7-4-2015 St. George, UT

The hail storm and deluge cleared up as suddenly as it had arrived.  These aren’t “normal” for this area but there are a lot of warning signs around for those who like to hike in the canyons and arroyos.  They don’t need to worry themselves about me.  I do not believe in snakes, spiders or gully washers, they all should be against the law.

The locals didn’t blink.  The 4th festivities went on as usual.  We went down to the biergarten but they didn’t believe I was 21 without an ID, those rascals.  So we found a different place to have a fine Italian dinner, Cappeletti’s.  An appetizer of insalata caprese was first.  The mozzarella was so freshly-made that the kind waitress apologized for the delay.  Freshly-made, like right now, not kidding.  The cheese is kneaded and then woven into a braid and submerged into a tub of hot water, then squeezed and sliced. The cheese on the salad was still warm, drizzled with fresh basalmic vinegar sauce and topped with freshly-made ground walnut and basil pesto.  It was divine!  Not even in Italy did I experience mozzarella fresh off the hoof or warm from the pot in the last 30 minutes (at least, not of which I am aware).  Escuisito!  The rest of our dinner and the accompanying chianti was also perfecto!

This morning we sang “Happy Birthday” to our wonderful USA.  There aren’t that many reasons to get up early, trust me, but getting a front row seat at the Fourth of July parade is a good one.  This was not the spectacle that occurs in Flagstaff, by any means.  It was over in an hour.  The parade, however, was rife with American flags, soldiers, military vehicles and one very old veteran who served in 3 wars; WWII, Korea and Viet Nam, just like Dad DeLaMare.  His birthday is today.  Happy birthday to you, too, brave soldier, and thank you.  (At the rv park, we also met John Burkholder.  He flew the Corsair 2 off of the Midway.  His dog’s name is “Midway.”  Thank you, too, John.)

After the parade, we went to Worthen Park to see what else was shaking.  There were lots of rides, food vendors and a bit of music.  Oh, and gaggles of little miniature Mormons in strollers.  Indeed, veritable herds of them.  These are little miniature conservative hatchlings.  This can only be a good thing and I enjoyed the feeling of being among birds of a feather.

Suddenly at the park, Rob’s antennae went up as he heard the familiar, “pop, pop, pop.”  What the…?  Do we hear pickleballs?  We followed the sound as it got louder until we found them!  Six courts!  Yay!  Home to Bee we scurried, changed into our game clothes, grabbed our gear and we were off like a dirty shirt!  An hour and a half later, in the heat and humidity, we couldn’t take one more swing.  Of course, we were playing against 30-somethings and they played our pants off (there’s a vision).  Now, we be bitten.  We had heard of other courts here and so went to have a look see.  These 12 are designer, complete with canopies for shade and, yes, a wind sock!  A wind sock, seriously?

Aerial view Little Valley

The plan is to add 16 more.  So far, we have come across 22 courts and Rob just found 14 more on the net.  We may have found a reason to move to Utah.  Not MANY reasons, A reason.  High taxes, our minority status as non-Mormons and the scarcity of saloons are sniggly problems.  (“Toto, I don’t think we’re in Wisconsin, anymore.”)  Granted, Utah has snow and temples.  At our age, snow is something you look at and gasp, “Wow, look how deep the snow is!” and then wait for it to melt.  I guess you wait in the temples since saloons are, shall we say, not so frequent whereas there are veritable gaggles of temples.  Many more than pickleball courts and without the windsocks.

Windsockless Temple