#24: Home at Last

Now that the road trip is over, I am able to get back to: http://retirementiswork.blogspot.ca/.

As my second year of retirement rolls around, however, I'm not sure I'm up for one-more-good-thing-per-day.  My life is simply not that varied and I'm sure I'll start repeating myself if I continue to commit to a new post every 24 hours.

But as new observations occur, as they know they will, I am going to want to write about them.  So, I'm not going to retire from the blog quite yet -- just the daily treadmill.


And for starters, I am busy thinking about what I learned from that trip, and from the 16 retired friends we hung out with... 

#23: Homeward

You know how it is when you are heading home?   It is a dash to the finish: drive, drive, drive, switch drivers, and drive, drive, drive some more.  We said goodby to Alexis on Sunday morning and promised to email her from Guelph in about 4 days.

The paramount rule of a speedy return is: no stopping, except to get gas, change drivers, eat lunch (a healthy Subway chicken salad), eat dinner (on a very bad day I had another chicken salad), and find a place to sleep.  I swear, that if the reincarnation of Elvis Presley had been hitching a ride to Reno on Highway 80/95, we would have zoomed right by.

Along Interstate 80 through Nevada. 

But that doesn't mean that I didn't take photographs when we did stop, or snap a picture out the window of our moving vehicle.

Just where would an escaped prisoner  go?

I suppose this limited vantage point accounts for why I should probably never write promotional material for the state of Nevada.  I'm sure parts of it are very pretty, but these places must have been where we were not.  However, the insalubrious landscape does seem to be ideal for correctional facilities. There are no less than five prisons on Interstate 80, leading us to conclude that Corrections and Casinos are two cornerstones of the Nevada economy.

Wyoming, home of tumble weeds before they fall.

Our route took us in a north-easterly direction from Nevada through Wyoming and Utah. Straight. On. Through.

A return road trip is when you drive like hell toward an interesting place like Salt Lake City, but then you make every effort to go around it.  You crane your neck for signs that say bypass and ring road.  You see the signs for Temple Square and go in the opposite direction.

The result is that I know nothing of Utah. We were too busy steering ourselves out of the state, across Nebraska towards Des Moines, Iowa, a city we did not want to circumvent because it was to be our overnight stop.  As it turned out, the rest of the world was also bound for Des Moines.  Who knew?  We pulled into the Holiday Inn, the Hampton Inn and Howard Johnson's. No Vacancy. Finally, we resorted to the GPS Accommodations function and phoned two other places, but they were also completely booked.  Huh?  Finally, it was a tossup: drive to the Walmart parking lot and sleep in the car, or go to the only motel with vacancies, a Des Moines Econolodge.

Just like our room.  I wonder if the door locks?

Our Econolodge host was a sweet and helpful South Asian teenager with an Indian accent.  We had checked in with his father, but it was the son who had to solve the problem of the doors-that-could-not-be-locked.  As we carried our luggage from one room to another in search of a functioning door, I had brief Best Exotic Marigold Hotel fantasies.  But Des Moines is not Bollywood.  No bhangra soundtrack, no elephants.  What we did get was a clean and comfortable place for the night with (finally), a door we could secure.  The young man explained that they were replacing door frames in all the units.  I guess they need to replace the doors, too, but refurbishing an older motel from top to bottom is probably a very expensive proposition for new owners hoping to grab a piece of American Pie.   I wish them luck.     


In any case, so close to the finish of our 4 1/2 day dash across the continent, one iffy night is nothing.

By Thursday noon, we were well into the homeward stretch.  We crossed the Bluewater Bridge at Sarnia, and looked for a place to have lunch.  The thought of a Subway chicken salad made us gag.

We scanned the horizon. Tim Horton's!  OMG. I happily ordered our usual: two turkey-bacon-club sandwiches, two black coffees and forget the donuts. We really were home.
 

#22: Across the Golden Gate

On this trip, we did not actually stay in San Francisco.  We were on the sunny side of the Golden Gate Bridge in Marin County where our friend Alexis has lived for many years.

Marin is an ideal location; it feels like a laid-back, suburban Garden of Eden. The weather is mild and sunny, gardens are green and lush, homes and public buildings are attractive. Even the people look good.    (There must be ugly bits somewhere, but either we didn't see them, or we didn't notice them.)
 

Dinner is a few blocks away:  Woodlands grocery and restaurant

For many years Alexis lived in Marin's capital, San Rafael, but now retired and single, she has moved to Kentfield, a nearby artsy community of about 10,000.  From her compact new digs, she can walk to local shops and restaurants, the community college, or the nearby Marin Art and Garden Centre where she is a volunteer.

The cunning, folding "study" is a big trunk!

 


 
Her move was not intended to be permanent. She never thought she could live in a tiny apartment, but she has happily down-sized and intends to stay put now that she has finessed essential furniture and art work into 500-or-so square feet. She has everything she needs, and the location is perfect.

The living room 

Foyer cum dining room

 








The only downside is that she has no room for guests, but for super-generous Alexis, that is easily remedied.  "You guys take my place, and I'll stay with a friend." she offered.

So we got to be pretend-Mariners for a couple of days.  Alexis would meet us for breakfast (perhaps at the local coffee shop with the outdoor terrace), and we would explore the town and environs together.

And my goodness, there are certainly many diversions.  Living in Marin County means that you are only a half hour from San Francisco, and you are also a short drive from the two big wine regions, the Sonoma  and Napa Valleys.  Imagine leisure-seeking locals and the conflicts they regularly endure:  tour the Embaradero,  or go on a wine tour?   Dear me. Decisions, decisions.

We visited one of Alexis' favourite Sonoma wineries.  We sampled their wares,  picnicked on the grounds and enjoyed the magnificent scenery.  The vista was uncluttered and magnificent.

Alone, alone, all all alone, alone at a winery.....

Our picnic place

I couldn't help wonder why everyone else in California doesn't move here. ( I wanted to move here!)  There appeared to be plenty of room, although what I perceived as empty space might actually have been yet another vineyard.

Then again, would-be Mariners are perhaps discouraged by the average price of a single family dwelling in one of several delightful communities.  Got almost a million to spare? Paradise does not come cheap. No wonder our friend is biding her time in a perfect one-bedroom apartment.            

#21: San Francisco

Once upon a time back in 1967, Bruce and I made our first trip to San Francisco.  The rest of Canada was heading another way-- to Montreal and Expo 67-- but for some reason we were determined to go south.  This may have been a purely contrarian decision, or perhaps we were seduced by Scott McKenzie's music and just wanted to experience some "counter-culture" first hand.

Or maybe we knew we would get a warm welcome from our friend Alexis and her husband Garth.  These former Edmontonians had recently moved to San Francisco and were happy to have visitors.  That Garth was a physician working in a hospital near Haight Ashbury and sometimes tended to hippies simply added to feeling that we were going somewhere much more exotic than Alberta.


That summer-of-love trip still looms large in family legend, but there was actually nothing counter-culture about it.  We were just a couple of Canadian geeks hoping to ride a cable car, eat at Fisherman's Wharf and have a drink at The Top of the Mark. We sped out of Edmonton in our spiffy new green Barracuda, and the music on the radio was (no kidding) Scott McKenzie's San Francisco.  It was a good omen. If we had no flowers in our hair, that was just fine.

Not our car, but just like it.  Sweet.

The memories of that first trip are still vivid.  I can tell you about riding the elevator to The Top of the Mark, and what I wore (a red flowered dress) and what I drank (a daiquiri).  Bruce recalls none of those mundane details, but we both remember the terror of driving straight up a perpendicular street and right down again.   And crossing the majestic Golden Gate Bridge for the first time.  Then there was the un-sexy sequence from the pornographic movie (Summersex*) that we saw with Alexis. Garth had to work that night so we all regaled him with details about the peculiar scene where a naked guy does handstands on the beach, and how the theatre was so crowded we sat on the stairs and surreptitiously looked for fire exits. 

On our recent trip, once again visiting Alexis (Garth is no more), we had no need to spoil the magic of those earlier experiences.  And, besides, we have been to SF a few times since. So we spent our days in the city going to the De Young Museum and the Camera Obscura above Ocean Beach, places we had never been before.  We also took in an opera.  The San Francisco Opera Company simulcasted Rigoletto to the AT&T baseball stadium. Bleachers full of fans ate packed lunches and watched Verdi on the Jumbotron.  It was a unique experience.  There appeared to be plenty of fire exits.   

Behind home plate at the opera.

 *  By all means Google Summersex if you wish.  I did, but found no reference to the original lame movie, but lots of other stuff as you might imagine.

#20: Bed and Breakfast and History

"So" inquired our Seattle friends, "do you have a place to stop on your way down to San Francisco?

Actually, no.  After about 9 or 10 hours on the road, we are not inclined to be picky.  The Holiday Inn (or comparable) suits us fine.

"Aaaaah!" Dale and Elizabeth were enthusiastic. "Can we make a suggestion?  We always stay at The Wolf Creek Inn when we drive to California. You should make a reservation.  Ask if you can have the Clark Gable Room."

The sign has not changed, although the Inn has changed names and owners. It is now officially a "historic site" owned by the State of Oregon  

The dining room, ready for breakfast.

We would never have thought to turn off the highway to a place called Wolf Creek without our friends' prodding.  But the lure of Clark Gable was too tempting, and in truth, one night was hardly enough. But it is not just the Inn, a fine historic building which began life in 1883 as a stage coach stop, that holds appeal for present day travellers. The Cascade mountains in Southern Oregon along Interstate 5/Pacific Highway are a destination unto themselves as we discovered while at dinner.  Those guests in fleece and gortex?   They were relaxing after a day exploring nearby hiking trails.

We had to be content with the scenic drive on Interstate 5, a former byway for Indian trappers working for the Hudson's Bay Company, and later, during the gold rush, the fastest way to California.

And we did get to explore the Wolf Creek Inn, even if we weren't able to reserve (or even peek into) the Clark Gable suite.  Someone else had booked it. But we did look in the Inn's closet-sized "museum" and discovered that the out-of the-way Wolf Creek establishment was a favourite of Gable who liked to escape to the wilds of Oregon for fun and fishing.  Other Hollywood folk (Carole Lombard, Mary Pickford, Orson Wells) visited too, but alas, no rooms have been named for them.

Not our room -- ours had a double bed. ( I hoped the exposure might be better across the hall, but I was wrong.)  Still, you can see the handmade quilts on the beds.  Every room was appropriately decorated.

Jack London was also a Wolf Creek regular, and he is said to have completed a novel, The Valley of the Moon, in the tiny room he always claimed when he and his wife came for a visit.       

No-one books this room.  It is very, very, very small.

#19: Bainbridge Island

Proof that we really were on a boat leaving Seattle.

Our Seattle hosts, Dale and Elizabeth, thought we would enjoy a trip out to Bainbridge Island, 35 minutes across Puget Sound.  We had never heard of this place, but it was a good suggestion!

Such beautiful greenery.

Even the lawns look pretty.

We took the car ferry and landed at the town wharf, but that was not our destination. We were headed across the island to a special park, the Bloedel Reserve.  The house and land (150 acres) that comprise this beautiful public garden were originally owned by Prentice Bloedel (of the forestry Bloedels).  He was a visionary and a naturalist, and with the help of professional landscapers he turned his property into a showplace of small unique gardens that each reflect the ecology of the Pacific Northwest.

Not quite the garden I expected.

The Bloedel estate.

(I was reminded of Victoria's Butchart Gardens, another public garden inspired by private enthusiasm. The Bloedel Gardens, however, serve to enhance the natural landscape without a single bloom.)  There are paths throughout, so we wandered from one green space to another until we arrived at the mansion in the centre of the estate.  It was a lovely way to spend the morning.

#18: Seattle Must-Sees

When people knew we were stopping in Seattle they had a lot of advice about where to go:  The library.  Art galleries. The Market.  Everyone mentioned the Market. We were advised to watch for vendors throwing fish around.

We passed on the library and went to The Seattle Art Museum which, not surprisingly, had a great collection of West Coast Art.  Elizabeth made sure we saw the most interesting exhibits including a selection of recent Australian aboriginal paintings.

This canvas, by an aboriginal artist is huge, and beautifully detailed

Then on Sunday morning, we made the necessary visit to The Pike Place Market.  It is housed in a huge, low warehouse, and was crowded with other tourists, so instead of lingering over the nicely arrayed fruits and veggies we headed for the fish sellers and whatever entertainment they might provide.

All manner of produce is for sale at PPM

The fishy end of the market

I didn't know what to expect from the fishmongers, but it seems that the flinging is purposeful and  not just some game of fishy football.  Customers order a fish and it is thrown from one employee to another for wrapping.

But when we got there, no one wanted fish, so no fish were being flung. I gave up and turned my back to admire the nearby florists' displays.  Then the fish sellers went into their act, and I missed it.  But according to Bruce they weren't very skilled;  there was throwing but no catching. The fish fell. (I'm not surprised --fish must be hard to catch when you think about it.)  Bruce didn't say if the fish were picked up, hosed off, and thrown again.

Nicely displayed flowers were near the fish vendors.

Meanwhile I was taking flower photos. Now I am left to imagine all manner of  flounder flinging, halibut hurling, cod catching, and tuna tossing.

Perhaps we will just have to visit the Pike Place Market another time and order our own fish.

#17: Sunny Seattle

Seattle, Vancouver's American cousin, is just a couple of hours south of the border.

And, like not-too-distant relatives, there are similarities.  These two coastal cities bear a superficial resemblance to one another, and even their moods are alike.  In cooler months they are both dark and brooding; they share a predilection for overcast skies and drizzle.  (Remember The Killing and its damp and gloomy 'Seattle" setting?  That's Vancouver mist. Vancouver is frequently a Seattle movie stand-in.)

But it was a wonderfully sunny day as we drove down from Vancouver to visit Seattle friends, Dale and Elizabeth, whom we know through many hiking trips together in Europe.  Since we last visited them, they had moved to Columbia City, a multi-ethnic neighbourhood with an interesting history.  This area has recently undergone a revival, with slum properties replaced by a planned community that is a mix of subsidized and market-rate housing that manages to look old because early Seattle house designs provided the inspiration.

A new "old" house in Columbia City, Seattle

Slums have been replaced by parks and homes for all.

I took several walks through the neighbourhood and loved its village appeal. There is a park, a community centre, seniors' housing, lots of small nearby shops and a light-rail system into the downtown core and out to the airport.  (Rosie Larsen would not have come to such a bad end had she lived in such a nice part of Seattle.)

The Hammering Man

Actually, Seattle has many attractive aspects, not the least of which appears to be a commitment to public art unlike any other city I have visited. Without even trying, I noticed several interesting installations downtown.  The largest was The Hammering Man which is outside the Seattle Art Museum.  Interesting fact:  This kinetic sculpture stops for a rest at night and on Labour Day. 

 The big Columbia City spade.

Public art is also in the suburbs (like Columbia City) and at most of the LINK (i.e. LRT) stations. Now that's what I call "liveable"!

Public art with a Chinese influence.

   

#16: On to Vancouver

Our last Canadian destination was Vancouver.  Bruce's brother Doug lives there, but even without the incentive of seeing another favourite Ryan relative, we would have stopped for a couple of days.

Back in the 60's when Alberta was a cultural/right wing wasteland we often escaped to Vancouver for a weekend of forbidden pleasure.  (Not to worry --we were there to indulge in restricted movies and ethnic food.)   But even though the rest of Canada is now more fun, we still love this city and we are not alone.  Vancouver is often at the top of the "liveable cities" index.  Nicely situated between ocean and mountains, it has a mild climate, cosmopolitan population, plenty of culture, and a laid-back vibe that makes it comparable to Melbourne, another notable "liveable city".  It is probably just as well that Vancouver comes with a high price tag.  If every Canadian could afford to live on the west coast, the rest of the country would be empty.

The Electra is noted for the exterior mosaic design in mid-century shades.

At least a visit to Vancouver doesn't have to cost the earth.  We found a perfect one-bedroom condo in The Electra, right in the middle of downtown.  The former home of B.C Electric, this 50's era heritage building was converted into high-end condos in the 90's.  We found our suite through airbnb  and paid the condo owners about $150 per night -- much less than one of the less-well-equipped "suites" we might have rented in a less conveniently located hotel!
 

The view of Sutton Place from our much cheaper and nicer condo

From our groovy pad we could walk everywhere:  Robson Street, Public Library, Vancouver Art Gallery, along the sea wall to Stanley Park....     

"Pop Rocks" for lounging on Robson Street

The sea wall offers great views of downtown Vancouver

We did drive to Granville Island where I might have enjoyed shopping had I been with a fellow shopper (Bruce says "look around" but he what he means is "look around for 5 minutes.")
However, lunch at The Bridges Restaurant was very nice indeed, and we happily recalled our meal there with New Zealand friends Jim and Margaret seven years ago.     

The Bridges on a sunny day.

This temporary installation is now permanent, thanks to Lulu Lemon.

Doug was our restaurant guide.  First we went to English Bay for a more touristy dining experience, but I can't recall the restaurant at all -- just good food, crowded streets, and an interesting location near A-Maze-ing Laughter, 14 large, laughing bronze statues.

Our most memorable evening meal was on Commercial Drive where we walked up and down reading menus for about 20 minutes before choosing the Memphis Blues Barbeque House. Good music and good food.  I recommend the catfish.

#15: Into the Light

Ordinarily, our sister-in-law Wendy would have joined us as we explored Penticton.  She loved the town, knew it well, and had covered most of it on foot--or more accurately-- on wheels.  A former figure skater, she thought nothing of roller skating to work.

But last winter, Wendy was diagnosed with bile duct cancer and in August, just before we arrived, she had moved into a palliative care centre.  Her rapid recline was devastating to her and her family. And it seemed cruel and unfair.  Just after the disease was first discovered, she had had extensive surgery, and made a phenomenal recovery.  She had returned to work and her active lifestyle.  She was even swimming a few times a week. 

As a librarian,  I feel obliged to provide links to topics worthy of expansion.  So here goes: Bile Duct Cancer.  But honestly, does a lamb really want to know how many hungry wolves are hiding behind the next rock?   Suffice it to know that this cancer, like its pancreatic cousin, pounces and does not let go.

Wendy died a week ago, and the world has become a darker, colder place for Bob and their boys Paul and Chris.   She was gentle, loving and steadfast -- a truly good person.  We will all miss her very much.        

#14: Penticton Pause

 

Penticton 's Lake Okanagan is just a few steps away.

Most prairie folk feel a sentimental attachment to the Okanagan region of British Columbia.  This sunny, dry valley with its plentiful orchards and beautiful lakes has been holiday central for generations of Western Canadians who made regular pilgrimages to its campgrounds and beaches  looking for a guaranteed summer experience (something you can't necessarily count on if you live in Alberta, Saskatchewan or Manitoba.)

The Mediterranean climate and reasonable cost of living have also attracted retirees from all over Canada.  (I have a theory that in Penticton --beautifully situated halfway down the valley between two lakes, Skaha and Okanagan-- streets are named for the cities from which residents have moved:  Yorkton, Winnipeg, Dauphin, Regina .....even Guelph.)

Nowadays, however, the Okanagan (those of us in the know don't bother to add "region" or "valley') appeals to a somewhat more sophisticated crowd than in the old days when vacationers pitched their tents, lived in their bathing suits for two weeks, and ate nothing but fruit.  As for the newly retired -- they are now more likely to buy a condo with a lake view than a double-wide trailer in a mobile home park.

Blame it on the evolution of viticulture;  all up and down the valley the familiar fruit orchards have given way to vineyards.  In the last 20 years the industry has exploded, and from Salmon Arm down to Osoyoos, there are now well over 100 reputable wineries.  Visitors still come to the valley for sun,  sand, and the occasional basket of cherries, but they also spend spend time and money touring the vineyards, eating in the restaurants, and buying the wine.   

Okanagan beach looks a little classier than I remember back in 1966

We actually didn't care about sun, sand or wine.  We were in Penticton to visit relatives, and it  was Bruce's brother Bob who took us to admire the upscale improvements to Penticton's Okanagan lakefront.  The wine industry effect  has turned a shabby under-developed waterfront into a showplace that now boasts a casino, top-notch restaurant (The Hooded Merganser), and many beautiful paths and gardens.


Even the beach looks very classy, with sculptures overlooking the water.  I wanted to know about the "peach on the beach", a cool kiosk that I remember seeing on our Okanagan honeymoon!  It is still there, but it has had a facelift.  After all these years, it looks as ripe and delicious as ever. 

Three sweet peaches

Bob Ryan has taught tai chi in this Oriental lakeside garden

#13 Bootless and Bear-less in Banff

Banff Park gate

Full disclosure.  We were to have spent three days in Banff hiking on some favourite trails, but we were more or less grounded by two factors:

About 45 minutes from Guelph, we discovered that we left our hiking boots behind.  Phooey! But we decided not to go back for them.  I would buy a pair of sturdy hiking shoes when I needed them, and Bruce would wear his regular sturdy shoes.  We pushed on.

Then I mysteriously acquired an injured leg as we left Saskatoon.  It may have happened as I hefted my suitcase down the stairs at our B and B.  In any case, I limped around Edmonton, and I wasn't a whole lot better but the time we got to Banff.

Hmmm.  What could we do in Banff and environs if we were required to go by car, or slowly by foot?

Admire the scenery on the other side of the window.

I bet moose hang out here after we drive away.

No wifi, and no TV at Johnston Canyon. 

Enjoy our out-of-the way Johnston Canyon retreat, even though I couldn't walk up to the top of the canyon as I had planned.  This heritage resort which I first visited with my parents in the fifties brought back a lifetime of memories.

Have a drink at Lake Louise and walk down to the end of the lake.  This was a poor substitute for what I really wanted -- to walk to the tea house at the Plain of the Six Glaciers.

Lake Louise from the far end

Hang out in town.  We went into every museum and art gallery and the public library! 

The spirit bear lives near the library and the Whyte Museum

Learn about the history of the park and its animals.  The Whyte Museum of the Canadian Rockies had a particularly interesting display about the wildlife over-and-underpasses that are a feature of the Trans Canada highway.   These structures provide for safe passage across the road, and when cameras are in place, animals' comings and goings can be recorded and counted.  No wonder my "animals observed" notebook was bear-less, with only one sorry entry, a deer.   The crossing data acquired from each over/underpass show that deer and elk really do have the edge.   

One of several wildlife bridges along the highway through the park. 

Visit neighbouring communties.  Like Canmore, for instance.  The town of Canmore, outside the park gates, also attracts plenty of visitors, but it does not seem as touristy as Banff.  It would probably be a great place to retire. Canmore had fabulous scenery, lots of year round activities, and the community feels like a real town. Bonus: Calgary is only one hour down the road.

 The Three Sisters dominate the Canmore skyline.

  

#12: Never Change

Our return to Edmonton was predictably, a bit sentimental.

Checking out exciting new additions to the city skyline is all very well and good, but I am more interested in the familiar, so as we to-and-fro across

"Butterdome" sports complex -- my running track in 1984

town on various errands, I am happy to be reminded of favourite old haunts.  I've always loved driving on the Groat Road, a twisting freeway through a canyon into the river valley, and on this visit we experience that thrill several times.  Ditto the U of A campus which we seem to pass frequently.  It is still dominated by buildings we recognize (including the strange looking "Butterdome"), although change is in the air with  creeping development about to colonize an entire nearby residential street.   Out by the university farm we pass Michener Park with its married-student residences, and are gratified to see that Vanier House still looks as cool as it did in 1969 when we were among the first occupants. (I wonder if those big windows still leak and if you can still hear what is going on in your neighbour's bedroom.)

A stock photo of Vanier house

But we are not really in search of iconic roads or buildings. We wouldn't be crossing town this way at all except that we are meeting up with friends.  It is the people that bring us back to Edmonton, and in five days, we manage to connect with everyone we want to see. Over dinner, lunch or coffee, we play catch-up.  How are you doing? How are the kids?  What about the rest of the family?  What we wanted to hear/what they wanted to hear was Good, Good, Good. But we range from  68 to 75 years, so the indignities of aging are not unexpected.   In truth, there have been health challenges, but these have been weathered.  People seem to be coping, thankful for life's gifts, and even as mortality nibbles at our knees (and other bits), new developments bring joy.  The birth of grandchildren.  Three sets of children, including partners and grand kids, moving back to Edmonton.  (I am so pleased for my friends, but a bit envious.  None of my kids will be returning to Guelph.) 

Marilyn (a friend since grade 7) and Gil (whom Bruce knew in high school).  Surely, we aren't pushing 70?

Collectively, we note with pleasure that many things have not changed.  We may not look the same, but we look like ourselves.  (Quite honestly, I'd say we look great!) We make the same jokes.  We still have the same interests.  Miraculously, none of our friends has moved, and I am delighted to visit homes and gardens I know well and to see that there have been no decorating makeovers  (though perhaps pictures and nicknacks come out of hiding when I am coming to visit because friends recognize that I don't like change.) 

I have the sense of my own life shifting a wee bit as I head toward my 70's so an illusion of stability gives me great comfort.   But perhaps it is not an illusion.  The essence of who we are/what we are-- that really is constant. These old friends have always been gracious, interesting, funny and kind, and regardless of what else happens, that will stay the same.

Until we return (and because we are retired, we'll do it soon), I'll hold that thought.