. The Holy Spirit’s whispers also guided me not to purchase tickets for Friday’s rodeo event. I had no idea why, but my gut was telling me to leave Friday open, and so I purchased tickets for only four of the five days. And Friday just happened to be the only opening the repair shop had to install our new AC.

Be still and listen, and you too may hear the Whispers of the Holy Spirit gently guiding you.

Even though I know my son will take good care of my Tinker, I miss her terribly. So the part of Tinker Belle this week had to be played by my newest Pug stuffie, Rorie.

Blessings and joy to you,

Jenni

Here’s a special bonus: My Homemade Icepack Recipe

Pour a 16 ounce bottle of rubbing alcohol into a gallon sized Ziploc bag. Add 32 ounces of water to the rubbing alcohol in the Ziploc, seal securely, give it a little sloshing, and place within another Ziploc, just for good measure. Then stick it in the freezer until firm. It can be used over and over, just refreeze.

PRIORITIZE

If you only had twenty eight days until "hit-the-road" day, and you knew that at least half those days would be stolen by pain, how would you prioritize your time?

I have a house to go through, making decisions on what to keep, take, store, sell, or donate. Ah, but the good thing is, if we leave stuff behind, the boys (son Trevor and his best bud William) will say, “Score!” They will be taking over the lease on the duplex.

I have friends to say goodbye to, at least for a year, though we will still have email (though sporadic at times) and the good ole tellie.

I have financial and medical/medication issues to magically make "transportable."

I have a neighbor who wants me to finish up our cooking lessons before I jet out of here. She still needs my secrets on lemon meringue pie, yeast dough, and pad Thai.

I have two boys I worry about. I pray we have raised them well enough, Ken and I with Trevor, and William’s parents, that is. I know they are both 21 and I had a kid on the hip by that age, but they are boys and I worry. I pray I’ve imparted enough of my hard knocks wisdom (ha ha) to them to keep them out of trouble, to keep them in their jobs and in this duplex. They do listen. I will give them that. I will miss them dearly when we go. I cannot seem to convince them to move south with us. But I think mama is having trouble cutting the apron strings.

I have my doctor, finally, wanting to send me to a pain specialist, finally. Did I say finally? Only in order to see a pain specialist, I have to be physically available in one area for months, until we find resolve. Finally, he makes this decision, but I only have 28 days left in Portland, and we won’t make it to New Mexico until October.

Winter was not kind to me. Winters never are. I joked often that the week wasn’t complete until I had fallen. Then it was fallen twice in a week. Then it was daily falls. It isn’t funny any longer. I now walk fulltime with a cane.

I’ve added another diagnosis to my list, and we are contemplating yet another, if we can figure it out. Yipee. But if we do figure it out, maybe we could finally get a handle on why my pain has gotten so out of control this past year. It has been far worse than in a long time.

My father passed away on the first of Spring. With the passing of my father, it has been like a major chapter in my life closing. Emotionally painful, yes, and yet there is a release. Maybe this is why God kept us here in Portland for so very long. That and all the surgeries my guys went through. Ken three and Trevor two in the span of two years. It has been a very tough three years we’ve spent in a duplex only slated for one year.

When God closes a door, He opens a window. For a breath of fresh air? A change of scenery? Or to at least have an opportunity to empty the chamber pot. Excuse the humor being a bit crass. It has been a very tough few years, frankly. And a very tough day, to boot.

We will be leaving Portland, Oregon, on June 30, 2013, whether we are ready or not.

Ken has been feverishly remodeling the Raven to accommodate my needs and so that we have the most economical use of space possible. After travelling some over the past few summers, we really found out what would work best for us.

I am sorry I have not been around lately. As I mentioned, winter was very hard on me. The pain and the migraines were too much. I’m trying to find the quality in a life so full of pain, but it is difficult. Life goes on, even with the pain, and so we must get on the road. We must get on the road, especially if we plan on wintering down south this year.

It may be a month before I write again, but I will be back. Thank you for hanging in there. Thank you for all your prayers. I know there must be many souls out there praying for me, because I experience God’s miracles every day. Even in this life so full of pain. I am so grateful for all of you.

Our first destination is actually only about 50 miles away from home, but what a sendoff—spending the Fourth of July at the rodeo in St. Paul! Next will be Neskowin, to say goodbye to some friends. And then we travel in a generally southerly direction until we reach Mexico (at which time we will bounce off the border and stay put in New Mexico or Arizona for the winter).

The St. Paul Rodeo in St. Paul, Oregon, July 2-6, 2013.

See you then!

Chunky Dunking

This whole “being a grandmother to a teenager” is more fun than I had ever imagined, but then again, I loved it when my own kids were at Charlie’s age, too.

Charlie has always been reluctant to call me Grandma. I’m not sure why. He has said that I am too young to be a grandma. (Talk about knowing how to earn brownie points.) I was only 31 when he was born, and technically I am a “step,” but that doesn’t matter when love abounds.

But now, for whatever reason, he’s changed and he has started calling me Grandma Jen about half the time. Maybe it has something to do with all the other grandma types here at the RV park calling me his grandma. My inclination is to believe it is Grandpa’s doing, wanting Charlie to call me Granny.

I don’t know, but I do know that I love it. It is a special privilege to be his grandma, and as I said, I loved those early teen years with my own kids.

Besides, I have just enough insanity coursing through my veins to make me a big kid at heart, anyway.

At thirteen, Charlie’s appropriateness filter hasn’t fully developed, yet his curiosity is fully engaged, and so he will ask some of the oddest questions—and some of the most personal. I answer at my own discretion, and often with tongue in cheek.

Yesterday afternoon when we took the dogs for a walk, Charlie and I found a secluded—and deep—hole in Neskowin Creek, which runs through the park property.

I dared him to wade in, and then he dared me to do the same. I told him that if I were to get in, I would have to take my pants off, at least. His face turned red, and he threw up his hands, “You are not going to remove your pants, Grandma Jen!”

We both laughed, and of course I waded in fully clothed, stopping only when the water reached the bottom of my bra. I did not want to win any wet T-shirt contests on my way back to camp (not that this fluffy girl couldn’t pull it off still ☺).

We talked yesterday after our swim about my skinny-dipping past. Yes, I have a past. Then he asked if Grandpa was with me when I skinny dipped. No, it was long before I met Grandpa. “Oh, well, then were there boys there?”

“Okay, kiddo, you are getting a little personal.”

Then he burst into laughter, turned red, and rolled on the floor. Yes, the tiny, limited floor of the Raven. Poor dogs had to run for cover.

My only regret is that the only “proof” of my dip is a picture of my soggy feet, and me in desperate need of a pedicure.

So if anyone knows where I can get a pedicure out here on the North Oregon Coast, then hook a girl up. I would like to be a sexy young grandma, not just a grandma. There’s still a lot of fire, secrets, and smoldering desire under all this fluff. But maybe that is TMI. My filter isn’t fully developed, either. ☺☺☺

Early Morning Walk

I went for a walk yesterday morning, searching for a bit of peace, a place where my pain might not be able to find me. At least for a time. I’ve had a bad exacerbation lately and I am not doing well at all. I’ve had a migraine for three days’ running, again, plus the unrelenting body pain.

I left the Raven about 5:30 that morning, with the fog still boxing us in and the air still a bit crisp and damp. I walked with my big camera hanging around my neck and my cane in my left hand, just in case, up into the woodsy area behind the RV park. I kept climbing and climbing, hoping to reach the top, hoping to feel the rays of the morning sun on my face. Hoping for clarity in all the issues bogging me down right now.

I never did reach the top. I never did find solace from my pain. Or answers to my issues.

Will I ever be free of this pain? I pray and pray. But I cannot outrun it and no one can suffer it for me.

What I did find on my walk were some beautiful plants and birds. These are the things that keep me going from one moment to the next, God’s beauty. A special thank you goes out to a very good friend who reminded me tonight of all the beauty that surrounds me even when I am in pain. Thank you. You can always make me smile.

So until God takes away my pain, it will be one day at a time. Just one more day at a time.

Busman’s Holiday

Have you ever wondered about that phrase—busman’s holiday? I always imagined that when a bus driver (or any other person employed full time as a driver, for that matter) went on vacation, he would naturally prefer NOT to drive at all. Funny thing is, my busman, my dear sweet hubby who is recently retired from being a city bus driver, actually likes to drive.

That is part of the reason behind getting the Raven and planning to live five years on the road. He doesn’t mind all that extra driving one bit. And I am more than happy to let him do most of the driving, while I sit back and navigate our many adventures.

That’s the talent I bring to our chosen lifestyle—navigating and planning interesting and unique adventures. I love planning, mapping out our routes, and watching eagerly, anticipating each new vista. In fact, I have usually done enough research while planning our trips that I recite tidbits of history and trivia as we go. This is me checking my notes at a stop today.

In this way, my busman and I make a great pair. Opposites perfectly matched. Not two peas in a pod, but maybe peas and carrots, if I may stretch the metaphor a bit.

Yesterday we had to head north to Seattle to see my Lyme specialist. We make this trip often during the year, and we usually spend one night in Seattle and then head home, or worse, if we are strapped for cash, we turn around and head home the same day. That makes for a grueling trip, which puts me out of commission for several days following our return.

This time, since I have been so stressed because both of my guys needing shoulder surgeries, we decided to finesse our way into a few extra days away. Why not, I say. My son can watch the dogs, and there aren’t any pressing matters keeping us in Portland right now, until next week anyway.

We would have taken the Raven, but she is needing a little more work. That’s the pitfall of buying a used rig. There’s always something popping up. This time, though, I think the issue arose because of the roof replacement. Maybe a crimped wire or something, because there hasn’t been any power in the bedroom since the repair. We’ve just been procrastinating again, otherwise it would have been fixed by now. Silly us.

As luck would have it, the weather has been absolutely gorgeous. It even reached 71 yesterday afternoon in Seattle. Why, we haven’t even reached 70 in Portland yet this year. God is definitely shining His love on us this week. As luck would also have it, we managed to secure a beautiful suite in Victoria—for four nights!

And so, drum roll please, after spending one night south of the Canadian border in Blaine, Washington, we crossed over into Canada this morning.

As Ken sees it, it isn’t such a big deal, crossing an international border. He’s been to Canada and Mexico many times, not to mention he lived in Germany for a while when he was in the Army. But to me, I have never been out of the United States, ever. Never in my 44 years on this earth have I left my birth country. Until today.

So I had to get a picture of me on Canadian soil as we waited at the ferry terminal.

By the time we boarded the ferry, I was awfully excited, positively bubbling over. We made our way to the top deck, for a better view as we departed.

The vibrations from the ferry engines, as it chugged backwards and out of port, reverberated through my  heels. The vibrations then mingled in my abdomen with the energy from my excitement, and climbed until it glittered brightly in my eyes and electrified my tongue, causing me to chatter away about the beauty of the surrounding waters and all the possibilities this trip would bring.

After sightseeing topside awhile and having a bite of lunch, we wandered back to the car for the tiniest of siestas.

I am so exhausted and in pain from two days in the car, but I am too excited to rest. I tried to nap once we checked in to our hotel, but it is no use. As soon as Ken is rested a bit, we will be off again, searching out Chinatown for dinner and a little sightseeing before the sun sets.

More on Victoria tomorrow, but for now, enjoy the view from our balcony. I know I do. ♥♥♥

There’s a large pool and two hot tubs one floor down from us. This one must be the “party spa.”