Potatoes, huckleberries and bling

City Beach, Sandpoint, Idaho

My time in amazing Sandpoint, Idaho, ended yesterday. Dorsey and I had been in Northwest Idaho for 9 days, most of that in Sandpoint, although I spent a day and way too much money in beautiful Coeur d' Alene.  But I did my part to support the Sandpoint economy, as well. I'm sure they cried when I left. (I did get some hugs, though.)

While Sandpoint is only a relatively short distance from Canada, I didn't go because I had so many things to see and do in the potato state — yummy french fries at Mack Duff's. I'll save Canada for at least a four-year stay in the unfortunate event that either Donald Trump or Kanye West becomes President of the United States. (I shudder to think about these two outrageous, attention-seeking, egomaniacs in that role.)

Dorsey has had work in the northwest for months; he's already done the Coeur d' Alene thing several times. I wasn't able to go on those trips — or any other for more than a year in order to be with my parents.  In fact, this is the first work trip since before my parents got sick that I have traveled with Dorsey. I didn't realize how much I'd missed it until a sense of normalcy seemed to settle upon me while there.

Like Bend, Oregon (still my fave), I could easily see myself living in Sandpoint. It's pretty. It's small. It's a physically active town — you can walk just about anywhere. I love the clothing styles (except maybe the overuse of Birkenstocks), it's laid-back personality, and my political beliefs fit more naturally with this part of the country. (I have no idea how that happened, but it did, and I am grateful ... but that is a post for another time.)

I felt true happiness for the first time since my parents became ill. It's as if my little spirit came alive and said, "OK, fly." And so it did.

Tierra Madre, my twice daily
juice stop.

While Dorsey worked during the days, I developed a little morning routine of coffee on the deck at Starbucks, walking around the beach and the town's walking trail, and then heading over to the juice bar for breakfast.

Yes, I kept up my juicing while in Sandpoint. At least I could feel somewhat healthy in the middle of enjoying things like chocolate mousse, key lime pie, ice cream and oatmeal cookies. (It's definitely time for a three-day reboot.)

And sort of as an aside, I would so like to open a juice bar kind of like Tierra Madre, my favorite Sandpoint juice joint, but I don't believe Amarillo would support it.

Resident kitty

After I had gotten ready for the day and loved on the hotel's resident kitty, I explored Sandpoint, shopped, browsed the town's massive used book store, read lazily (I found a new author I liked that I pulled from my mother's bookshelf!), and made myself a few friends from Sandpoint.

I spent much of my time conversing with the locals about their town, about Idaho and about mutual interests. I've never really done that in my travels before, but now I know I've short-changed myself all this time. Or maybe it was just that Sandpoint people are friendly? (OK, not the witch at the laundromat; there are a few bad potatoes in every sack.) I don't know. I do know I had a nice experience and learned many interesting little facts.

For example, Lake Pend Oreille — pronounced Ponderay — is the eighth largest in the U.S., — Tahoe is sixth — and it was formed from an ice glacier thousands of years ago. I also learned about sweet and amazing ospreys and asshole bald eagles. Really, bald eagles may look majestic, but they aren't very nice. I compare them to human sociopaths. And huckleberries abound! Huckleberry jam, huckleberry syrup, huckleberry ice cream, huckleberry sauce, huckleberry chocolate, huckleberry tea ... probably even huckleberry beer.  I even learned that the reason the Philly Cheesesteak Sandwiches at Joe's AUTHENTIC Philly Cheesesteaks are authentic is because the ingredients, such as meat and rolls, come from Philadelphia.

First night dinner on the lake.

Dorsey and I headed out every night to try nearly all of Sandpoint's restaurants. For a town of not quite 8,000 people, the number of excellent restaurants surprised us. Everything we tried was good, either because of food, atmosphere or both. Several restaurants also featured local live music, which I'm always good for.

As I always do when I travel, I wondered in amazement at the quirky, different,  special, beautiful and even annoying things about the town and culture. For example, driving in Idaho sucked because speed limits are no higher than 65, at best. And apparently, people don't understand the concept of slow traffic confining itself to the right lane. One girl gave me a special wave out the window after I made an honest driving mistake — I didn't know the highway well enough to know two lanes were about to merge into one ... Geez.

It struck me yet again about how, growing up in Texas, I somehow internalized an overly exaggerated sense of pride in the state of Texas ... so much so that I never considered or imagined other parts of the country could be more amazing or offer anything special. Crazy and snobbish, I know. Now all I want to do is visit every part of the United States ... and other countries, too, of course. I believe I have developed a bad case of "the greener grass syndrome."  I always come home to Amarillo wanting to move. Someday maybe we can, but not yet.  (Give me a break, OK? I have lived in Amarillo for more than 40 years. Change is warranted.)

Weekends and summer days.

When I have an extra mil or two.

So pretty.

I think a final thing I noticed on this trip is my love of bling. It's back! When Mom and Dad were sick, I cared only about getting dressed in my yoga pants and t-shirts, and throwing my hair up in a big ponytail clip. Unlike me, I often went days without makeup. I just didn't care. When Dad moved in, I went through my closet and got rid of bag after bag of clothing and jewelry, and what I didn't get rid of then, I tried again after they died. I didn't care about my shiny stuff much. I got rid of lots of fashion jewelry, which I used to crazily adore. I didn't care anymore. I figured I was just getting old and had completely outgrown my midlife crisis of a few years back.

But Idaho ... particularly Coeur d'Alene ... changed that.

Not only does the shiny, blingy stuff rule again, I have created a new wardrobe.

I'm home now, and I have no idea whether my apparent turn of a corner will last. I still grieve. I will never get used to being an orphan. I think of my parents every day, and I worry that the further away their deaths get from me, the further away they get from me. I am now back around familiar things, and we still have their homes and belongings to take care of.  It's still early in this grief game, I think.

I just know that I liked feeling good again, if at least for a little while.

I'm truly grateful for the experience and hope to return to Idaho someday.