February 10, 2008. Puerto Vallarta. We made it.

We made it to Mexico.  Two airplanes and one change of planes in Houston, one taxi ride in Mexico and we were here.  The air is warm and clean, and our apartment is comfortable and we are ready for the next two weeks.  Ken was apprehensive before the trip, but he was determined to get there.  And we did.  Suzanne Reynolds from work came with us. She is a nurse and is a very helpful person so our trip was smooth.  The wheelchairs were a godsend and the airline,Continental, was unfailingly gracious, so we were able to arrive in style.  Ken was pleased. It wasn't until he sat down and rested that he realized how tired he was.  We all went to bed at nine o'clock.

Ken and I share one quality in common.  We both like to go.  When Ken was a medical

 student and I was a teacher, our summers were free to work.  So we got jobs in some place in the country we wanted to travel and then in between work we travelled in that area.  We worked at Salvation Army summer camps, the first year outside of Boston and the next year outside Tucson.  We drove our Volkswagen bug, brought our tenting gear and we were ready to go.  It is hard to believe, but we saved up enough money through the school year for tuition, so the income from our camp jobs just needed to fund our summers.  Our summers were great and we went places and saw sights that we have never been able to see, once our professional and family life took over.

We were upset with our last summer.  Our choice was to go to the far north in Canada.  A family friend was the Minister of Northern Affairs in Canada, Walter Dinsdale, and we spoke to him.  He told us what to do, and assured us that Ken would be hired for the summer and that I would be able to accompany him.  So in a very short time Ken received his letter accepting him into the Medical Service of Canada.  We were thrilled.  His placing would be given to him in early June, to begin to work June 15.  When the letter came we were devastated to discover he was to begin to work at Toronto's Malton Airport, which became Toronto International Airport.  The powers that be tried to make it easy on us, not knowing that we wanted to go up north.  We didn't even know that this was part of Walter Dinslale's responsibilities.  But here we were, ten days away from a job but not wanting it.  It worked out for us though.  I took a well paid job teaching swimming for the Toronto School for six weeks, Ken reported to duty every day and in the middle of August we left Toronto and travelled in the Maritime provinces and Quebec.  That was in 1962 and we had never been back since that summer.  Just think of what could have happened had we not visited beautiful Nova Scotia in 1962.