Another Sunday

So the blog posts seem to get further and further apart. Oh well, such is life beside the pool in a blue-skied, palm-tree laden SoCal resort. The days lollygag by, and we complain a teensy bit about the unseasonably warm temperatures, but we know it is often raining at home, so we are glad to be here -- although H this morning did announce that he missed the rain. That's what he said, but it could also be that he's getting a little bored. We are leaving the Palm Springs area in a few days; new surroundings may change his perspective.

In the meantime, we did have a couple of adventures this week. Last Tuesday, R and I took H up Mount Jacinto in the aerial tramway. H's mama declined on account of the fact that she took him up last time we were here and the experience made her nauseous. She finds it terrifying. It is a three-and-a-half mile drive uphill from the valley floor just to get to the base of the station, then another 15 minutes and 8250 feet almost straight up on the aerial tram to get to the top of the mountain, so for those who find heights not to their taste, it is an experience to be avoided. And the tramway car actually revolves, allowing for 360°-viewing, which is wonderful for looking at stuff, but not to be recommended if it makes you feel like throwing up. So she stayed home.

View of Coachella Valley from atop Mt Jacinto

Waiting to go up in the tramway, we met a man who seemed very familiar with the staff and the attendant procedures. With longish grey hair in a pony tail,  a beat-up knapsack and well-used crampons that he was untangling and attaching to the outside of his pack, he looked like he knew what he was about. He told me he came up to hike on the mountain every day. "Three years ago I weighed 340 pounds," he said (he looked about 200 now), "and one morning  I woke up with my wife dead beside me from a heart attack and I said, that's not gonna be me." So there he was, everyday for three years. A few others joined him as we waited for the first tram of the day, and it was interesting to see. All the tourists gave the regulars a lot of space to budge to the front of the line, and they took it, acknowledging some kind of hard-earned superiority. The hikers' conversation was laced with disdainful comments about the people they ran into on the trails wearing only shorts and sneakers and not even carrying a bottle of water, and the trails so icy and slushy. And they also traded gossip about other hikers who had suffered injuries up there and how they got down, asked each other if they'd seen the space station go by last Saturday, and other esoteric matters. There was also a couple, not one of the regulars, who had enormous canvas-covered foam pieces on their backs. They were rock climbers, it turns out, and the foam pieces were to be used to break the fall if they had a misstep. Seriously. It was fascinating. Worlds apart.

The cables that take the tram up the mountain from w-a-a-a-y below.

Taking a look

So when we got to the top, we just had to march right out and head down the cement pathway to the basin that contained the trailheads to various parts of the mountain -- not wishing to be disdained by the Serious Hikers. About halfway down, H realized that we were going to have to trek back up -- an important law of the universe to add to the collection of information accumulated thus far -- so that was the end of that. But at that very spot he met a young fellow, Ian, from Oregon,  who decided to climb the rocks right beside us. At age 6, Ian was much more experienced that H, and was happy to share his superior knowledge of handholds, footholds and other technical matters, particularly when they got up about 50 feet and were wondering how to get down. It was a nice encounter and H can now legitimately say that he has rock climbed on Mount Jacinto. Ian's grandparents were a lovely, very cool couple from Wyoming, the grandfather of which, it was learned in the final moments of our encounter, was going to vote for D J Trump. Didn't fit my idea of Don's demographic. A little eye opener.

R & H on the "trail": what goes down must go back up

The Palm Springs Tourist Center is at the bottom of the drive up to the tramway base. A touted example of the mid-century architecture for which Palm Springs is famous, it was also designed by California architect Walter Frey, who you will remember, if you have been paying attention, also designed the North Shore Beach and Yacht Club on the Salton Sea. (Yes, there will be a test.) So we got a little outdoorsy and a little artsy all in the same day. Cool.

The Palm Springs Tourist Center

We have, all three of us grownups, been playing a little golf here and there, actually just "here" at Outdoor Resort Palm Springs, there is no big-time, PGA, 7000-yard "there" with our golfing chops. We have access to two courses at ORPS, a 9-hole and an 18-hole, and the fees are very cheap. The first tee for the 9-hole course is literally at our door, just 5 yards from our patio, and rarely used, so easy for us. Amber displays great natural ability, although admits she has a few things to learn yet, and H is fascinated, with lots of things to learn, altho he still thinks he's pretty much got it figured out, so we're hoping for a dynasty.

H and I have been spending lots of time at the pool and his swimming is improving, which thrills me to no end. He was very cautious when we arrived and now paddles around in the deep part (with life jacket) very comfortably. The next step is to get him lose the life jacket, but we're making great progress with face in the water, blowing bubbles, and a kick that actually involves motion, so I'm hopeful. A and R are both experiencing skin sensitivities from the pool and the hot tub so they avoid both. Too bad for them, as the pool is lovely and the time with H is even more lovely.

Yesterday A and I visited Sunnylands Center and Gardens in Rancho Mirage, the next town over. It's where Obama recently attended a conference (yes, more material for the test) and, steeped in modern history, has been acting as Camp David West since the Nixon era. Sunnylands was built by Walter and Lee Annenberg, American diplomats and rich folk -- she raised by early Hollywood mogul Harry Cohn, he a publisher who started Seventeen Magazine and TV Guide. In the 1960s, they created a 200-acre compound from raw desert, including a stunning "desert modern" mansion, stocked lakes, a golf course, and an impressive art collection, where they hosted celebrities, royalty and major political figures over the years. That estate is only open to the public on special tours, but they did create a 15-acre adjacent property with public gardens and a center, which is where we were. Some momentous historical events are related to the place, and the experience was impressive, suggesting civility in politics, diplomacy, good taste and good manners. Even though we all know that the behind-the-scenes reality of power and government can be as cutthroat as any jungle, Sunnylands seems to be representative of an era that could be over, if the crazy preamble to the upcoming American elections is an indication of anything. It just makes ya think. And wonder.

Sunnylands Center, design inspired by the Annenberg mansion, but quite separate.

Tai chi and birding are among the free stuff available at the center.

Selfie!

The grounds are open for public use, except during high-security meetings.

Infinity pool in the public gardens

Part of the public gardens

Corner of the infinity pool

Part of a golf-ball display from players on the Annenberg's private course.

And we have been doing other things like shopping, and going to playgrounds, and a bit of geocaching. We had lunch last week with Peter and Val who we met at Borrego, but who live in Parksville. Unfortunately we will miss out on a visit with Keith and Jean and won't see their new cottage in Julian. And we missed a visit with high school pal, Maureen and husband John, who were passing through. Timing is everything. And oh yes,  we went out to dinner at the Cheese Factory two nights ago and it was very delicious except H got a piece of plastic in his pizza, which he wished me to mention in the blog.

Lotsa shopping malls here. This is The River, in Rancho Mirage, location of the aforementioned Cheese Factory.

R and friend. (Outside a BBQ place--what else?-- at The River.) Silly R.