Hello. It’s me!!

Where do I start?

What the …. ?

When we last spoke, we were headed into the great State of Oregon. We camped about twenty miles north of Crater Lake. Why didn’t we communicate with you? Three reasons.

1. No cell phone coverage.
2. No internet at the campground.
3. MOSQUITOES!!

Lemme tell ya, there were a thousand skeeters per mammal at this campground. We maintained a low profile, we sealed the rig, and we prayed for the end of time to hurry up and arrive (to paraphrase Meatloaf).

Earlier in the day we visited Crater Lake. This is one of Mom’s favorite places on the planet, and who can blame her? Anytime a volcano blows its top off and covers the State of Oregon in eight inches of ash, you’ve gotta go see it, #amirite?

That’s a nice lookin’ cinder cone right there in the middle of the lake. Yup, Crater Lake is rallying!

These little things (Cinder Cones) are all over the State of Oregon. I tell ya, someday somebody is going to wake up to a warm lahar bath (a slurry of pyroclastic material for those who don’t appreciate brevity).

Mom celebrated the magma-fueled outburst with a beverage.

Of particular interest to me, of course, was the opportunity to hike a trail or two.

And what did I find? Snow!!!

Ok, that’s not the pristine snow folks ski on in February, but what do I care? It was Christmas in July.

After Crater Lake, we spent three evenings with our friends Francie and Glen.

Yup, it was a pickleball bonanza in Bend, OR. Dad tells me he is going to maximize his, and I quote, “Pickleball Opportunity” and who am I to stop him?

In fact, who am I to stop anybody? The four of them dumped me at an unknown home in Bend while they got to have fun.

At some point, you just give up the fight.

While they drove up Pilot Butte (it was butte-ful) and celebrated comraderie …

… I was left to man the fort:

A couple of times I got to go on walks through the neighborhood. But even then events turned sour as I was forced to wait for Mom … again.

And if I have to eat another flippin’ blueberry while Mom and Dad gorge themselves on the finest food in Bend, I’m gonna take out my frustration on a stuffed animal.

They even went out for gelato, and it turns out everybody was supposed to say hi to Kaitlyn.

They visited an indoor pickleball arena … without me of course.

Mom spent Saturday at the Sisters Quilt Show. It’s one of the biggies on the quilting circuit, but you already knew that.

Today we hustled to the northeast. And guess what? It rained. In July. In the high desert. That’s redonkulous.

Dad is a huge fan of the Columbia River and the Snake River. I’m convinced he’s dragging us to this part of the country just for his own amusement.

After dragging Dad away from the mighty Columbia River, we parked for the day in Pendleton. Following an all-you-care-to-eat buffet (#aarpdiscount) Mom dared Dad to win at a slot machine. Dad inserted ten hard-earned dollars, expecting it to evaporate quickly. However, he found himself up a few dollars, called it quits, and celebrated the fact that he took money from Terry Benedict.

Anytime you are north of breakeven by $2.20 you count your lucky stars. Or your lucky toes. Mine aren’t getting burned up here in the frosty Pacific Northwest like they would be in Arizona where temps are hovering near 115 degrees.

Tomorrow we head down the Blue Mountains to the Lewiston/Clarkston area, again, for the sole purpose of Dad’s own amusement (and my utter bemusement). He loves the Snake River, so Mom booked a campground along the Snake River. There’s no real reason to be there, but we’ll drive 2.5 hours to fill whatever hole the Snake River fills in Dad’s expansive soul.