I feel the end of the semester-blue lapping at my heels and with the pleasant spring weather outside, I alternately want to lay outside on the chaise lounge and read a book, or tackle cleaning out the garage. A pleasant conundrum. (Notice that grading papers and entering grades isn't even on this list, but will roll over me like a heat wave in New Orleans in summer come this Tuesday.)

Instead of doing either task, Dave had a conference at the Mission Inn and I took advantage of "being a guest" and walked through places I'd never been. Here are some photos.


Frank Miller was the one who built and furnished this Inn, on what I think of as a multi-year-long garage sale troll. There are unique features and furnishings to this place. As they say, it has "character."

A tile from the rotunda stairwell: "Come in. It's your house, friend." Only they've sort of made this section of the hotel hard to get to ever since some guy tried to jump off the fourth floor railing.


Door on the fourth level--the hardly-ever-anyone-goes-to fourth level.

Abraham Lincoln was really popular around here. There's a whole building dedicated to him in Redlands. Someday I'll get there, too.


Fourth floor terrace with reflecting pool. The guy on his cell phone was reflecting quite loudly about the mortgage market dropping down out of sight. He must be doing okay, though, to be staying up here.



Author's Row, or Author's Way, or Writer's Way, or something. Some notable writers stayed here and they have brass ribbons over the doorway with their names on them.


Looking down into the Asian Courtyard.


The Mission Inn mechanical clock. The figures move on the quarter hour.

I thought this view of the Music Room rotunda looked like a spectacular giant cactus springing out of the gray earth, little bromeliads leaning in homage.


The archway over the Chapel. Yes, this place even has a chapel.
The chapel facade, revealed. On the left is the Fliers Wall, each pair of brass wings affixed to the wall in honor someone who has died in war. I think they have to have been shot down, not shot at.



A gathering of grad students and one ringer, in the middle.