Let me try to summarize … (summerize?)

We’re ba-ack.

My Beloved and I have returned from low and dry places, and I’ve just now caught my breath to bring my faithful readers up to date.

Minnesota Transplant was retransplanted for the winter. Or would that just be replanted?

I didn’t reveal much about my whereabouts since Christmas because, well, creepers. We didn’t need wide-eyed internet creepers pinning down our absence and pulling off some sort of caper on the house we left behind in northern Illinois. But we’re back now, so nah, nah, nah-boo-boo.

our rig

We spent three months in a camper in Yuma. Don’t know where Yuma is? Well, it’s pretty much as far south and west as you can get and still remain in the contiguous United States. We’ve gone south for the winter before but never to Arizona. We got what we were looking for: Sunshine by the bucketfuls. Sunshine every day (except three — it rained three days in three months; and we were told even that much was unusual — thank you, El Nino). Bright, unyielding sunshine. So much sunshine we got tired of the sunshine.

That’s a lot of sunshine.

For a girl who grew up in north-central Minnesota and lives most of the time in northern Illinois, Yuma’s winter weather was Glorious with a capital G. (Now its summer weather is not so nice unless you’re fond of 120-degree temps along with all your endless sunshine.)


big sky

If Montanans think their state is Big Sky country, they don’t know the Sonoran Desert. This is the view from Yuma.

Yuma is in the Sonoran Desert (did you know there are four deserts in North America? Arizona is the only state in the United States where parts of all four can be found). It’s drier there than a popcorn fart, as my Beloved would say. But the dry air is good for one’s joints and lungs, and it makes 95-degree days (like we enjoyed in late March) downright pleasant.

Home base was a 55+ resort with two big pools, a shuffleboard league and happy hour every day at 4. Though we were working through the winter (thanks to unlimited minutes and data), most of the rest of the residents of the park were lounging (retiring is where the word retirement came from). A hard-driving Minnesota native feels a little guilty hanging out in such a place, but I got used to it pretty quick (if the number of posts on my blog here is any indication).

But in any case, we’re back. The camper has been unloaded of its cargo (I still don’t know why my Beloved packed so many shirts and why I packed so many books). I’ve caught up on the mail and mailed our taxes. We’ve complained about the chilly temps back here in Illinois. And life returns to normal.

And that’s just fine.

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