The Yosemite Journals, Chapter Eleven

(NOTE:  There will be one more Yosemite chapter after this one, so enjoy them while they last.)

Those folks I went camping with in Yosemite last month are big on birthdays.  This trip coincided, intentionally, with two momentous birthdays.  Both Julia and Norman turned 70 while we were there.

Norman

Julia

Kathy

Sally

Missy

Katy

Kristy

Kathy also would celebrate a birthday later in June.  Her 29^th she says, but I know for a fact that’s she older than I am, and I’m 34.

Anyway, birthdays are celebrated in this group, as I said.  Earlier in these journals I mentioned that the lack of underbrush in the campgrounds allowed us to see what our neighbors were having for dinner.  One night we noticed a group of healthy young studmuffins men ate only hot dogs and granola bars.  Katy offered them the rest of our chili and they came over and accepted with gratitude and grace, which gave us an ever closer view of their attributes.. 

So, with all that openness, you can imagine what other campers thought when late one afternoon we all donned silly hats and played even sillier birthday games, acting like a bunch of six-year-olds.  And this was all done BEFORE the almond champagne.

Kathy demonstrates the wrist-flick.

Norman improves on the wrist flick.

That one hit Smokey the Bear, says Kristy.

Norman and Kathy in the semi-finals.

First came a game of seeing who could pitch a plastic dart the farthest, using a launcher powered by a rubber band.  Kathy was the one who discovered the wrist flicking technique and soon the Lower Pines campground was in danger of being bombarded with UFOs from the Upper Pines grounds.

Then it was on to table croquet, a particularly annoyingly simple-looking game of knocking a wee ball through wickets with a plastic mallet.  On a wrinkled plastic table cloth.

Norman playing croquet.

We attempted to pitch balls into holes in a moving plastic sheet.  Soon we were knocking down foam cups with a paddle ball.  I forget the rest—the games were endless.  My friends do not lack for imagination.

The two sisters battle against each other to see who can knock down the cups with paddle balls.

But the best was saved for last, and I’m not yet talking about the almond champagne.

Julia and Missy in the peanut gallery were especially raucous and we had to admonish them several times to "keep it down."

The very best game was racing cars on the asphalt lane through the campground with balloon-powered cars.  I could have played that one all day.

The balloon-powered racing car.

Kristy and her racecar. The greatest distance was accomplished by the person who inflated the balloon with the greatest amount of hot air.  Uh, imagine my surprise when that turned out to be me. My race car is so far ahead, it's out of sight.

Then the pink cake boxes were retrieved from the steel bear boxes where they had been fermenting baking for several days.

Kathy’s cake for her 29^th (!!!) birthday looked a bit the worse for its time in the bear oven.  We decided that its proper place would be in the bear-proof dumpster because it contained ingredients known in California to be harmful to your health when subjected to days of high temperatures.

 

That left the big sheet cake for Norman and Julia’s birthday.  It was in fine shape, and apparently made of indestructible ingredients not known in California to be harmful to your health after being subjected to days of high temperatures.

So, we ate as much as we wanted, then toasted Julia, Norman, and Kathy with almond champagne.

Because turning 70 is a big high-falutin' deal, Julia got out new cups for the almond champagne, rather than using the ones we had heretofore been battering about with rubber balls attached to paddles.

Then Julia and Kristy gathered up the leftover cake, a knife, and paper plates.  Off they went, offering birthday cake to everyone in the campground until they ran out.

Such a birthday party I’ve never before seen.  Totally awesome, except for the almond champagne.

The Yosemite Journals, Chapter Two

Kathy’s e-mail said, “Going camping for a week in Yosemite with the usual suspects.”

I promptly got myself invited and decimated my airline mileage account to get a last minute ticket.

The “usual suspects” vary in number according to where and when the action is, but the basic core is four sisters, two identical twins, and one twin’s husband.  It used to include the other twin’s hubby, too, but he now chooses to stay home and work in his wood shop.

I’ve been to Australia, New Zealand, and Fiji with this group on one trip, and cruised the inland waterways from Moscow to St. Petersburg on another.  I went polar bear viewing in Manitoba with three of them, and this November will be in Antarctica with Kathy, the suspect I’ve known the longest.

Hot air ballooning in the Outback of Australia.

The whole bunch of us in Queenstown, NZ.

Kathy, Donna, Julia, and me in Churchill, Manitoba.

In the Kuranda Rain Forest near Cairns, Australia.

Kristy celebrating her 50th birthday by bungy jumping off the 141 foot high Kawarau Bridge in Queenstown, NZ, the place where that idiocy began.

I'm on the far left in blue jacket.  Other Usual Suspects are in back row:  Julia, Kathy, Katy, and then Norman right front.  1973.  We'd just finished the 36 mile Chilkoot Trail from Skagway, AK, to Lake Bennett, Yukon Terr.

Kathy holding my lead dog while we prepare for a trip over the Resurrection Trail in 1973.

Kathy and Missy during life boat drill, Moscow, Russia.

Kathy rubbing the nose of a bronze dog for luck, in a Moscow subway station.

I met Kathy and Katy when they threw responsibility to the winds in their misspent youths, quit their jobs, and arrived in the tiny ski village of Girdwood where they became chambermaids (okay, housekeepers) at the Alyeska Resort Nugget Inn.  I worked for the resort, also, and we three got to know each other when I had time to assist them in the laundry room.

Kathy went back to civilization after a year.  Kathy went to work for Werner, the chef for whom I had previously worked.

On a trip to California and Kathy’s home, I met her sisters Julia, Sally, and Kristy.  I also met Katy’s new hubby Norman, and Katy’s twin Missy.

Sally

Katy

Norman

Kristy

Julia

Kathy

 Now that Missy’s husband has opted out of the group’s travel-mania, Norman has acquired the title of Token Male.

On a few occasions, the group has come to Alaska.  Once or twice I was able to wander off with them.

Now, all are retired but for Kristy and Sally.  The traveling hasn’t slowed down a bit. 

Hot air ballooning in the Australian Outback, getting drenched on the Shotover jet boat ride in Queenstown, NZ, snorkeling in Fiji, riding the canals of St. Petersburg at sunset, watching polar bears sparring—the adventures are many.

It’s life well-lived, traveling with great friends.