Pentax Lazarus. Soggy Sedona.

Here are some shots with the dead camera:

I'm not dead yet!

Yes you are.

I got better!

These folks parked near me last night. I didn't meet them; they came in after roosting time.

I don't like to look gift rain in the mouth, but the weather is pretty miserable. I looked around for other favorite areas, and the forecast looks the same for the rest of the world. It's okay. If it took leaving my lawn chair and slippers outside to get some needed moisture to the area, it's a hit I'm willing to have taken.

If I want to go somewhere, I'll need to take down the wet tent and cram its wetness into a dry Spud. [That sounds more tater-porny than I mean it.]

My internet connection is holding, and that's a fine thing. I have books I can read, and sudoku. My camera works. I had my caffeine in an innovative way. There is a toilet mere steps from me. Don't cry for me, Arizona.

Sedona Heatwave is not just a Thai entrée

I've spent the last few nights in Flagstaff. I can explain: Annie needed a slight assist to get the motorhome and her loaner vehicle up to Flagstaff to avoid authoritarian conflict. Since the loaner wasn't set up to be towed, it was a two-person job.

I am "borrowing" Annie's picture of the site, because my brain and clicky-finger were stunned by the temperatures. The rest of me was wondering what the H-E-double-toothpicks I was doing there when I could be anywhere but Flagstaff. Or IN Flagstaff, but indoors (thanks, Cousins!).

So, you know I have a patented, secret (I'll tell you) method for staying warm in Spud. I added some deluxe features to the package the past couple of days. I lay on a metallicized sheet, then add fluffy layers of down QUACK! on top. The final slice of blanket is another reflective sheet, with the reflection pointed toward me.

In cases of extreme cold, or need for privacy, I add a reflective panel to the hatch window, and the hatch gets closed. The Reflectix is covered with black fabric, so from the outside it doesn't look like you can't see in. It just looks like there's nothing to see. Then I add blackout curtains behind the front seats. This retains heat, but also moisture, so that I need to crack a couple of windows.

I won't go into my boudoir wardrobe. I'll leave that to your voyeuristic imagination. I'll just drop risqué hints, like "there are multiple layers," and "how do you like my insulated ski hat?"

Tonight I'm a couple thousand feet lower and forty miles souther, at a campsite WITH A TOILET - huzzah.

The following pictures are sad. They are the documentation of the death of my Pentax point-and-shoot. There was a nasty grinding sound that was too familiar, and the end of auto-focus as I know it.

If you have a suggestion for a durable, awesome, slim point-and-shoot camera, let me have it. No, the camera. Hand it over. When I get a replacement, you'll know it because there will be pictures on my blog again.

I met a nice man tonight who sized up my situation with a glance. That's both kind and disconcerting. I'd like to retain the look of a Lady Out Camping! as opposed to the look of a Lady Living in Her Car. I think it's because he's a full-timer, too, and so knows the signs. It's the way you can tell if an RV at Walmart is out for the weekend, or out for the duration.

It made me think about the question of being alright. I'm certainly alright tonight, with plenty left over to head over into excellent. There have been nights when I was not alright, but still fine. The not-fine part wasn't reality. But, that's true of you, too.

Then I thought about those nights feeling not-alright, and I wonder what would have happened if someone had asked me then. It was good they didn't; what fresh hell would they have unleashed on themselves? [shudder]

I drove through Prescott Valley and Prescott today, but didn't stop anywhere. I'll go again, and look really hard so I can draw you word pictures.

I hope you're all alright tonight.