In The Mojave

In a motel whose name means “hot” in a language not English.
With its tiki decor in Palm Spring. It smells faintly of mildew, is fake Polynesian, yet evokes charm–mountains, pool, bougainvillea, orange umbrellas, half moon…you know I love that slightly run down back in the day Miami Beach feel (without ocean but desert will do). VERY hot–global warming will not be kind. The cab driver complained. In a way the Hot motel already speaks–has always spoken–of apocalypse, water waste, crowding, the death of culture…ah, I could live in this room and write a short novel but luckily Rich will be back from picking up a rental car & farmers’ market before lunch. Heading to Joshua Tree which can be otherworldly too, but in a more natural fashion.
Across the street–I’m not making this up–the Hotel California.


Rich and I have often fantasized about trips in an RV. Last night we stayed over at our kids, who happen to live on a ranch with RV Park.
It was cozy:

and compact. The moon shone through the skylight. Spectacular sunset, and nice to see dawn.

Rich made me hot cereal, and actually drove the RV on I-25. I’m afraid I’m more decorative than useful in this situation.

Since we were close by, we headed to funky Madrid.

And enjoyed recycled art at Weasel & Fitz.

Home by lunch.

Have a safe and pleasant holiday.