Romance, Sex, and the Palm Date

Okay, so, no this really isn’t about romance, dating, or even sex, though we may as well go there since we seem to have already jumped into the TMI arena.

There’s a whole fascinating history behind the cultivation and propagation of the palm date, but I won’t go into detail here. You can find that information here on Wikipedia or by looking up Shields Date Gardens on the internet.

Turns, out, this luscious albeit forbidden fruit has to be hand pollinated, and to get our facts straight, we stopped in Mecca and talked with one of the palm date farmers and got the scoop directly from the (eh hem, excuse the turn of phrase) fruit fornicator’s mouth.

Oh, please, put your indignation away. I know you at least chuckled at my attempt at humor.

And I know you will chuckle again next time you go to buy some dates for your holiday baking needs.

After all, “Humor results when society says you can't scratch certain things in public, but they itch in public.”  ~Tom Walsh

Joy and laughter to you and yours,

Jenni and Ken

“Humor is a reminder that no matter how high the throne one sits on, one sits on one's bottom.”  ~Taki

By The Salton Sea

Our intended destination for Wednesday’s adventure was The Salton Sea. However, since we dawdled an awful long time, taking in the gross extravagance of Palm Springs and that surrounding area, we ended up with very little time to explore the area surrounding The Salton Sea.

Harrumph. We will just have to return another day, I guess.

This beautiful graffiti was found on the fence surrounding the abandoned community pool.

We did get to explore a rather sad little community called Desert Shores, which is right on the edge of The Salton Sea. At one time, it probably was a nice little place to live; however, the economy, the housing crash, or what have you must have took its toll, because very few businesses remain open today. In fact, we saw an ambulance service, a motel, and a church, and not much else. Thank God there was a church so that the community would not totally be forsaken.

It saddened me that the community pool and the fire station stood abandoned, along with many private businesses. There were a few nice houses interspersed, but most of the housing was probably for the workers from the surrounding produce farms.

We did get some beautiful pictures, and I am pleased to be able to share them with you.

In our next post, we shall see what Ken was so interested in viewing. Until then, keep searching for your joy.

Love,

Jenni and Ken

Glorious Fun

Oh, it has been a glorious week so far, and it is only Wednesday!

I’d love to just blurt out all the goodness that God has been bestowing on us as of late, but I will take my time and parse it out properly over the next few posts.

Yesterday was an absolutely beautiful day. I spent it with my daughter, doing not much of anything, just mom and daughter stuff. We made gluten free peanut butter cookies (recipe to follow) and she highlighted my hair . . . wait for it . . . wait . . .

PURPLE! And so now with my natural silver/gray, I’m sporting the Sacramento King’s colors! Too funny. That one’s just for you, Dale! (Okay, so it doesn’t show up all that well in this picture, but my hair is tinted purple on the ends.)

Those of you who know me personally might notice something else about the pictures. I’m losing weight, although I am not sure how much because I have not stepped on a scale since Portland. Needless to say, I am down a few sizes. Yea! And it is simply melting away without all the usual starvation and torture. What’s my secret, you may ask? Well, when we started our journey, we basically changed our entire lifestyle. That, and I give thanks to God for this, another blessing in my life.

Okay, so I am blurting out an awful lot of the goodness all at once.

On to the cookie recipe. It is the simplest and most delicious cookie recipe ever. Even if you are not gluten intolerant, you may want to try these. They are amazing.

GLUTEN FREE PEANUT BUTTER COOKIES

• 1 cup peanut butter
• 1 cup brown sugar
• 1 egg
• 1 tsp baking soda
• 1 tsp vanilla

That’s it, unless you are hankering for chocolate with your peanut butter, then add some chocolate chips and you are good to go.

Bake for 10-12 minutes in a 350 degree oven, and I promise they will disappear right before your eyes, even before they have had a chance to cool. Better double the recipe, folks, it is that good.

Love and blessings to you all,

Jenni and Ken

November’s Poetry

Summer’s End

November, November

From whence did you come?

Why must you herald summer’s close

With such finality, such succor needs?

Though her chilling tentacles

elude this oasis, this pleasant cove

I still feel Sister Winter’s death knell

Clanging against my bones.

November, November

Your beauty does not escape me

Your crispness may herald

Sister Winter’s approach

But my love for you remains

True to the end of your days.

 

Jenni Lynn

November 1, 2013

 

Magnum Opus Alere

Velvet enrobes creamy coolness

Delicately fragranced

By vanilla’s gentle caress.

Smooth, salty caramel

Bathes my senses

With glorious contradiction.

Dark chocolate incites

Pleasure in my soul.

I give myself fully

To this divine

Yet earthly fascination.

I close my eyes

And take another taste

Of my Magnum

My sinful side’s

Opus alere.

 

Jenni Lynn

November 1, 2013

Techno-Savvy? Not Me

I thought it might be useful to others who may be on a similar journey (or are contemplating such) to go over some of the things we have found most helpful.

First, when it comes to blogging, I cheat. Gasp! Yes, it is true. I use a Windows program called Windows Live Writer. It allows me to write, edit, and publish a bunch of blog articles all at once, and then they get neatly doled out per my scheduling. So, it may look like I am writing daily or almost daily (I know, ha ha, right), but I can get three or four posts done in one afternoon, and then spend the next three or four days thinking about what to write about next. So, it really isn’t cheating. It is time management.

One major problem we had to overcome was the availability of reliable internet. At first, I tried to just use what was provided by the resorts, but the deeper into California we got, the more expensive it became to “rent” the internet, even for one afternoon. Besides, then we ran into another problem due to the nature of public internet sources. One resort had their router set so that no downloading could be done. I can understand this. They don’t want people tying up the limited internet for everyone by watching You Tube videos or Netflix all day long. But they also stopped me from uploading to the blog server.

So we gulped hard and called AT&T to turn my i-phone into a hotspot. So far, so good on that front.

A guy at Canyon Creek tried to sell us a cell booster of some sort (it is what he does for a living). He proved it worked for his Verizon phone, but he could not guarantee results with AT&T. We did not succumb, but maybe if we found one that did work with our service, then maybe.

For photo editing, I use Photoshop Elements 9. Though some things in life need no help at all in the cuteness department. Photoshop seems to do what I need without too many headaches. Then again, nothing is as user friendly as I used to believe everything was. You know, back when my brain was young and elastic, and not full of disease.

The one thing I have not been able to replace since leaving Portland is the fount of technical knowledge I had at my beck and call—my son.

I miss you, Trevor. Don’t laugh next time I call you because I cannot turn my hotspot on. Unless I am already laughing, of course.

Love and best wishes,

Jenni and Ken

Come Walk With Me

Come walk with me and see what we shall see.

There are many joys waiting for you and me.

Come walk with me and discover something new.

My friend, come walk with me. Oh, how I miss you.

The most difficult part of leaving Portland, Oregon, was leaving all my friends behind and, of course, leaving my son. I spent years, growing in God’s presence, learning how to find and nurture appropriate friendships, and just when I find the most wonderful family of friends I could have ever hoped, God says, “It’s time to move on.”

Life seems to be that way, sometimes. We finally get “it” right (whatever it may be) and then life happens. Or, as in my case, God tells me he has a mission for me in the Southwest.

For the past several years, Ken and I have tried to start our travels, with only the intention of traveling, then eventually returning to Portland. For the past several years, God has put some pretty major roadblocks in our way. And He has also put a pretty major mission on my heart.

Over those years, I cried out, “I just want to leave. I cannot stand Portland anymore. Portland doesn’t want me.” With all the troubles I have because of the Northwest weather and other more personal issues, I no longer felt like Portland was my home. Yet, over those same few years, God planted the most awesome set of girlfriends in my life. Angie, Sandy, and Chrissie. He gave me these women to help me heal, and now that most of my healing from my past has taken place, He says, “It is time to go.”

My heart aches for my friends I left behind. And yet, I am full of eager anticipation for the new friendships I know God will plant in my life when He finally says, “Stop.”

I miss you, my sister, my friend.

So come walk with me, then sit a spell.

Let me rejoice in our friendship once more.

I appreciate all you have been for me.

More than you will ever know.

Love,

Jenni

Bested By a Bird

“They” (the experts in whatever) swear that animals are not intelligent beings. They harrumph and stutter when it comes to dolphins, but mostly they say our pets only perform for rewards.

Yet, we as animal lovers know different.

I watched my Tinker Belle just today, as she watched in the truck’s side mirror, waiting for daddy to return. At first I did not know what she was staring at. It appeared that she was only looking out the window. But as soon as I saw Ken in the side mirror, evidently so did she, because then she went to the driver’s side and watched that mirror until daddy opened the door, approaching from the rear of the truck. What a smart little girl.

We have another Pug named Suzie. She is being taken care of by my son until we get settled down south. She’s getting up in her years, and over the years I have tried and tried to get her to learn new things. Sometimes I think she is the smartest dog around because she can learn, if she sees one of the other dogs getting rewarded for their efforts, but mostly she knows she can get the same reward just by sitting and smiling at me. No extra effort required, but that’s a Pug for you.

Our husky mix, also with my son, has a hunter’s instinct. She watches the treetops for birds and squirrels that might dare low enough for her to jump up and catch. She also knows there’s no benefit in simply barking and scratching at the fence when the little neighbor dogs annoy her. When we first brought her to our home, she noted the existence of those yappers, then proceeded to search the length of the fence (and its height) for a way to get to them. Without finding such access, she mostly leaves them alone now.

Ken’s daughter has birds, the eldest (and loudest) being a cockatoo named Baby. As with other birds that mimic, Baby has picked up quite a vocabulary, and she regularly chats with people and sometimes screams when she believes her people are ignoring her. The other day when we were over for the evening, Baby and I chatted for awhile, and then I left the front room to watch TV in the living room. She did not like that and she started screaming at me. Then she got Jack and Junior going, two young cockatiels, and there was quite a ruckus until I finally decided to take action. Being late in the evening, I decided to cover the birds for the night. First Jack and Junior, as Baby continued her rant, knowing what was coming. Then as I draped her cover over, she dropped to the bottom of her cage, bent over to peer beneath the cover, and in her deepest voice, she said, “Asshole,” as clear as day.

I spun around as if it had been a child cursing at me. She riled me up, despite her “only being a bird.” Then I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. I had been bested by a bird.

Peace, Jenni

Baking Day

There’s nothing like fresh, homemade cookies . . . and a kitchen large enough to bake them in.

We spent all day Tuesday at Ken’s daughter’s home, taking care of business. Our “business” included laundry (Yes, we delinquents drag our laundry bag to a family home whenever we can.), baking cookies and gluten free bread, and some computer work (though little got done on the computer because I wore myself out in the kitchen).

We ended the day with a wonderful kettle of homemade abondegas. Since I was more or less out of it after dinner that night, I could not share the recipe with our family. So here it is, for all to enjoy.

Every time I make abondegas, it is a little different. Every accomplished cook knows that recipes are not meant to be strictly followed, when it comes to soups and such, anyway. Baking is another matter, but in my opinion, dinners are meant to be nuanced according to the availability of ingredients. I also don’t measure when I cook, so please forgive the absence of measurements. It is all according to your taste.

Abondegas (Or Mexican Meatball Soup)

For the caldo (soup):

• two quarts chicken broth
• about 32 ounces canned diced tomatoes (use fresh if you have them!)
• one small can El Pato sauce (to taste; reserve one-third of the can for the meatballs)
• diced carrots, celery, and onions
• cumin, oregano, salt, and pepper to taste
• one lime, halved. Remove before serving.
• beef bouillon, if a richer flavor is desired.
• cilantro, optional

For the meatballs:

• one and a half pounds ground beef. Can also use a mixture of ground meats including turkey or pork.
• two eggs
• one cup bread crumbs (I use gluten free and it works great)
• cumin, oregano, salt, and pepper to taste
• one-third can of El Pato, saved from the caldo
• one-half finely diced onion

If you have a meatloaf or meatball recipe you prefer, you can certainly use your own recipe. Mine is always changing, but the above is the basic recipe.

Allow the meatball mixture to sit in the refrigerator while the caldo simmers on the stove. About an hour before serving, form the meat into balls and drop carefully into the simmering pot. Replace the lid and allow it to cook without too much stirring, as stirring can break up the meatballs before their time.

Enjoy with family and friends.

Peace,

Jenni

Here’s a few pics of Ken, Charlie, and Tinker Belle “getting busy” too.

Ken playing rummy with the help of Jack.

Travelling Dog

Another episode of

Pug Funnies

As told to me by my dog, Tinker Belle.

This travelling thing is great fun. I don’t know how Mama and Daddy do it, but every time Mama and I get out of the truck, Daddy is there with the house.

Mama and Daddy talk to each other on these little black things she calls walkies, and it used to bother me, hearing Daddy’s voice like that. No matter where I looked in the truck, I could not find him. Now it doesn’t bother me so much because I know he will be there when we stop again. Besides, it makes Mama happy to talk to that black thing that sounds like Daddy.

Daddy says I’m the navigator, but I haven’t a clue how to use a map, other than as a puppy pad. Sometimes when he has the maps all laid out, I dance on them and scrunch them up. It is great fun, but Daddy gets awful mad at me.

Sometimes it gets boring, being in the truck all day long. I sleep. I look out the window. I make a big mess in the cab, trying to make the seat more comfortable.

On our way to Snowflower, I made up a new game all on my own. It is called the “Shock Mama” game. I like to rub my face on the pillows, and I discovered if I rub on this certain pillow (Mama says it is faux suede), I can then go touch Mama with my forehead and give her a zap. I did this over and over and she laughed and rubbed her elbow every time.

Mama says that makes me intelligent, but I was just bored, so I made it up.

I like going everywhere with Mama. When she puts on my big harness that says “Assistance Service Dog” on it, she says, “Time to go to work.” Work must mean that its fun because I get to go in stores and restaurants with Mama and Daddy when I wear it. I sit there real patient and don’t bother anybody.

Mama says she needs me for her pain and anxiety. I think that means she needs all the love and special attention I give her when she doesn’t feel good. When we go on walks, I know not to pull, and I keep one eye on Mama to make sure she is okay. I go extra slow when Mama has my leash, but with Daddy, I get more exercise. Someday, with my help, Mama will be able to run and play, too.

I’m glad Mama and Daddy have taught me all these things so that I can be of service. I like travelling with them. Some people say I’m spoiled, but Mama says I deserve every bit of extra love that comes my way for all I do for her.

Puppy Kisses,

Tinker Belle

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