The winter weather has been so mild, I could go over the great Sierra Nevadas in December
with no worries about chains or snow.
It has been a while since I saw my folks, and being off for two weeks, I decided to take one
of my little poopies on a road trip to Oroville, California, a small town in northern California.
Mom was so excited when I told her I would be coming for a few days.
The first night, both mom and dad wanted to take me out to eat
at their favorite club that overlooks Lake Oroville.
As I sat there watching the sun sink over the horizon, I saw a familiar, comforting sight.
I remembered how I used to sit for hours studying the silhouettes of these oak trees when we first
moved to Oroville from Bakersfield when I was a youngster.
They don't have trees like this in Bakersfield.
In Bakersfield, they have cotton, acres and acres of cotton,
and oil dereks, pump, pump, pumping away.
Mom said Christmas needed to be celebrated with her 'babies' so she invited
a brother and niece who live in the area for dinner.
Then another brother called to say he would also come visit
and bring his three teenage boys too.
Mom kicked into high gear,
making everyone's favorite chicken enchiladas, beans and Spanish rice.
Everyone loves mom's enchiladas.
My baby brother had a raging headache because he had just emerged
from a maiden voyage in a Porsche
with blaring, bumping, teen music courtesy of his 16 year old son.
This was the first road trip for the new driver, and my brother, being a sheriff,
had to be there to supervise.
The two younger brothers were just as excited as they imagined themselves
in the near future driving such a beauty themselves.
After my brother unkinked himself like a Swiss army knife,
he told me he had a new appreciation for me
having gone through this same experience twice before with my own two children.
I gave him a Xanax for the road trip home,
oh and some big sisterly advice,
"You CAN tell them to turn it down!"
It looked like some kind of magicians stage act
as each body disappeared into
the Porsche.
The sight made me think of the magic portals in children's books.
I wondered what world they were being teleported to.
Undoubtedly, one that features Tupac, my nephew's fav singer.
Back in the house,
This is one of my favorite pictures of my dad. He's a thinker, can you tell?
The next day, dad wanted to go view an art show in downtown Oroville, so off we went.
I remember going to see afternoon movies in the State theater.
The facade has undergone a nice renovation.
We wandered a bit, saw the artist's show and toured downtown.
There were some interesting murals.
I love using the holga app to take pics on my phone.
Especially ones that evoke nostalgia from me.
Quaint.
Dad, Mom and my 16 year old niece, Ashley.
After we got home, we settled in for a quiet visit.
Mom and dad do not have animals, but it seems there are a few stray cats
who have found a kind heart or two.
Surprise, surprise, they even let Tommy in for a few snuggles at night.
Well, I'm told Tommy rather bullies his way in at night.
As you can tell, Dad spoils him more than a little bit.
I brought my 4.2 pound poodle/terrier mix poopie with me. The ruse being
he was recovering from surgery
and would not take his medicine willingly from my partner.
I am the medicine mommy.
When we got to grandma's house, I discovered he had puked in his cage.
Poor little poopie did not take to the roller coaster ride very well.
Sorry Max.
Max is also not completely potty trained,
so he had to either be on a lap or in a cage while at grandmas house.
Dad was worried Tommy and Max would not get along so well.
Earlier in the week, my sister had visited mom and dad
and as usual brought her dog.
Apparently, he got his nose scratched soundly by Tommy cat.
I was a bit worried.
Tommy is three times the size of my little poopie,
and my little guy hasn't met anyone he did not like.
So we tried to keep them apart.
But the inevitable happened.
When we weren't looking, the two met up.
Nose to nose.
There was not barking, hissing, nor spitting.
No jumping sideways with hair on end.
Just a simple, "Who are you? and why are you on MY lap?"
With that initial meeting out of the way, we all relaxed a bit.
Max always had his leash on because there is a LOT to get into at grandma's house.
Especially for itty-bitty inquisitive poopies.
I guess we forgot that Max could be horribly traumatized and disfigured by the humongous kitty.
We lost our minds and let Max down off a lap for five minutes.
We were busy getting dessert when we turned around to notice
Tommy had taken over our poopie sitting duties.
We couldn't figure out if he was ready to move in for the kill, or just asserting himself.
Max was understandably baffled.
He lives with two standard poodles, and a twin sister.
He has never even seen a cat.
Let alone been held hostage by one.
So, I decided to liberate my traumatized poopie and feed him.
When I heard some barking from the back bedroom where he was being fed,
this is what I found
Poor Max. He just couldn't win.
Apparently, Tommy likes puppy food too, and was quite resourceful in acquiring some.
Back in the living room my mom drops the bomb on me.
Apparently she had been harboring a secret desire for quite some time now.
I became worried when she ripped off her boots, sent a sock flying in the air,
bent down and hiked up her pants leg.
Meet Mom's Bug-a-loo!!!
Now, she claims it is called something else,
some kind of scientific name for drangonfly,
but all I could hear was Bug-a-loo.
I'm famous for renaming things like that,
like my little sister's dog.
She says his name is CiaoBella,
but I swear I heard him tell me he prefers
Luigi.
So that's what I call him.
Luigi.
And I don't care what Mom claims is the name of her dragonfly tattoo,
it will forever be called
Bug-a-loo.
Sorry Mom.
Though I heard the story, I still can't figure out why, at age 76, one needs a tattoo.
I don't have a tattoo.
Why does my mother need a tattoo?
Why not indeed!
I think I should have checked the medicine cabinet before I left.
Finally, we had one more project.
I brought all my jewelry making fixin's
and I wanted to introduce mom to my newest passion.
We chatted a bit,
my mom seldom wears anything costume.
But in the spirit of fun,
she did say she had some old broaches she wanted to do something with.
She dug them out, and we examined each one for suitability.
Two were settled upon.
I dug out the copious amounts of boxes of beads etc. I brought with me
and we set to work.
She, on a bracelet.
I on the broaches.
I only broke the back of one of them.
Victory.
Mom's bracelet came back home with me for more fine tuning.
It had started raining,
of course,
so I had to hit the high trail in order to get my
big girl bootie home before New Year's.
I prayed it wouldn't snow on the pass.
It was wet, a little slick, but it only gave the landscape such a beautiful light
that I had to stop to get some pictures.
The low clouds were misty magic.
I went a little slower this time,
and Max didn't puke.
The blue/green water was magnificent.
Sentry rocks glistened in the mist.
Then just on the Nevada side,
the sun came out,
the road dried out,
and Max and I made it home
in time to celebrate the New Year with the ones I love.
Happy 2012 Phyl.
Happy 2012 to all.
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