I am sitting in The Grand Lounge of The Ahwnee Hotel in Yosemite Valley. This is a lovely, large room with hardwood floors, high ceilings and walk-in fireplaces. The walls are adorned with portrait etchings of civil war and native individuals, along with native designed wall rugs -- or those throw-rugs you hang on the wall. A mix of stone and mahogany wood, and multiple chandeliers harken the old west and the classic cigar smoking lounge meant for the bigwigs and nobody else. Now this is a vacation.
Nephew J. is playing piano in the bar down the hall, and I'd be there to cheer him on except my internet connectivity doesn't work in the lounge -- ergo... He understands for I have heard him perform often and he is very, but very good. The tourists agree, they're too caught up in their conversations to applaud each number, but, as the song goes, they throw bread in his jar.
I monitor the Red Sox/Yankess game 4 as I write this -- Big Papi at the plate with Mark Loretta at 1st. What, you think I'd totally forget that which drives my passion: the Yankees at Fenway? C'monnn...
Like I said, this is most definitely a vacation. Today was a day for recovery, from jet lag and hours of driving. I was up 24 hours from Saturday & Sunday early a.m. You got the bit about my flying from Dulles to Denver. I got to Reno at 10:44 local time, but I was still three hours ahead of myself, and it felt like it was coming up on 2 p.m., close to twelve hours after waking, because, well, it was!
I rented a car from Hertz (10% discount w/my AAA, yay!). And so I got to see The Biggest Little City in the World for the first time in 37 years:
Approaching the city, and driving through it before heading south.
It took me about 3-1/2 hours to get a read on all the childhood houses, neighborhoods and schools (which I'll spare you of here), how they may have changed or remained the same, to see if I would remember something I'd long forgotten while driving to and around Stead, the erstwhile suburban air force base, the place of my earliest memories, and back to the city, all before I set off on my 4-1/2 hour trek to Yosemite, America's greatest known national park not named Yellowstone.
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