Moscow Mule

Portland is unique. I enjoyed spending an afternoon with my law school pal, Matthew, who is also a writer, before boarding the Empire Builder for Whitefish. Powell’s City of Books is an enchanting place and the burgers at Tasty n Alder scrumptious. Matthew introduced me to a Moscow Mule proper like in a copper cup.

 

Rolling into Whitefish under the moonlight at the first flush of the morning is invigorating with the air a cool 34 degrees. I adore snow country and my Montana muse.

whitefish depot

moonlight train depot

My breakfast view at the Bar W Guest Ranch hours before my Haven II adventure begins. Soon after Celeste died in May 1990, I recall hoping to escape to a dude ranch out West where I thought I could collect the pieces of my heart. Instead, I found myself on bed rest at home for four months coping with the unexpected pregnancy of my second daughter. Elyse was due Christmas Eve; one dazing year after a medical resident at Bayfront Hospital ordered an MRI the previous Christmas Eve, and Dr. Solomon of All Children’s Hospital diagnosed our baby with a brain tumor. Celeste was 2.5 months old then. The youngest ever diagnosed with a brain tumor. I am finally at that dude ranch weaving pieces of my heart into my memoir, Between the Lines.

Bar W 2

 

 

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