We did that Grand Canyon Sky Walk….well, everyone did except me : I am terrified of heights and found that my fears extended to the children . Whenever they would get within 5 feet of the Canyon’s edge, I simple, well, went nuts. I was such a party pooper that I finally locked myself in the car and looked the other way, so as not to spoil the family trip. Here I must say that the family teased me to no end : The Girl sat on a stone wall at the edge of the canyon, her legs dangling over the side, into the pit of death below and then called to me. My heart bounced against my ribs as I imagined loosing her into that deep cavern, for I was too fearful to come closer and see that just below her feet was not an abyss but a donkey trail, a mere a few feet below.

But back to the Sky Walk. Well, what a drive that was ! We were well prepared for Death Valley – on July 5, which is now recorded as the highest temp in about 20 years in that area- but we had only a few sodas in the car for our trip to the Sky Walk. We drove for about an hour through the desert, the high light seeing a real live coyote and then, well, the pavement ended and we were on a red dust and stone road for 14 miles. I shall simply say that I did not like that road one bit, although *the boys* thought that it lent an adventurous flavor to the trip, a rugged element. Western.

I read the other day that the Haulapi ( you try and spell it) Indians have just settled with a guy who owns a ranch down there for 750,000 dollars and can now pave that road. And we can now say that we were there *when*. Pioneers, in a way.

As a tourist note, the Sky Walk is – by all accounts- fabulous, but very, very expensive. The Haulipi’s are planning on a big park, with various attractions of interest which- so far- are not there. One pays 50 bucks to get on to the reservation and then an additional 25 to go on the Sky Walk. As there is nothing else on the reservation at this point ( excepting a gift shop which has one of the most wicked funny T- Shirts that I have ever read- both The Boy and The Father now own one), it is in essence 75 for the Sky Walk, which includes a lunch. But read this: all three of our kids said that they were willing to sit for 8+ hours in a car if they could go on the Sky Walk, and not a fuss was heard.

8+ hours.

And so we did.

The Sky Walk is not far from Las Vegas and Hoover Damn. It is very far from the classic Grand Canyon site, the South rim.

But Gore, Gore, Gore also comes from this time in our road trip and relates to today. I most likely have spelled *gore* wrong. I mean it in the * gore and blood* way, not in the *Al* way. So I have this eczema on my ankle, which looks like an advanced stage of leprosy but doesn’t bother me one.tiny.bit. It’s just butt ugly. And about every two weeks, it itches. A lot. And I scratch and scratch at it until blood drips from my foot. That looks horrid, but it doesn’t hurt one.tiny.bit.

But my Dad saw it and was horrified. I suppose that seeing one’s daughter dripping blood from an ankle would indeed horrify a parent.

So today I went to a Dermatologist. Dad’s. He looked at most of my spots, asked me this and that ( which I answered in a very dim- witted manner, for I have learned over the years to live with the problem, not to note it’s every manifestation) and then out of the blue took out a note pad for medicines.

I have VERY strong creams and salves, which I rarely use, for I save the balms for when the ugly mothers hurt, not for cosmetic uses. I fear developing a resistance to the medicines, that I might one day suffer and nothing will work.

He suggested that I have a shot of cortisone in my butt and I rather went into a tizzy. All that I thought twas hat I was afraid of the needle, but, wow, I have gone through natural childbirth twice, very much against my druthers. I was afraid of having injectable cortisone. The only people that I have known who have had it were cancer patients and one who had Crohns.

It seemed like such a serious thing, coming so very out of the blue, that I did indeed Henny Penny out.

But I have had the shot. I am not optimistic about the results, for-after all- 25 years I have been told to learn to live with eczema, which I have done, nestling a store of secret weapons for whatever hard times might fall.

And I must admit, I feared the bill : I am not covered in the States and have learned that Holland will not cover the bills. But the Dermatologist must have had pity upon me : 40 bucks for the hour long exam and the shot in my butt.

Needless to say when he said that he read lately which country had the tallest people in Europe, I played stupid.

Only after he gave the answer did I reveal that The Father- at 6′4- was the shortest of the four males in his Dutch family.

The Father and The Girl left today. I did not want them to leave, for– despite the fact that I loathe road trips- we had one stinkin’ fun Walton road trip.

Stinkin’ being the keyword. Literally. ( Hey, spelcheck, come back, come back ! re: Rose blowing the whistle in Titanic).

As usual, when we met Dad he dumped a bombshell upon my poor wee head : oh, the trip to Destin is canceled : I have to have surgery yesterday. Which he had, yesterday. On his left shoulder ( crosswise from his left robot leg). He is now,well, helpless.

Wicked Step- Mother has a very bad back, I am just not strong enough and so, when he falls, we cannot lift him. He fell three times today. I suggested to GranMawh that we spike his gin with codeine to keep him from his macho endeavors. Being a highly trained nurse, she demurred.

I go out in the blazing sun to try and teach The Baby how to skate, the old four wheel- adjust with a key skates , a dim memory in American culture. The Boy paints lead soldiers much better than I imagined his fine motor controlled fingers could ever do. The puzzles await us, the walks in search of arrowheads, the children are fine, amused enough by the fact that they are out of the car after two weeks.

I like being here.The Father and the kids like it even more : they love the polite and open attitude of Americans. The Girl loves Uncle Richard and- very oddly, I think- loves Uncle Stevie to pieces.

No road trip next year is agreed upon, for we have criss- crossed America for the last four
summers. Next year will be beaches and family.

For now, we rest, away from cars, the kids eat jello and doughnuts and wonder what PG 13 means, for they are dying to see the new Simpsons film in a few days.

And that is the news today, Hemingways birthday.