Life of Wry

Okay, annual go-to-Yosemite trip. Oh yay, oh yay!

New thing this year, Peter has his license and got to drive.  He actually shared the wheel, but here he is on the uppity-downity part of the commute… that wonderful stretch along Hwy 4 between Stockton and Copperopolis.

Oh how I love this road (especially sitting in the back seat, taking drive-bys, and messing with the settings on my iPhone):

Now on the little connector road between Hwy 4 and Hwy 120 — the O’Byrnes Ferry Road – this is Lake Tulloch:

Then on to Hwy 120, past Groveland and a late lunch at PJ’s, and finally on our way to the park:

First signs of the fire damage… could almost be a fall shot… but it’s definitely not:

At last, entering Yosemite at the northern-most of the two west gates:

More evidence of fire damage:

And smoke still visible:

In nine days in Tuolumne Meadows, we saw little to no smoke… there were a couple times– when at the top of domes or peaks–we saw the smoke from some small fires that broke out for short periods, but nothing from the big ones that shut down portions of the park in the week before our arrival.

We got some rain, however, which was very welcomed! Here’s a shot as we are passing Tenaya Lake just before Tuolumne Meadows.  Yay, almost there!

Arrived at about 6:45pm, time enough to unload all our stuff into cabin #5 and make our 7:15 dinner reservation in the lodge.

Happy.

Peter just got back from a 4-day camping trip with some baseball friends today. Tomorrow, we leave again for a 10-day Yosemite trip.

Poor guy. Summer’s rough.

That is Jake’s mom, Kathy on the far right. She, apparently, takes a ton of kids camping every year. Kathy, herself, has seven kids, so by the time you include many of those (this year, I believe four or maybe five of them came) and throw in their friends, well… it’s a big group. And, for the most part, Kathy handles most of the duties. High functioning or nuts. Maybe both.

They went to Lodgepole Campground which, as I understand it, is near the Emigrant Gap area off I-80, not all that far from the summit.

Front row: Jake (Kathy’s son), Solly, Peter, Ray, Kathy
Top row: Friend, friend, friend, Leah (Kathy’s daughter)

Another son (college sophomore) was there with a whole bunch of his friends, plus one of Kathy’s older daughters and her son.  After that, I lose count.

Anyway, dirt, lake, logs, rocks, fire, trails, bear, mountain lion (maybe)… I heard about many adventures. Peter said he had a really fun time.

Photo, courtesy of somebody who was there, which I was not.

Oldest line in the family of my in-laws…. Framed… as in, I got Framed.

One can do a lot with a family name like Frame.

Today was a mini Frame reunion. In fact, it was so mini, it was more like just a family gathering. It was hosted by Jim’s Uncle Mike and Aunt Marsue in their crazy garden in the hills of Clayton, for us about an hour away.

Traditionally, the Frames have a reunion every two years which brings together the eleven Frame siblings (those remaining)–all of whom were born in the same house in Lawrence, Kansas starting sometime just before the 1920s–and their families.

However, for some reason, the reunion was not held last year, as scheduled.  So, Jim’s aunt decided we should at least gather those in the vicinity. One of the uncles came from outside that vicinity, so it felt like a special gathering.

There were eleven of us today, including three of the original Frame brothers–Jim’s uncles Dean, Kent and Mike.

A good time was had, even if it wasn’t a full-blown reunion.

Anyway, Mike is a gardener, designer, builder, artist, handy guy. He’s covered every single square inch of space in their large backyard with raised beds, terraces, trellises, archways, numerous seating areas, swings, art, mirrors, more art, pathways leading up and down the slopes & banks, and cobbled pathways that wind all over the place. It’s quite the ongoing project–the Winchester Mystery House of gardens–and very difficult to photograph. But, here are a couple shots:

He’s got his various crops assigned to their own beds–and lots of them–tomatoes, artichokes, peppers, onions, squash, etc. He’s got trees: citrus, peaches, plums, figs, avocados and someI couldn’t identify. Grape vines, too.

The art’s a hoot… whimsical wood and ceramic sculptures, various rock constructions, bottle art, all kinds of hanging things. This particular tree is covered with favorite quotations printed on colored wood blocks:

This is the main patio, with a basket of garden bounty on a beautiful wooden table (misters and fans are keeping everything cool):

I took lots of people shots, and of course group shots, but this is my favorite: Peter’s cousin and great buddy, Ben:

Here are some home facts:

I was born in a beach bungalow. Well, I was born in a hospital, but I spent my first year in a teeny (really teeny) bungalow on 39th Street in Manhattan Beach, just one and a half blocks from the breaking waves. (And too young to even know I lived on the beach, much less enjoy it!)

My parents then moved into another wee house, this one in Palos Verdes (though bigger than the beach bungalow), which accommodated our family until the third kid was on his way, and my Dad made way more money. I was three when they bought another house just up the street.

And that is the house my mom is still in (55 years and counting!)

So, this is what’s funny to me about the family home: Because my mom’s still there and because it’s the house I grew up in and return to for visits, holidays, family events and whatnot, and is the home my brothers grew up in, and is full of memories, furniture and other artifacts of Peterson family life, it represents home. I may call Davis home–well, I absolutely call Davis home–but the PV home is my nucleus.. my epicenter of home-ness.

But here’s the thing: I only lived there for 15 years (plus a couple summers between college years). That’s it! Jim and I have lived in our Davis home many more years (well, 18), so really, as homes go, Davis  is my main squeeze. And it’s the home where Peter was born. In fact, Peter–who, you know, was born just yesterday–has already lived in his family home longer than I lived in my family home.

Whatever significance that may hold.

I guess I’m just thinking about how life is so huge, and the events so defining, when we’re young, and home seems to be where one gets her/his start in life. Or where one goes back to. Or where one finds one’s mom. But maybe home is where one is living.  Or where the heart is.

Whatever.

So, I’m home… back in Davis. Landing at the Sac airport this evening, seeing the expanse of colorful, verdant farmland stretched out as far as the eye could see from 35,000′, was blissful. Great to be back in Northern California. With my family. Where I’m the mom.

They don’t directly relate, but here are a random few photos of my two homes taken from today’s iPhone photo set:

Nothing says Palos Verdes like the giant eucalyptus in Mom’s front yard:

Massive. And it’s a beautiful tree.

Or mom’s candy dish:

Here’s this morning’s coffee mug (made this for mom, and just love it):

“Mom’s mug”… get it?  Mug, mug…

And finally, driving home past rows of crops in the setting sun:

This shot? Just a couple of miles from my house…  love it.

At least I slept tight.

For what was supposed to be a restful, uneventful week in PV–mom’s pneumonia recovery week–it sure has had its share of drama. Today’s: the likely discovery of bed bugs in the guest room, aka MY OLD ROOM!

So not happy about this.

Mom will get confirmation tomorrow when the pest people come, but in the meantime, a look at my pillow with my mom’s lighted magnifying glass (my beloved tempurpedic pillow that I ALWAYS travel with because it is the miracle neck saver), reveals the tell-tale bed bug fecal spots (so gross), which I think I got down here, but who knows?

The pest people will investigate and let her know if the guest room bed is crawling with bed bugs and, if so, that will explain the dozens of bites all over my back, chest, neck… well, everywhere. I’ve got them everywhere. And they’re so itchy.

I’m in the early stages of bed bug research, which is to say I’m in that mildly panicked state, trying to figure out what-all has been infested… all the guest room bedding? Carpets? Mattresses? If I brought it on my pillow from Davis, does that mean all the clothes in my suitcase now have bed bugs? Have I been wearing clothing infested with bed bugs and is that why I have bites everywhere? Is our bed at home full of them? Is this itching in my hair just my imagination? When will all this itching stop???

Here’s a picture of the front yard, which… when you live in such a forest, I guess you can expect bugs, huh?

I may have a hard time turning this into a blog post… but here goes.

First, nothing happened today.. which is good if you’re providing support to your 85-year-old mom who’s recovering from pneumonia.

But, actually, one thing did happen:

I went to pour cream into my coffee this morning, and out came chunks that looked more like thick, gloppy sour cream than the 1/2 and 1/2 I was so expecting.  Very disappointing if coffee with cream is one of those things you’re really, really looking forward to.

Then, growing suspicious, I looked inside the carton of nonfat milk that I bought just yesterday and found what looked like a square of soft tofu swimming in not-very-white milk. There went the cereal plan.

And finally, I realized that the half-gallon of fresh squeezed orange juice that had bloated up to something half-again its normal size… was probably not normal.  When I unscrewed the cap, a gust of gas whooshed out. Yeah, definitely not normal.

Remembering that Jim had complained a couple of days ago that his beer was undrinkable (because it was warm), I started to think we were having a refrigerator problem.

Long story short, Sergio, pictured here on a ladder with a vacuum in his hand, came over and, after a short investigation, announced we had severely clogged filters in the compressor compartment, which, if not thoroughly cleaned on a routine basis (annually is suggested), leads to all kinds of refrigerator inefficiencies, which leads to the one thing refrigerators are designed to prevent: spoiled food (which we now have a ton of).

Sergio also brought up on his iPhone the record of service calls to Via La Selva.. the last one being “December 2005: Customer said food was not cold.” Funny guy, Sergio. So, okay, this had happened before. But, it won’t happen again! Annual maintenance from here on out; promise!

Anyway, he vacuumed the filters and thinks we’ll be back to cold food within 24-48 hours. All is back to good on Via La Selva. Big shopping trip tomorrow to replace all the spoiled food.

So there was that.

A related and very annoying thing happened next… not really worth mentioning, but it was a slow news day and I got a picture, so here’s the next part of this story:

The orange juice I mentioned? I’d taken it out of the refrigerator and laid it on its side on the counter (because the plastic bottle was so distended it no longer stood up). I meant to empty it, but forgot. A couple hours later I came into the kitchen to find it had leaked all over the counter and onto the floor, and then, most annoyingly, into the third drawer down that just happened to be open a crack. As luck would have it, there were a thousand things in this drawer (including eight crab pliers, four wine bottle openers, two basting syringes, various martini-making accessories, rarely used baking paraphernalia, a meat roasting fork thing that I impaled myself on, and more), the entire contents of which had to be removed and cleaned. Of course I have a couple shots:

Here’s the drawer with most of the contents removed and most of the orange juice sucked up:

And here is the sink full of sticky utensils:

I know.. but as I said… slow news day.

Thankfully.

Outings when you’ve sorta still got pneumonia are a big deal.  So, today we went to the beach…. It was a big deal because it’s great to get out, and it was a big deal because it was exhausting and took its toll on mom.

Read for almost two hours–mom her LA Times, me the manuscript I’m editing. Right here. In the car. Periodically looking up to look at the ocean and do a little people-walking-their-dog-watching. Mom in front, me in back. The windows were open, so we caught lots of conversation snippets, too.

I am moved by her pluck.

Settling in for the week. I am spelling my brothers, who’ve been doing most of the work so far on mom’s post-hospital recovery effort. My turn to share the love. No big plans.. no beach walks, even. Just rest. How about some settling-in, day-in-the-life haikus? Mostly because there’s not much else to write about.

Mom is doing well
Pneumonia does not stop her
Should be a fun week

First, coffee and cream
Then, go fetch the LA Times
Meds, shower, breakfast

Clean up from breakfast
Endless hands of gin rummy
Snack plate’s always close

Now to plan dinner…
Chicken is marinating
Let’s play some more cards

Clean up from dinner
Talk, read, text, blog, and email
Now it’s time for bed

I know. Best I could do.

I must say, I really love reunions. At 11pm last night, I felt very bummed we were getting kicked out. So many people left to talk to and a few more I really just wanted to hang out with longer.

People, even if they didn’t entirely remember you, were so open and friendly… I suppose it’s because everyone’s a little apprehensive about the whole thing. But for all the people I had superficial and/or awkward conversations with, there were many, many more with whom I had genuinely sweet and interesting conversations.

Like:

Marnie Hartley remembering we were lab partners in biology and 1) how we used to sing “Hold Your Head Up” (Argent, right?) while trying to lift our heads off our desks, feigning boredom, and laughing our heads off, and 2) getting caught passing a note to one another during class about how everybody around us was cheating on their tests except us and why didn’t the teacher see it. The teacher grabbed the note, read it to himself, passed it back to us and simply said, “acknowledged.” Then walked away. I sort of remember the first, but definitely not the second. But so sweet to hear. (I do remember singing “Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog” when we were dissecting frogs.)

Greatly enjoyed conversations–some long, some short–with (sort of in order of appearance over the course of two days and three events): Sidne Shaw, Cary McCullum, Wendy Cooper, David Lefkowitz, Heather Lewis, Mike Foreman (who accidentally stumbled upon our reunion while dining at Nelson’s with his wife and some friends.. really), Rick Reynolds, Lisa Barnes, Dave Fisher, Alicia Peifer, Jeff Schultz, Mike Duffin, Nancy Roedel, Valerie Tracy, Missy Smith, Cindy Wise, Georgina Pena, Russell Caterson, John Weaver, Neal Barab, Kathy Horn, Janis Dalseme, Becky Bates, Julie Sutter, Robbie Wilson, Amanda Duddleson, Barb FitzMorris, Mr. Kinney, Mike Flood, Edie Rogers, Debbie Bryon, Marnie, Marcia Aylesworth, Donna Bennett, Suzanne Strauss, Kathi Costello, Carter Morgan, Pat Rowe, Peggy Chandler, Chuck Babbitt, Barbara Rayburn. Probably missing a few good ones, and there were so many more just “hi”s in passing.. plus the awkward conversations with people I didn’t really share much of a past with.. oh, and assorted spouses.

But there were so, so many more conversations to have… glad we have the book.

As I felt at past reunions, some of my deepest bonds are with the kids I went through elementary school with. Even if-as is the case with most of these–we weren’t close friends through junior or high school, our history is longer and they’ve come to represent, to me, fonder friendships.  I feel like, as a group, I love these guys for the years we went through. They feel almost siblingesque (right, not a word).  Even though school years were a blip, the years were formative. And everyone endured this formative–awkward, fun, weird–time together, as one big, moving, evolving group. It’s pretty unique, right? No other collection of people in our lives are quite the same, except, I guess, our siblings.

Anyway.. processing that.

There’s also the part about who we were then, who we are now, the forty years between that moved us in one direction or another. Such the socio-anthropological field day you can have absorbing, analyzing all that.

There was only about a quarter of the class there, maybe.  It’s not like I don’t have my hands completely full with my current life and people, but I’d sure like to know what’s going on with the others–the three quarters who weren’t there. Just curious.

Twenty seven, at best count, have died–two of whom were best friends as well as neighbors… Katy and Cindy.  Another was a pretty close teammate on the track team (Cindy Davis). I thought they did a nice job of honoring them at last night’s dinner and in the program book. RIP you guys.

Here are a few more shots to add to the ones I posted earlier:

Walking down to RAT for the second gathering of the weekend:

At the beach:

Me and Kath:

Kath and Janis Dalseme:

Kathy, Jeff Schultz and Mike Duffin:

The dinner was at, of all places, the Malaga Cove Library. I liked that it was close and historic and a total part of my growing up:

Appetizers I never got to, among some nice hanging art:

Dinner was actually really good, though I didn’t eat much. Here’s a before shot of the carrot cake I ate even though I hate carrot cake:

And that’s about it.  If I see some others’ photos and think they’d add to the reunion story, I’ll post them here, later.

One closing thought: Jim attended with me. I was so glad to have him there  1) to get a glimpse of part of my past, 2) to have a clear reference point for future conversations, and  3) so people could see the smart, nice, squared away guy I ended up with.  He was even okay with my disappearing more than a few times as I got drawn to conversations that then lead to other conversations and next thing I knew an hour had gone by. Thanks, Jim.

I will plan to post pictures tomorrow of the 40th reunion. For now, a nice little shot of the ol’ high school on the hill.

We are the Sea Kings,
The mighty, mighty Sea Kings.
Everywhere we go-oh,
People want to know-oh,
Who we are,
So we tell them..
We are the Sea Kings,
The mighty, mighty……

And so it goes….

 

PS. Please note the track.