I've been on our second whirlwind drive to Vancouver where we rented an apartment. Soon my wife and I will be inhabitants of Vancouver, Washington. I'm tired. I'm trying to figure out how to move a household full of furniture into a smaller two bedroom apartment (live simply, simpleton, they say), get a house ready to be sold, and the thousand and one details that go into both, all without cracking up, driving my car too fast into a curve along the mighty Columbia River, and etcetera. So this is all for now except for a couple of pictures from along the way.
The first is titled, "What you see when you enter Oregon from the Tri-Cities."
The second I'll call, "Soldier Trees."
What to me is terribly funny is that when we bought this house my wife and I are now leaving, I was tremulous. At age 64, or whatever, I had the premonition that the house we were buying was going to be the end of my traveling days, my last house. It would be the house I would die in. Mortality closed in with a tight fist. Now, look at us, moving to coastal weather after scabland country—if one can call living in the city of Spokane living in the actual scabland. Well, at least I could drive into the scabland pretty fast. And though we're not actually on the coast we're in that direction to be.
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