Sherrill and I visited more than 60 countries and most of the United States during our 52 years of marriage. This is number 40 of a series about our lives and travels. If you scroll down, you'll come to earlier posts in this series. To start at the beginning of our marriage look at the Archives list in the sidebar and start with May, 2017. Older posts you'll find below that are a previous series about later travels.
"What was your favorite trip? Your best trip?" people often asked us.
The difficulty answering the question was that the trips were so different from each other, but the ones that meant the most to Sherrill and me often were those with family and friends, even if they were only for a week—not necessarily the trips when we flew across the world for a month in China or a cruise on the Nile or some other exotic destination, exciting as those adventures were. Shorter trips often were more spontaneous and easier to fit into our lives, as well, so we did quite a few of them over the years, each full of good memories.
The difficulty answering the question was that the trips were so different from each other, but the ones that meant the most to Sherrill and me often were those with family and friends, even if they were only for a week—not necessarily the trips when we flew across the world for a month in China or a cruise on the Nile or some other exotic destination, exciting as those adventures were. Shorter trips often were more spontaneous and easier to fit into our lives, as well, so we did quite a few of them over the years, each full of good memories.
Perhaps the most memorable was at Yosemite in December, 1992. For several years, Sherrill had tried to get us four places at the Bracebridge Dinner, an annual Renaissance Christmas pageant and feast in the great hall of the Ahwahnee Hotel. They were chosen by lottery because the event was so popular. Finally, at the last minute that year, we were lucky. The traditional dinner was presented as if at an English manor house 500 years ago, in full costume, with the Lord of the Manor, his wife Lady Bracebridge, jester, musicians, chorus, and household staff, a joyous spectacle and experience—very Henry VIII.
Sherrill, Bruce, Simone, & Paul at the Bracebridge Dinner, Ahwahnee Hotel, Yosemite
Sherrill, Simone, and Paul and I discovered a Yosemite transformed by snow and ice. Even the waterfalls were frozen icy ribbons. I remember that as we walked along the wide side porch into the Ahwahnee, past icicles hanging like shining weapons from the hotel eaves, we discovered a family of raccoons on the snowy hill just beyond the rough-hewn railing. Up above, a female and several young raccoons were foraging, while down below, near the railing, a massive male was standing watch, ready to attack if any human had the audacity to move too closely to his family.
Bruce and Sherrill, Yosemite That holiday at Yosemite was a great experience, but over the years we enjoyed other mini-vacations there through all seasons. One year, Sherrill and I took grandson Leo on a snow outing there, traveling by train and bus. Several times, we went with family or friends in the spring, when waterfalls were at their fullest and wild flowers in bloom. We didn't need to cross international datelines for memorable experiences.
Some of our favorite mini-trips in the early days began with the drive north toward Napa, where we could taste wine and picnic (the area wasn't crowded with restaurants, gourmet or otherwise, then) and maybe tour a winery. In the autumn, the trees and vineyards displayed a dazzling array of fall colors. Only a few wineries lined the main road then and none of them charged for tasting. As a courtesy, though, we often bought a bottle, afterwards.
One year, when we were exploring the area with our young daughter, Sherrill turned onto a side road and we discovered the little spa town of Calistoga. It wasn't developed much then and still had a late nineteenth century feel. We found only two places to eat, a tiny pizza joint and a western style bar/restaurant. Maybe three or four spas were still functioning, all but one in ancient "picturesque" facilities. We stopped at the newest-looking one, booked a room, and made a reservation for me to have "the works" later.
"You're not getting me up to my chin in that black mud!" Sherrill insisted.
While I was indulging, she and Simone would relax in the big indoor hot pool. First, however, we needed to find a place to buy swim suits. This was truly a spontaneous adventure, but the first of many annual visits.
One year, when we were exploring the area with our young daughter, Sherrill turned onto a side road and we discovered the little spa town of Calistoga. It wasn't developed much then and still had a late nineteenth century feel. We found only two places to eat, a tiny pizza joint and a western style bar/restaurant. Maybe three or four spas were still functioning, all but one in ancient "picturesque" facilities. We stopped at the newest-looking one, booked a room, and made a reservation for me to have "the works" later.
"You're not getting me up to my chin in that black mud!" Sherrill insisted.
While I was indulging, she and Simone would relax in the big indoor hot pool. First, however, we needed to find a place to buy swim suits. This was truly a spontaneous adventure, but the first of many annual visits.
Mendocino on the northern California coast back in the 1970s was a special place, scarcely discovered yet by tourists, rural, beautiful, and unspoiled. We'd heard that a few communes were surfacing in the hills, but they weren't visible. We actually considered forming, with friends, our own commune up there, but it was too far away from the "civilization" of the Bay Area for most of us. However, we had some happy times, enjoying the half-tamed beauty of the area.
Shakespeare in the woods: that was the original draw of Shakespeare Santa Cruz at the University of California Campus above the beach town south of the Bay Area. The Santa Cruz mountains no doubt hid some choice spots for a commune, but real estate in that area already was getting pricy, although we all agreed that Santa Cruz was a nice little town. Over the years, we had some fine vacations there, sometimes with friends at the Shakespeare festival, sometimes with family at the Boardwalk and beach.
Shakespeare in the woods: that was the original draw of Shakespeare Santa Cruz at the University of California Campus above the beach town south of the Bay Area. The Santa Cruz mountains no doubt hid some choice spots for a commune, but real estate in that area already was getting pricy, although we all agreed that Santa Cruz was a nice little town. Over the years, we had some fine vacations there, sometimes with friends at the Shakespeare festival, sometimes with family at the Boardwalk and beach.
Shakespeare was the main attraction of Ashland, Oregon, too. A pretty little town just above the California border, its annual Shakespeare festival drew more and more visitors each year. Gradually, as the festival grew, the city grew, more places to stay and eat appearing around the town. Somehow, though, the place retained most of its charm. Sherrill and I lost track of the numbers of times we drove up to enjoy the festival, sometimes with our daughter, and, often, good times with friends.
Sherrill at Smithsonian, Washington D.C. Over the years, we flew to Washington D.C. many times to visit my aunt and uncle, see the museums, and explore different parts of the area—sometimes just with Simone, once with both Paul and Simone, sometimes just the two of us. Once, grandson Leo and I went alone. No matter how often we went, we always discovered something new and exciting and it was always fun to be with my aunt and uncle.
Sherrill & Bruce, Spring, Washington D.C.
Another place that we often visited for mini-vacations was Honolulu, where Sherrill's mother lived. Hawaii also never got old. We went there several times with little Simone, then with teenage Simone, then with Paul and Simone together, and still later with little Leo, too. When Simone was small, Sherrill and I took her to Disneyland in southern California. A generation later, we took five year-old Leo there. The park may have added new attractions, but it seemed more or less the same fantasy paradise with no connection to reality—not even the so-called Main Street USA. Of course, Disneyland is best enjoyed when you can do it through the eyes of a young child.
Oregon often drew us for days or a week, because of its beauty and because we had friends up there. Once, Sherrill and I took the train from Oakland to Klamath Falls, but usually we drove north. Sometimes, we stayed in Medford or Ashland, other times went further afield to Lake Mary, where we rented a cabin with our friends, or to spectacular Crater Lake, once to a resort area near Bend, and once to visit a friend in Eugene. At least a couple of times, we prowled around Portland, green and civilized, but sometimes quite damp.
"We could live here," we agreed, "if it weren't so wet."
"We could live here," we agreed, "if it weren't so wet."
Leo and Paul, New Mexico A week in New Mexico with Simone and Paul and one-and-half year-old Leo turned out to be one of our best mini-vacations. Leo seemed to enjoy every minute of the trip, starting with the airplane, and we enjoyed his enjoyment. Paul and I took turns carrying him on our backs, which he also liked. He doesn't remember any of it today, but we covered a lot of ground, exploring native American sites, Spanish missions, and Santa Fe. We spent hours hiking among the pueblo-style buildings and visiting art galleries and museums. The sun was hot and bright and the shadows thrown down by the flat-roofed buildings were cool and black. Evenings, we took turns going to dinner while one of us watched Leo and Sherrill stayed with him part of one day while the other three of us went gallery hopping.
Sherrill loved to plan and organize trips. Although from time to time she tried to weed the files she'd put together for possible future adventures, new possibilities were added as fast as others were eliminated. Then, at the right time, she'd pull out just what we needed.
Sherrill, Autumn Foliage, New England "The Fall colors in New England will be perfect next month," she told me, one year,
showing me clippings she'd saved and an itinerary she'd worked out. The plan turned into a perfect swing through several states, with a side trip to upstate New York to visit friends and another stop at Mark Twain's home in Connecticut. In her enthusiasm, as we were driving among the gloriously colored trees, Sherrill saved some of the leaves and mailed them back to Simone in Berkeley—somewhat perplexing our daughter, since the leaves had lost their color by the time they'd crossed the continent.
showing me clippings she'd saved and an itinerary she'd worked out. The plan turned into a perfect swing through several states, with a side trip to upstate New York to visit friends and another stop at Mark Twain's home in Connecticut. In her enthusiasm, as we were driving among the gloriously colored trees, Sherrill saved some of the leaves and mailed them back to Simone in Berkeley—somewhat perplexing our daughter, since the leaves had lost their color by the time they'd crossed the continent.
Another file folder revealed everything we needed to know for a perfect trip to San Antonio, Texas. Well, almost everything. As much as Sherrill and I enjoyed the River Walk and the historic sites and missions, we weren't expecting an infestation of locusts while we were there: drifts of them piled against the hotel doors and in front of the Alamo across the street. When I tried swimming in the hotel pool, they floated up against me, I got handfuls of them with each stroke, and they drifted into my ears and mouth.
After Sherrill retired (almost a year before I did), she decided that she was going to surprise me with a series of weekend mini-trips that she'd put together while I was at work. One weekend, she drove us to the Gilroy Garlic Festival, where we sampled everything made from garlic, including garlic ice cream. Another time, we spent a weekend at a Japanese-style spa in San Francisco's Japan Town. I think surprising me was as much fun for her as any trip, itself.
A weekend jaunt to the Hearst castle at San Simeon turned out to be quite an adventure. As part of the surprise, we rode the train south to San Luis Obispo and then took a bus tour up the coast to the "enchanted mountain" and the castle, all very Citizen Kane.
"Just think," I whispered halfway through the tour, nodding toward the grotesquely huge dining room table. "Garbo sat there."
"Yes, dear. And Marie Dressler!"
On the way down the hill after the visit, we saw a knobby-kneed giraffe loping through the long dry grass and several other exotic animals left from Hearst's private menagerie.
I had to go to a conference in Chicago one year to give a speech about employee communications. Sherrill was retired, so she came with me—not to hear my speech, but to do some sightseeing on her own, including a boat tour among the skyscrapers on the Chicago River and in Lake Michigan. After the conference ended, we stayed another few days, turning the business trip into a mini-vacation. We even took in a play at The Auditorium, the 1889 theater designed by Chicago architect, Louis Sullivan. One of the best parts of the trip, since we both were fascinated by architecture, was seeing the historic, once radical, buildings of the city.
After Sherrill retired (almost a year before I did), she decided that she was going to surprise me with a series of weekend mini-trips that she'd put together while I was at work. One weekend, she drove us to the Gilroy Garlic Festival, where we sampled everything made from garlic, including garlic ice cream. Another time, we spent a weekend at a Japanese-style spa in San Francisco's Japan Town. I think surprising me was as much fun for her as any trip, itself.
A weekend jaunt to the Hearst castle at San Simeon turned out to be quite an adventure. As part of the surprise, we rode the train south to San Luis Obispo and then took a bus tour up the coast to the "enchanted mountain" and the castle, all very Citizen Kane.
"Just think," I whispered halfway through the tour, nodding toward the grotesquely huge dining room table. "Garbo sat there."
"Yes, dear. And Marie Dressler!"
On the way down the hill after the visit, we saw a knobby-kneed giraffe loping through the long dry grass and several other exotic animals left from Hearst's private menagerie.
I had to go to a conference in Chicago one year to give a speech about employee communications. Sherrill was retired, so she came with me—not to hear my speech, but to do some sightseeing on her own, including a boat tour among the skyscrapers on the Chicago River and in Lake Michigan. After the conference ended, we stayed another few days, turning the business trip into a mini-vacation. We even took in a play at The Auditorium, the 1889 theater designed by Chicago architect, Louis Sullivan. One of the best parts of the trip, since we both were fascinated by architecture, was seeing the historic, once radical, buildings of the city.
Bruce & Sherrill, San Diego, after Mini-Cruise "We're taking a cruise this weekend," Sherrill told me one Friday evening—a two-day trip, she added, sailing from San Francisco to San Diego, overnight there, then flying home. "It'll be fun."
When she said a trip would be fun, it always was. How could I doubt her?
The little ship, a baby when compared with modern cruise liners, stuck pretty near the California coast on the way south. The weather was nice, but Sherrill hadn't booked a room for us since it was such a short trip, so we had to wander around the boat until we docked in San Diego. Most of the ship seemed to taken up with casinos, bars, and restaurants, loud music blasting from all of them—music that we couldn't escape. Everyone but us seemed to be drinking, dancing, or gambling without stop.
"A party boat," Sherrill pointed out.
The deck was somewhat quieter, but we couldn't stay outside for the whole trip.
"It was a bargain," she told me. "You wouldn't believe how cheap."
"No," I said. "I'd believe."
However, we did enjoy San Diego and had a comfortable flight home. Afterwards, I didn't tease her about her bargain cruise—not too much.
To be continued....
When she said a trip would be fun, it always was. How could I doubt her?
The little ship, a baby when compared with modern cruise liners, stuck pretty near the California coast on the way south. The weather was nice, but Sherrill hadn't booked a room for us since it was such a short trip, so we had to wander around the boat until we docked in San Diego. Most of the ship seemed to taken up with casinos, bars, and restaurants, loud music blasting from all of them—music that we couldn't escape. Everyone but us seemed to be drinking, dancing, or gambling without stop.
"A party boat," Sherrill pointed out.
The deck was somewhat quieter, but we couldn't stay outside for the whole trip.
"It was a bargain," she told me. "You wouldn't believe how cheap."
"No," I said. "I'd believe."
However, we did enjoy San Diego and had a comfortable flight home. Afterwards, I didn't tease her about her bargain cruise—not too much.
To be continued....
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You also might enjoy reading the new bargain-priced e-book of my first novel, The Night Action. First published in 1966, it has been called the last great novel of a past era. "The novel careens around the night spots of San Francisco's North Beach and the words seem to fly off the page in the style of Tom Wolfe or the lyrics of Tom Waits." The book is available at Amazon and Kobo. Click on the title for the link. Or Here.
Or here: Goodreads.
You also might enjoy reading the new bargain-priced e-book of my first novel, The Night Action. First published in 1966, it has been called the last great novel of a past era. "The novel careens around the night spots of San Francisco's North Beach and the words seem to fly off the page in the style of Tom Wolfe or the lyrics of Tom Waits." The book is available at Amazon and Kobo. Click on the title for the link. Or Here.
Or here: Goodreads.
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