A Groove-billed Ani just pops into view. 
Buff-bellied hummingbird
They like to go perch in bushes and trees, so the usual looks we get at them are something like this. 
Not very well lit. Not much definition. We got lucky today and had one perch out in the open for us and display his tail. 
That was cool.
Not very well lit. Not much definition. We got lucky today and had one perch out in the open for us and display his tail. That was cool. Stories
When we go to RV Parks, or State Parks, we can imagine that most people probably have similar stories: “Hey, want to go to the lake/mountains/river and have a vacation?” “Sure,” “Cool.” At the Boulder County Fairgrounds in Colorado it’s different though. The fairgrounds is not a destination park unless you’re coming here for an event at the fair, and most of the time, except weekends, there is not anything going on at the fair. So what are all those people doing there? As glad as we are to have that option for a place to stay when we can’t stay at the state park, nobody is there because it’s beautiful. It’s more like a dirt parking lot. 
Most people must be there for the proximity to where they want to be, or for the price. It costs $25 a night for 50 amp hookups like we use, a little less for 30 amp electric only, and you can pull into one of the smaller sites, use the public showers and washrooms, and sleep in your rig without hooking anything up for $10 a night. There is always a variety of new, old, and a few broken down rigs. Some rigs aren’t even rigs at all; just people sleeping in their cars. What collection of stories would make up this place? Perhaps something along the lines of John Steinbeck’s Cannery Row characters. Some people hang around their campers all day. Others come and go. Some look like they’ve been sleeping in their car for years. For three days, a nicely dressed young woman got up out of her car each morning, drove off for most of the day, then returned each night to sleep in her car again. How involved was that story? Visiting relatives? An out of towner going on job interviews? A homeless person that still had a car and hope? We’re reminded of a couple from years ago while we were staying at Golden Shores RV Park in Long Beach, California. There was a nice grassy park out front and a few vagrants sleeping it off in the shade during the day, but there was a young couple, still in their twenties, that caught our attention. They would appear in the afternoon, suitcase in hand, and hang around a picnic table under the trees until it started to get dark. Then they would walk off toward the Los Angeles River channel (cement flood control) where people would sleep under the bridges. In the morning they would show up again, neatly dressed, suitcase in hand, and wait for their bus, ride, or whatever. What was their story? Where were they going each day? Job interviews? Public assistance? Were they trying hard for a better life? Did they ever get a break? Whatever they were doing, they hadn’t given up. They didn’t have much, but they hadn’t given up. There is an endless stream of things to watch and wonder about. Some impressions stick with us longer than others; some for the rest of our lives. We never know which stories, real or imagined, will have such an impact until later though.
Most people must be there for the proximity to where they want to be, or for the price. It costs $25 a night for 50 amp hookups like we use, a little less for 30 amp electric only, and you can pull into one of the smaller sites, use the public showers and washrooms, and sleep in your rig without hooking anything up for $10 a night. There is always a variety of new, old, and a few broken down rigs. Some rigs aren’t even rigs at all; just people sleeping in their cars. What collection of stories would make up this place? Perhaps something along the lines of John Steinbeck’s Cannery Row characters. Some people hang around their campers all day. Others come and go. Some look like they’ve been sleeping in their car for years. For three days, a nicely dressed young woman got up out of her car each morning, drove off for most of the day, then returned each night to sleep in her car again. How involved was that story? Visiting relatives? An out of towner going on job interviews? A homeless person that still had a car and hope? We’re reminded of a couple from years ago while we were staying at Golden Shores RV Park in Long Beach, California. There was a nice grassy park out front and a few vagrants sleeping it off in the shade during the day, but there was a young couple, still in their twenties, that caught our attention. They would appear in the afternoon, suitcase in hand, and hang around a picnic table under the trees until it started to get dark. Then they would walk off toward the Los Angeles River channel (cement flood control) where people would sleep under the bridges. In the morning they would show up again, neatly dressed, suitcase in hand, and wait for their bus, ride, or whatever. What was their story? Where were they going each day? Job interviews? Public assistance? Were they trying hard for a better life? Did they ever get a break? Whatever they were doing, they hadn’t given up. They didn’t have much, but they hadn’t given up. There is an endless stream of things to watch and wonder about. Some impressions stick with us longer than others; some for the rest of our lives. We never know which stories, real or imagined, will have such an impact until later though. We got the Urology follow-up
“To reduce the incidence of kidney stones, drink plenty of water and pay attention to salt intake.” After study and evaluation, that’s what the specialists advise. In other words, continue what I’m doing. That by itself doesn’t suggest any change in my incidence of kidney stones. Of course, I have more information than the specialists do; I have more than just a couple studies at a particular point in time. I’ve been paying attention to this issue for years. I got my first (identified) kidney stone when I was in my mid-twenties. (In retrospect, I think I had one once in my teens and once in the army, both undiagnosed, now that I know for sure what they feel like.) For the identified stone in my twenties, the doctor asked me how much milk I drank. I told him a quart a day. Kidney stones tend to be calcium compounds, mine are calcium oxalate, and milk has a lot of calcium. He suggested I stop drinking milk. When I had my second kidney stone a year later, I decided maybe I should listen to the doctor’s advice and I quit drinking milk. I didn’t have another stone for years. Ever since then, every time I have a recurrence of kidney stones, I can trace them back to an unintentional intake of excessive calcium. In my forties I got on a dietary supplement regimen. A year later, when I had a kidney stone, I read the supplement ingredients carefully and found every one of them had calcium in it. I quit taking those supplements and the kidney stones quit. More recently when I started having kidney stones again, I searched for a calcium source and realized that my daily dose of Pepcid to combat indigestion at night was loaded with calcium and I had been overdosing myself for a year. I changed when and how I ate so I wouldn’t have heartburn at night and never took another Pepcid. Following that realization, last year, we were stopped in Glenwood Springs, Colorado for some emergency room attention and drugs for a kidney stone I was having. The urologist there told us I was doing fine with the one I was working on and it should finish passing in another couple months. She also alerted us that there were still half a dozen small ones that we would end up dealing with later when they got bigger. I think the five kidney stones we just went through were the last of the Pepcid generation of stones. My kidneys now look clear; no stones of any size. I’ll go back to my operating theory that as long as I avoid any new massive calcium intake, I should remain, mostly, kidney stone free. (I’ll also check back with the Colorado urologist annually as an early warning device) I’ll report back on how that works out…
Engines
When I was young, driving a ’55 Chevy, I thought of motors as moving objects. How fast could they change speeds; can they rev high and get there fast? Now, driving the motorhome, I think of the motor more as a static object. Set it at 1,600 rpm rolling down the highway. The load varies with the terrain, but the engine holds steady. Now it’s more about how constant a speed the engine can hold than about how fast it can change speeds.