September 8, 2016

When I picked up my clothes from the tailor this morning, I asked him whether people bring him dirty clothes. "Yes," he moaned. He said they have a washer and dryer and they will wash anything they deem dirty that is machine washable. He said he's been given pajama bottoms to re-sew complete with skid marks. The two pairs of pants and dress I gave him were clean. I told him that I would re-wash all of them before I wore them because they may have touched other people's clothes. He wasn't offended by my comment, and nodded accordingly. We agreed that he knows too much about the dirty side of humanity. Yuck. For once I’m grateful that I can’t sew.

​The tailor opened at nine this morning but Google listed his opening at ten. I delayed my departure from Durango to arrive at his door just before he opened only to discover that Google is wrong. He said his hours have been the same for over twenty years, he doesn't know the source of the Google input, and he doesn't know how to change it. I suggested he "claim this business," but he's not a techie, and I don't know if that will work. On a positive note, I told for him that if it weren't for Google, I wouldn't have found him.

One off my friends posted something on Facebook last week regarding the number of states to which the typical American has been. It is eight. My prior Westie littermates, Chloe and Duncan, went to all but Alaska, Hawaii and Alabama. They did forty-six by car, and Florida by air. By the time Addison and Jasper get back to my parents' house in October, they will have been to 35 states. I had been to all of them by 2005 through a combination of vacations, cross-country trips, and work trips. I've spent the night in every state except Alabama and Mississippi. I'll have to rectify that this winter.

I had no interesting conversations in the Durango RV park. If I hadn't had the car for five days I would have rated the experience worse than Park City. I could have ridden my bike into town, if I was willing to cross a four-lane highway and ride in the shoulder while vehicles passed me doing 55+mph, but I wasn't. Without the car, I would have been trapped here with a bike, whereas in Park City, I wouldn't have been trapped if I had the bike. Choosing RV parks sight unseen has its perils, positive reviews and ratings notwithstanding, when one doesn’t have a car.