I'm not going anywhere again unless it is for a full week and to a spa.

Let me introduce myself. I care for my 77 year-old mother, and my seven year-old daughter. Sometimes, it is hard to tell who requires more supervision. Being unemployed (and vascilating between bitter, relieved, and grateful about that) I made reservations for my daughter and I to retreat for a couple of days to a rustic Sierra Club lodge, built in 1934. Clair Tappaan must have been regal in its day. In many ways, it still is. The living room is spectacular with gigantic log beams and a huge stone fireplace. The lodge is well cared for, and quite clean. What really makes the place are the people you meet while staying there.

On our visit, had my mother gone, she would have been among the youngest of the lodge guests this week. This morning I had a conversation with a spry fellow wearing hiking boots. He was there with his wife. His cubicle (room, but it really is the size of a cubicle) was across from ours, and his wife's was next door. I had our door open to get a breeze going, as it was getting quite warm in our room. He kept going back and forth in pajamas and robe. From what I could gather, he couldn't find his slippers. Anway, he told me that Bob, and lodge guest, had four years on him at 88 years old, which made my conversation partner a mere 84 years of age. He had all of his faculties about him, and was about to set out on an all day hike up a mountain. In the meanwhile, I heard Bob in the background saying that if he knew he was going to live this long, he would have taken better care of himself. I've heard those words many times, but somehow coming from an 88 year-old hiker, they somehow took on extra meaning.

The first night there, I heard a loud "thump" from the cubicle next door, which was occupied by Bob's lady friend.