Coronado Island drama

We've made two excursions taking friends to Coronado Island in the last week. The ocean is a perfect temperature for wading and snorkeling. There are no stinky dead squid yet washed up on the Coronado shores. However, the bees are a nuisance. Maybe a picnic on the beach is not a good idea--the minute you pop open a soda you have company and more company. Soon we were abandoning our picnic spot and moving further into the shoreline. Our little maltese, Chloe, was confused and annoyed by them. The children resorted to burying her in the sand to hide her. We had fun with that until people starting getting stung.

Robert was stung on the tip of his tongue as he took a swig from a thermos. By then, everyone was eager to depart, but bees were swarming the boat preventing us from boarding. The children were now half-panicked and near tears. I waded out from the shore with them to try to escape the bees while Robert and the other adults fired up the boat and sped off shore to blow them off. We waited like stranded refugees, me clutching Chloe and comforting Allie who now took on the fear that we might be abandoned to our fate with the bees. Robert returned for us like a rescuer, "get on, quick" and we clamored onboard to safety. I was last to get on--I had one hand occupied in grip of our dog, the other attempting a crawl stroke reminiscent of my high school summer as a lifeguard. Am doing this right? It really wasn't at all as traumatic as that, it wasn't a killer bee scenario, but it was a little fun to play up the drama.

Oh, and surprisingly, Robert's tongue did not swell up like we expected. I imagined we might need medical care, but he seemed unfazed. My hero.

Scorpion Bay for Beginners

Before being so rudely interrupted by reality, we were enjoying a nice excursion to the Pacific side. We followed the Browns to San Juanico for an attempt at surfing the waves at Scorpion Bay. Our son Ryan tenaciously, over two days, worked at getting vertical on the surf board. Robert gave it a shot too. Being Midwest-born and bred he'd never even touched a surfboard. And what a sight to see our old Tahoe, the one that's taken us to the ends of the continent on family vacations and Ryan's baseball tournaments, toting surfboards on its roof.


We loved the open-air cantina at the campgrounds. I imagine a lot of fun times are had there. Scorpion Bay is noted for being a premier surfing spot. The beach is shallow and long; the waves are consistent and mild and lengthy. Surfers can catch waves that last forever. There's unrestricted freedom. You can bring your vehicle right on the beach; your dog too. The surf culture looks pretty cool, but I think Robert and I missed that wave. Maybe Ryan has a shot at it. I didn't try, but then I didn't have the equipment or body gear. My mission, as always, is to videotape and photograph everyone else's fun. I put together a video of Ryan. It's mostly wipe-outs, but I think it demonstrates that kid's tenacity and good humor.

We rented a very nice little house and the Browns rented a casita across from the beach. We spent our evenings together playing board games and watching Ryan act silly with the kids. Other than playing on the beach there is nothing else to see or visit. Riding waves is the only reason for visiting. It's all about the surfing. San Juanico is teeny-tiny and ugly. There is a small fishing industry there so part of the beach is occupied with pangas and an overabundance of sea birds which pollute the beach with their droppings. We ate at the only taco stand open to find the same woman cooking at the cantina the next day. Great tacos, by the way. When we crested the big hill northbound on Highway One where Loreto Bay comes into view, we all exclaimed how much more beautiful is "this side." And when we unlocked our front door, threw down our baggage, and entered our casa, we all exclaimed, "We're home. I love our house." I realized instantly how this casa has become a real home to us.

The trip was a lot of fun and we may venture over there again for another try. But for non-surfers, you cannot beat the Sea of Cortez. There is such abundant marine life and points of interest, and the Sierra de Las Gigantas makes for a dramatic backdrop. Loreto Bay is beautiful as far as the Baja goes. I'm ready to get snorkeling.

Happy New Year...here's your bus ticket!

Beau and Karly left for home today. Their flight on Continental at 8:00 am left out of San Jose del Cabo. When we made arrangements in late November, all departing flights on Alaska from Loreto were booked. Leaving out of Cabo was the only option. Originally, I'd intended to purchase flights from Loreto to Cabo on Aero Calafia, but I waited too long and, they too, were sold out. Their plane carries only 13 passengers. Our next option was to drive them, but with my mother arriving to Loreto today, it would be too stressful to make a quick round-trip to Cabo. When I go to Cabo I prefer it to be because I really, really, need supplies--and--I need a diversion from the backwoods pace of Loreto.

The next option was the bus. But, God, could I subject them to a monotonous 8-hour ride in a nasty old Mexican bus? I didn't want their last impressions of their Christmas vacation to be tainted by the unpleasantries of public transportation. Robert sat me straight: "They are young--they can endure it. It will give them a story to tell." I know he's right, but...I can remember well the only bus ride I took. Seven hour and several stops in lonely, forgotten towns--and back in the days before cell phones, hand-held gaming devices, and hand sanitizer. I endured it well enough to say, "never again!" Oh, well. They will survive. So I got them on the 8:00 am bus on Saturday, reserved a hotel for them in Cabo, packed them a lunch, and bid them farewell.

I will miss my oldest son, especially since he really, sincerely, truly, loves being with us. Our younger is already squirming to get back to his friends even though it means exchanging swim trunks for thermal underwear. His college break is nearly a month long, but two weeks with your parents is eternity at his age and station. For now, I've got him right where I want him and, lucky him, there is no 8-hour bus ride in his future.


As for Beau and Karly, they have each other, so anything done together is more fun. I enjoyed watching them together. I see my son broaden his focus to include another's welfare. Besides being cute, it gives me a certain sense of pride to see him look after Karly. For Robert, I know he gets pride in seeing Beau develop his business. Me too, but I respond with a sigh of satisfaction when I see scenes like the one in this photo. As a mother I can say, got that part right.

Boat's Afloat

We took Robert's new boat out Wednesday. This was my first time on it. It had some mechanical difficulties earlier in the week that perplexed Robert until finally he managed a fix. He is supercharged about his little boat. ( I think it's little, he thinks it's just right.)


Now we can get out on the water and really enjoy living on the Sea of Cortez. It's true; if you don't get on the water you're missing half of what's special about Loreto Bay--the dolphins, the whales, the seals, the occasional sea turtle, and all the other marine life. We saw a turtle paddling the waters around Coronado Island. The sight surprised Robert as he first thought it was the tip of a rock outcropping and he almost veered away. I tried to photograph it but it dove under as we approached it more closely.

The dolphins are my favorite. When I'm out there I'm looking for them every minute. More than often we find them (or they find us) and they'll tag along for awhile, racing about the boat, bounding out of the water. The motivation for their frolicking could only be pure, playful joy. We can't contain our excitement over the spectacle. And maybe they find our joy just as amusing as we hang over the boat gawking, laughing, pointing. Beau painted a funny, but quite probably accurate, idea of how the dolphins must see us humans: physical manifestations of the expression "WOW." What goofs we must look like to them.

Tomorrow, the guys are going out at sunrise to fish. Word's out that the fish are biting. Allison and are taking a pass, but our friend, Doug, and his little boy were game. They must be pretty excited: Doug phoned me tonight to tell me he's preparing a lunch for the four or them. Does Robert like tuna salad, egg salad, or peanut butter and jelly? As if it matters. He's just giddy to get out on the sea and frolic. Happy happy joy joy.

Tabor Canyon and Tiramisu

We've been so busy with our visiting family; it's hard to sit and write. Saturday was Beau's birthday. We celebrated by hiking Tabor Canyon. (The first photo is of he and Karly.)Not for the feint of heart, this hike requires scrambling over huge boulders and scaling ridges strewn with crumbling rock. Earlier this spring Robert and I took it to the top--a thousand feet I believe. It took us six hours round-trip with a break for lunch. At the higher elevations there are beautiful views to the ocean across Puerto Escondido. It is one of the more memorable experiences a visitor to this area could have. The rain from the hurricane in October has left the region wet and green. There are pools of water where there was none earlier this year.

This time we had children and other families along, so we didn't get past the first "chimney." I'm calling it that because I heard someone else call this enormous rock obstacle by that name. It requires that you walk through a pool of water and enter the crevice at the bottom of a pile of boulders and pull yourself up to the next elevation. It proved to be too much a challenge this time with kids in tow. So this trip was only about two and a half hours long.

After our hiking excursion we had a special birthday dinner at a new restaurant in Loreto: La Mision. It is at the new hotel on the Malecon. Though the hotel is not yet finished, the restaurant is recently opened. We visited with the chef, Rodrigo, the day before about making our evening a special event. He was to prepare a special menu for us. What we got was unexpected. It was fabulous. We had course after course of wonderful appetizers and entrees. Crab cakes, shrimp, scallops, lamb, duck, tiramisu cake. Rodrigo kept it coming and it was muy rico. The wine list wasn't half bad for Loreto. We had Pinot Noir from Willamette Valley--something you'll not find anywhere in these parts. Dinner was so good we talked about all the next day comparing it to other wonderful dining experiences we've had elsewhere. It ranks high we decided.

Overall, it was one of the best days we've had here as a family.

What I got for Christmas

Allie waits in the open window for her brothers to arrive for Christmas dinner. Robert carves a turkey in the kitchen eating as he goes. It was a really big turkey when I roasted it, but it dwindled before it reached the table. I managed corn bread stuffing, canned yams, mashed potatoes, caramelized onions and two pumpkin pies I purchased from Dali's. I had to do without seasonings I'm accustomed to back home, like sage. The variety of vegetables in Loreto has always been limited. If you're hoping for green peas, green beans, broccoli, Brussels sprouts --ha!--think again. You'd better love peppers and calabacitas (Mexican squash) or the occasional cucumber because that's about all the green you can count on here at the mercados. Many folks drive to Constitution or La Paz for better variety and selection. We didn't have the time or interest in that this year.

We feel lucky to be all together for Christmas. With all the weather-related problems with Alaska Air and the travel advisories in the Midwest it was fortunate Allie's brothers got here at all. Many folks headed this way were delayed for days as the airlines worked out their problems. Our sons had a close call on the connection in L.A. when Alaska Air twice changed it's departure time.

Our boys are staying in another house which works out better for all our comfort. Plus, our older brought his fiancee. They just got engaged last week. She thought he was gifting her with a laptop when he asked her to close her eyes and hold out her hands. She stood there palms up while he slyly slipped a ring on her finger. (I hope they don't get annoyed I just told you all that little detail.) They are young, but sure. We're happy for them and, of course, we adore her and feel honored she wants to be part of our family. She may be thinking only of our son, but I know the bigger picture. She's taking on all of us. She's going to be part of us. I think about this every time I look at her across the dinner table. This is a young girl that somebody else lovingly cared for and raised who one December day finds herself at dinner with another family announcing she'll be joining them --indefinitely.

I ruminate on every possible variation of this theme all evening long. That she loves our son is no mystery to me. That she's joining with us, adding to us, enhancing us--all willingly--is what mesmerizes me. How can she know the full extent of her choice? I certainly didn't at her age. I didn't put thought into what import I had to Robert's family. I didn't spend time considering how I impacted them; I was caught up in myself and Robert. Only now, years later, am I seeing the view from the other side. It keeps feeling like an honor. Beau has a found a lovely girl. Maybe they think it's all about them, but somehow I feel like I've been given a beautiful gift.

Boys to Men

Like I've said, I really love watching my family work around the house. Today they were at it again trying to get the landscaping mulched. It's taken longer than usual to tackle the yard work; we were delayed by a lot of rain last week.

We buried Robert's father this week after a long illness. He lingered in the hospital for months and did not die well. It has been hard on everyone, especially Robert, for reasons I can't elaborate on here. Robert says he feels like the last pillar standing under a grand family porch. One by one the other men in our family have been knocked down and he bears the weight alone. But, he adds, the next generation of men are readying to take their place under the structure. Our sons. Three nephews. Someday, the husbands of our young women. This is the way it is--holding it up until the young can add their support.

Later this afternoon we attended our nephew, Joe's, high school graduation. After a long week of intense family obligations related to the funeral, everyone was looking forward to a day off (or at least a day to work at home), but here was one more thing. We hurried to the ceremony to be there for Joe whose own father can't be there, can never be anywhere again for Joe, he being one of the pillars knocked away too early. I sat next to my two sons so big and strong and thought about Joe and how well he's grown and secretly welcomed him to the ranks. He takes his place with the men in the family and that feels so right and satisfying to me.

Men at Work

I love men best when they are working. I love watching them work, especially when it involves lots of physical exertion. I love it even more when the work benefits me in some way--then I am the queen bee and, they, my faithful subjects.

My son, Ryan, likes to mimic the blissful expression he claims I wear when watching all my men working around the house. (Funny, he doesn't notice that I'm always working just as hard by their sides.) He's right, though. I do enter a sort of blissful, goofy alternate state of well-being. I am never happier than when they act as a crew of big, strong, capable men asking me, "Where-do-you-want-this-to-go?"

What to get mom for Mother's Day is not a dilemma for my boys: They know all they have to do is don a tee-shirt and work boots and show up for instructions. Yippee! Mother's Day means I'll get my yard edged and trees trimmed. Someone will plant shrubs and power-wash the garage. One of them will climb through a bedroom window to scurry around the roof cleaning out rain gutters while the other moves a piece of furniture to the basement.

Wiser women than me must have schemed for the holiday to fall in May. Mother's Day is not for candy and flowers; it's for help with those difficult household projects and spring-cleaning chores. It was invented by mothers desperate for a little help. The goofy expression I wear is probably universally recognizable to mothers around the world as joy.

Fisticuffs

Fifteen thousand bucks, that's what it will cost you to take the first punch. This is aunt Sara to my son Beau's black eye at dinner tonight. She should know, she's a prosecuting attorney and has a good idea about the cost to defend yourself in court after defending your ego in public. While common street sense mandates that he who gets the in first punch has the advantage, the law lays the blame on the cowboy first on the draw. My sons are in that testosterone-driven period of life where offenses against them are taken as serious breaches of conduct worthy of a fight. Usually they are provoked by the same common elements: drinking, insults, and girls. Somebody says something insulting and the offended one says, "Are you messing with me?" to which the offender remarks, "Yeah, and what are you gonna do about it, (insert expletive here)?" And then someone is supposed to beat someone up. At college, Ryan has been in several fights this year, none of which he started. For him just being muscled, good-looking and garnering the attention of the females in the crowd seems to make him game for attacks. That's not to say he didn't throw the first punch.

Beau never looks for a fight, but on this occasion he was guilty of being in the company of two beautiful young girls that somebody else, somebody drunk and stupid, thought were fair game for harassment. When Beau objected, well, gee, that's the language of threat to idiot drunk boys, so bring-it-on. Coincidentally, at that very moment, Ryan and his 6 ft. 4 friend walked up on the scene. Ryan voiced his objection and probably flexed some muscle. When the offender pressed into him Ryan surprised him with his fist. Then someone punched Beau in the eye. No one is sure exactly what happened next but it amounted to people getting pulled off each other by by-standers.

In the telling it sounded amusing and noble that a brother should stick up for a brother and for the honor of lovely young ladies, and it was especially funny the part when the drunk offender lurched in Ryan's face with his fingers posed in the gang sign language muttering, "Are we cool, dude?" Ryan's answer was the cold-cock which knocked the idiot senseless to the floor. Yeah, we're cool now.

But we must remind ourselves that this is not the wild west and fist fights are labeled physical assaults where participants are named offenders and victims and go to jail and pay fines and acquire criminal status. I find myself feeling ambiguous about this because I want my sons to stand up for themselves even with physical force when necessary, however, I don't want them or any others to suffer any risk that comes from force both of the fist and of the law.

Gift Giving

This has been a particularly good Christmas though it had its mishaps. Allison found some of her presents that were hidden in my closet and I inadvertently found Ryan's gift to me. I was cleaning and discovered a vase of roses tucked under his bathroom sink. I puzzled over it for awhile before deciding they were a gift to him from his girl friend and he must have hidden them away for some reason. Maybe he had friends over and was afraid of getting teased? Well since they were so pretty I set them out on the vanity. Later in the afternoon he came to me complaining that I found his gift to me, what a snoop I was, and how he had planned to set them on my nightstand before Christmas morning. Whoops.

We had Christmas dinner at Sara's where the adults got a little silly on wine and everybody started the "I love you guys, you're so great" gushing. I'm almost always the one three glasses behind everyone else so the love-fest was pretty amusing to behold. Everybody was too busy hugging and chattering away to notice the fire in the dining room. As Beau tells it, he saw flames erupt on the buffet where candles had set the garland afire. He hollered to cousin Joe to get a fire extinguisher before he saw me begin to put out the fire with my bare hands like an idiot. No, I had dinner napkins I'd grabbed off the table and started snuffing out the fire burning my fingers rather than wait for the extinguisher because the flames might by then be out of control. And who really knows how to operate a fire extinguisher? Tiona's husband, Troy joined in with douses of water from glasses on the table. Joe came on next with the extinguisher which put a complete end to any flaming and covered the desserts in a fine white dust.

Beau thought it funny to make fun of my napkin fire-snuffing attempt up against the sure-fire results of the extinguisher which I took offense to with, Jeeze, what about my unconscious bravery, my quick-thinking reaction? I guess the vision of me using puny napkins to put out a fire followed by Joe's welding the fire-extinguisher was akin to the Crocodile Dundee, "Ya think that's a knife mate? Here's a knife!"

What's it take to be a hero to my kid? It takes quite a lot to impress Beau, I guess. I wanted to be mad at him, but this is the same kid who yesterday spent four hours at my request to help Sara unbox, move, and assemble his cousin, Lucy's, new bedroom furniture. He and Ryan along with Robert,
Allison, me, and Sara worked hard to give Lucy and extreme makeover bedroom. I was proud of them. And he is the same kid who presented me with an expensive gift card for a spa visit where I can get a much-needed massage. And the kid who frequently steals up behind me to give me a hug, and always ends his phone calls with, "I love you, Mom." I love all my men, but they really do enjoy giving me a hard time. They all claim it's just too easy to get a rise out of me.
Speaking of presenting gifts, Robert accomplished a great fake-out where my gift was concerned. It was obvious the biggest box under the tree was my Apple monitor, ("Let's be practical." Remember?) but I didn't count on another, much smaller box containing huge diamond stud earrings. I have been gifted very generously this year by my men. And I'm not talking about presents.

My Big Brother

I snapped these photos tonight at our family Christmas get-together at Sara's. The younger set is Beau and Allison, and of course that is Robert with his sister, Sara. I can't help thinking about how lucky a girl is to have a big brother.

Assembly required

21 years and counting of late-night pre-Christmas assembly. Robert is our hero.

The Folly of the Perfect Gift

Countdown to Christmas. Allison's hamster is on hold at aunt Sandy's pet store. Everything else is either wrapped, shipped, stuffed in my closet or behind the laundry hamper (God forbid anyone look there!) or hidden behind twelve years of bankers boxes full of bank stubs in the basement. (Pardon the alliteration.) I may have hidden things other places, which I'll find at Easter time.

As usual Robert and I have waited till the last minute to shop for each other. We always play the "Oh, let's not buy anything big for each other" game where he always cheats and surprises me with something wonderful. Funny I never catch on. Nice for me that Robert suffered in his youth a humiliation so profound that it would forever cement his gift giving protocol with women. You see, when Robert was twelve he made the unforgivable mistake of presenting his mother with a mop as her Christmas gift. It was the Miracle Mop and he truly believed he was giving her something she'd appreciate. When she broke down crying, "This is what you think of me?" he was so mortified with shame that I get things like furs and jewelry every year when what I really want is appliances and tableware. Our early married years were frugal. Everything we had was second hand and I know this sounds unbelievable, but we didn't possess a microwave oven for a least four years. I actually heated milk and baby food on the stove like in ancient times, but I had two fur coats I didn't want, a small diamond necklace and plenty of perfume.

So a couple decades later I can't even think of anything else to cram into this house. We have it all. But Christmas demands you think of something to want. And besides world peace I'm really stretching. Okay, maybe a bigger Apple monitor. I'd like to buy Robert his very own personal computer, but I hesitate because he keeps warning me, "nothing expensive." Then this morning as he made breakfast it hit me what I would do.

Ever since Robert has returned from Steve's palatial Florida home he has been telling me about all Steve's neat stuff. Steve has done extremely well for himself and only outfits his home in the very best. On the third or fourth night there Robert phoned me and before hello he asked:
"What is the thread count on our sheets?"
"What?,"I said, stunned at hearing Robert utter a phrase I believed was unknown to him before his trip. "Um, three hundred, I think."
"Only three hundred? Are you sure it's not a thousand, because that's what Steve's are and I swore ours were too and he said he doubted that. Okay, thanks, bye."

It became a running joke with them to compare and contrast their stuff. We being the "low" design and Steve being "high." Mercedes trumps Chevy Tahoe. Sub-Zero trumps Kenmore. Armani trumps Old Navy. They are best friends from college so this was fun and amusing to them. Robert loves Steve like a brother and rejoices in his fortune. I know that's true because Robert is very unmaterialistic and satisfied. It's me and the kids that eat up our resources. Still, when Robert returned home he was full of wonder for Steve's neat stuff which he related to me in detail because it was fun to do so. But he was quick to tell me he's perfectly happy with our station in life and our cozy home. Up until that moment I was believing we were living pretty well, but that was before being reminded of those driven ones who raise the bell curve and make the rest of us feel like underachievers. Normally they're not in my orbit so I don't notice our lack and I live contentedly.

Anyway, back to this morning and the idea of the Christmas gift. As Robert pushed the toaster knob down he blurted, "Steve has this toaster, I think it's called Viking, and it makes toast perfect--every inch of the bread gets toasted perfectly." I stared at him for a minute, at his goofy excited expression. Wow, that's really nice, I said, but I was really thinking, Something by Viking I think I can afford. Alright buster, you're getting a toaster for Christmas.

So I headed to the Plaza to the kitchen specialty stores where I discovered none carried the magnificent 300 dollar Viking toaster. I actually heard myself saying, "Well then, give me your most expensive toaster." That's right, You heard me right. Nothing but the best for him. I'm thinking I'll put together a kitchen package. A few chef knives, a griddle, an apron and a big spoon and then I'm going to say, "Get in that kitchen, man, and cook me something!"

Night and Day

Here's something I rarely see: A sunrise. I caught it this morning as I returned from dropping Robert off at the airport. We had to leave at 4:00am to get there for his 6:00am flight. Knowing I would be rising in the middle of the night I decided to stay up. Funny, I'm not tired--yet. I might as well keep awake; I can make Beau breakfast before he goes to work. That would be a first. I've never been known as the breakfast lady. Poor family. I never liked to eat in the morning--why should anyone else? Unless it's a donut, then I'm there. Now if you want a late-night snack, fresh-baked brownies at 11:00, I'm your girl. I taught Robert how to make biscuits and gravy. Over the years he mastered great gravy and with constant praise and positive reinforcement he was lured into wearing the breakfast hat forevermore. (By the way, I made the best french onion/steak soup last night.)

Robert is headed to the Chesapeake Bay for a little ride on his sister's boat. They are taking it to Miami. I'd say lucky him, but I imagine it will be a mighty cold ride. They estimate the trip to take 10 days. I imagine all but one, the last one where they reach southern Florida, will be awfully cold. He is so excited though; it will be great fun for him.

A Drop in the Bucket

Our nice fall weather turned nasty today; Rain turned to icy pellets which the evil wind then threw into your face after it blew your umbrella inside out. Well, at least it makes coming home to a warm, cozy house that much more inviting. After fighting the elements trying to get groceries in, Allison and I both sighed and exclaimed to the kitchen: "Oh thank you, warm house." As I was straightening up she went into the family room to play. Moments later she came scrambling into the kitchen saying something about something jumping under the coffee table. I went to have a look and discovered a puzzling white mush. What? It took a few moments for me to comprehend that it was wet ceiling texture. I looked up to see a soggy spot of ceiling near the skylight. Oh lovely. It's really a lot worse this year, maybe so bad that we have to do something besides put a bucket under the leak. And in the next thirty seconds I was renting ladders scraping the popcorn texture from the 20 foot ceiling (we always hated that stuff--is now the opportunity to get rid of it?) Would I use a big putty knife or is there a special tool for that, and I'd need to wear a hat because it will get all in my hair, in fact, wouldn't I have to remove all the furniture first and lay down a tarp, and is there asbestos in that?

All Robert's framed golf flags will have to come off the walls so I can paint since now would be a good time, but then why not refinish the woodwork around the windows though there are quite a lot of them and they are all about 16 feet high, so again, the ladders. But first I 'd need to pull down the old peeling wallpaper (always hated that too); isn't there a special tool for that? I scooped up the white mush and eyed the soggy spot again. Maybe nobody will notice.

While Robert spent his day at his office, Allison and I paid Beau a visit at his business today with the intention of helping somehow. Where to start? While he worked the tire machine, Allie and I got out the industrial mop and bucket and went to work. I tidied up his counter. That was about it. I couldn't muster up the focus and energy required to really do some good, mainly because the job requires pure dirty labor. I need work clothes, boots, gloves, disinfectant, commercial grade cleaning appliances, paint, and hours and hours of time. I'd have to get a running start and not look back. I just finished a run like that through my own house where I could have used a holster to pack my vacuum attachments. In fact, this morning I ridded of the boxes and bags of toys and clothes I had organized and packed on my cleaning spree earlier this week. I helped the driver (for the charity) haul the stuff to his truck. I threw in the toddler bed which I helped him carry up from our basement, plus some other large items. I guess when I got to Beau's I wasn't in the mood for more work.

So I offered the support that comes from just showing up. And even better, a hot meal when he got home. I got a big hug. Allison wants five bucks for her part in mopping.

ROBO'S

Beau is making progress getting his business ready to open. I went down to check on him and get the tour since I've been away since September. I think it is very impressive. He has painted giant checkers on the warehouse and had a chain link fence installed around the grounds. The road and parking lot have been re-asphalted and the scraggly brush has been torn away from the front of the building though a few bunches of lettuce have popped up where Kenny, our live-in sign painter had his try at a garden. An office has been constructed inside with new cabinetry that Beau tried to stain himself. I said I'd help straighten that up.

His computer terminal and phone are up (921-TIRES) as well as the obligatory hot rod poster, this one personally signed by the scantily-dressed girl who straddles the car, something like, "You're hot!," a souvenir from the Las Vegas SEMA (stuff for cars) convention. The warehouse is filling with tires and wheels and new equipment like a wheel balancer . He's named his wheel and tire business, ROBO'S, a combination of letters from his name and his father's. It was actually the idea of Taylor, my little 16 year old friend, and the symbol or mascot, I guess, is a robot of sorts that Ryan's friend Jake created. A community effort.
I think it works.

Men, again

Robert, Beau, and his friend, Luke, flew in for the weekend. They stopped over on their return from a convention in Las Vegas. Robert is helping Beau set up his business and Luke (who is actually Ryan's best friend) is basically apprenticing with us. The visit was short, but sweet. They all enjoyed sleeping-in and watching football. We miss having men around, although, they eat a lot and mess up the place.

BTW, Beau is actually 6 ft tall. It's Luke that is the giant!

Rain man

What do you do when a tornado siren goes off? You run outside with an umbrella to see the show. Actually, we did head to the basement first until things seemed safe. We had just said goodbyes the friends and family who had come for Sunday supper. (23 of us altogether.) We had no clue that the weather was turning serious until Robert's sister, Sandy, returned moments later, followed by another sister, Susan. Sandy, hearing the news on her car radio, decided not to take a chance driving home; Susan had just forgotten her purse. So we had a little crowd in the basement, though no one would sit tight. Susan took a cigarette break. Beau wanted to watch the skies. My mom went upstairs to get her dog. While you're up would you bring me a cup of coffee, please?

I suspect we all doubted a tornado would touch down in our neighborhood since nothing that exciting ever happens here. I had the craziest fleeting wish for one to selectively rip away the sagging railroad-tie retaining wall around our swimming pool: It's an eyesore screaming out to be repaired. Instead we got a leak over the family room from the torrential rainstorm that followed.


Susan's son, Joe turned 18 today, so we celebrated with chocolate cake. Then the girls cleared the table to begin working on addressing invitations to his upcoming Eagle Scout Court of Honor ceremony. That's right, Eagle Scout. We all think that's quite an achievement and are proud of him, especially with the hardships he has endured. Susan relayed a recent scene where another Scout mother offended her with the catty comment that 18 is a little late to be receiving that rank. "Well, I guess he was a little occupied with his dad's recent death and my recovering from a brain aneurysm," she shot back. Yikes. Susan-- always good with a quick come-back.

Bring out the big toys

Forget my idea to hire a tree trimming service; Beau had a cheaper solution--plow the trees over with the bulldozer. "Now, you're thinking," says his dad.


Not the neatest results, but the scrubby trees are no longer obscuring the view to the warehouse.

IMHO

The consultations continue. Robert and Beau discuss plans for the outside of the warehouse. Robert suggests Beau take a chain saw to the scrubby trees in the field adjacent to the highway to open a better view to his business.

But there's an enormous amount of poison ivy lurking out there. Beau's been battling against it all summer with repeated trips to the doctor for shots, medicine, and ointments.Maybe we should call a tree cutting service, I say.
That's a good idea, they both say.

It happens sometimes, I say.