Abby gets a rest

We cleared our things out of Airstream Abby in preparation for storage. Our plan is to fly home for the month of December then return to Phoenix to resume our year-long journey.

We started by removing all the perishables, but soon it was all things valuable and the project turned into an all morning affair. I am the more trusting of us two: I say leave it all. Robert emptied every little thing down to the bottle of aspirin. Now all our trailer possessions are in my mom's garage closets.
I guess I'll be leaving my shorts too, since it is winter back in Missouri.

My sister's boyfriend took this photo of Robert and me just minutes before he and Robert drove it away. It will be the last I see of our Airstream for awhile. The parting is temporary so I have no troubled feelings about it. I'll be happy to go home to my sprawling suburban house and I'll be just as happy to return to my compact streamlined habitat. It's all good.

There's no place like mom's home

As it turned out, we did end up courtesy parking at our friends' rented house in Indian Wells--but only for a day. Some official-looking person came knocking at the door to inform us we had to move our trailer immediately. No big surprise. We knew we were pushing our luck. However, we enjoyed our time at David and Sheri's.

My quick impression of the Indian Wells/Palm Desert area was favorable. It is clean and modern and, of course, the weather was perfect. Robert got to play some golf with David and another friend, Ted, from back home who lives here in winter. We girls shopped along the trendy stores of the El Paseo as well as the weekend Street Fair. I took some long walks around the neighborhood taking in the wonderful Palm Springs residential architecture.

This morning we left for Mesa, Arizona to visit my mother and sister. We've decided to store the Airstream and Tahoe here while we fly home for a few weeks. My mother met us at the door and ushered us straight to dinner. Her table was set for company with water goblets and linen napkins. Her house was spotless and glowing, all for us. My sister rushed over from her boyfriend's house (he lives across the street) and even the new dog my mother rescued seemed happy to see us.


As everyone settled in I wandered the house looking at photos and trinkets and other reminders of family. Photos of me, Robert, our children are everywhere in that tiny house. To her, we are the most important people on the earth. Hadn't I noticed that before? I took that thought with me into her laundry room where I unloaded our dirty clothes. Without the vague sense of indebtedness that accompanies using someone else's washing machine I piled our clothes into hers. I thought about the comfort and relief there is in this guiltless access. In my mother's home I don't think twice about rummaging the refrigerator or plopping on the sofa. I am treated like a guest without having to behave like one. After four months on the road this a good feeling.

I dumped in the liquid detergent and dropped the lid on the machine. As the tub filled with rushing water I thought about my skills at observation. For the past two years I've documented the world around me. I've dissected every little thing and then put it back together in some clever and compact narrative. I'm busy writing about the interesting people and places we're meeting on our journey. I write about how I feel about those things. Now here, in my mother's closet-sized laundry room I see something I'd not noticed before: my mother also documents my life. And in doing so she validates my life in a way nothing and no one else can. That, too, is a good feeling.

Ralph and Abby Get a Bath

This was the best truck wash ever. It's next door to the Flying J truck stop on Ramon Road in Thousand Palms.

For $45 bucks this crew scrubbed down our Tahoe and Airstream. Money well spent considering whenever we try to wash them at a self-serve wash we go through half as much in quarters. Then later, we discover how bad a job we did. Abby is streaky and Ralph's lower panels are still grimy. Plus, my shoes and pant legs are soaked and my fingers numb from the cold water.

More Malibu Fires

The drive from Santa Barbara to Palm Springs was uneventful except for this. On the 101 South right around the Mulholland Drive Exit we could see this billowing smoke on the mountainside. It was around 2:00 p.m. I took this picture out the window of our car.

Another Malibu fire. This one causing the evacuation of 20,000 persons. It started in the Corral Canyon today and quickly spread. As of late tonight it was only 25% contained. This is the first time we've seen an active fire. The big fire in Ketchum, Idaho occurred just days before we arrived in late August. We only witnessed the re-opening of the area to a very grateful and saved public. Southern California has suffered greatly and repeatedly from these fires this year. We altered our plans early on to avoid the L.A. and San Diego regions because of the threat of fires.

Our friends, Rich and Eleanor have their Airstream stored somewhere in that area as they travel to Hawaii. Since their Airstream is their full-time home we certainly hope for the best.

I'm sure the neighbors will miss us

Pack it up and move it out. We are leaving the sweet bliss of Julie and Pete's house for the great unknown--some RV or state park in Palm Springs. I'm thinking San Jacinto State Park might be a possibility. However, we may hook up with our new friends we met in San Simeon who are in Indian Wells right now. They have the 66 Tradewind Airstream and have rented a home in Indian Wells for a month. We could end up parked in front out another home again, just like here at Julie's.

We did no site-seeing at all while in Santa Barbara (unless you count shopping in old town Santa Barbara.) Most of the time our Tahoe was at the dealer's getting maintenance done. We also had a problem with the pin in the receiver hitch wearing down and had to get a replacement part delivered. We don't know why exactly the pin was doing that, but Robert felt it important to fix it. Probably a good idea, hey?

Now we are good to go. Time to get back into compact mode. We've been spoiled by the space and luxuries of a house and now we have to reign it in again and get lean. After Julie and Pete left for Merced, we sort of migrated to the house. We mastered the television remote, the dishwasher, the washing machine, the slippery temperature knob on the oven. I even located the circuit box when we blew a fuse. I know where Julie keeps her tin foil and Tupperware lids. I know which light switches work for which lights. The homemaker in me was arising from deep sleep. It's like riding a bike.

One by one, items from the trailer found their way into the house. We'll probably forget a bunch of stuff. We were here longer than expected. I might have worried that our Airstream in the street would perturb neighbors, but there are other RVs parked throughout the neighborhood. At least ours is pretty to look at. It has been nice to wake up to perfect warm weather every day, but where we're going there will be more of it. From there we head to Phoenix. And then we fly home for about a month for the holidays.

Thanksgiving style

Thanksgiving this year is particularly odd for us. We are spending it alone in Julie and Pete's in Santa Barbara. We stopped in to visit them, but Thanksgiving plans sent them off to Merced to Julie's mother's house. We had one day together before they left, just enough time to get a happy dose of their little family. Three boys under 5 years old, and all of them adorable and amenable to hugs and affection. I got to carry a baby on my hip again

Julie is the sister of our ex-brother-in-law. Obviously, we all still consider ourselves family. We could have tagged along to Julie's mom's, but that would be serious backtracking and we want to keep moving south. We've planted ourselves here a few days while our Tahoe gets some maintenance done at a local Chevy dealer. I must admit it is so nice to have some space to spread out. Julie and Pete literally turned over their house to us and we're making good use of it--especially the kitchen. Robert and I prepared a fairly complete Thanksgiving meal substituting turkey cutlets for a whole turkey. I made the usual sides and we sat down to a beautiful meal. (Julie, please don't be horrified that I hung a basket on your little stray lamp that I found near the piano. I needed a little light, it needed a little lampshade. BYW, I've left you a little surprise in the freezer--homemade pomegranate gelato.)

We've seen little of Santa Barbara. Instead, we behave like we're at home in the neighborhood, walking Guinness, the family dog, and escorting Allison on a borrowed bicycle to a school playground. The weather is perfect every day--almost enough to make you buy into why dumpy houses sell for a million dollars. Honestly, what goes for a million here is astonishing and makes our modest house back home the bargain of the century. We ask ourselves, "how can working people afford this?" but somehow they do, only they can't seem to afford repair or upkeep. I have a theory that the homes that are in best shape are owned by the older neighbors who aren't saddled with mortgage payments. They can afford to maintain their homes. The California real estate game is an animal I do not understand. It's like watching someone stack blocks as fast and as high as possible. Your senses tell you the thing will fall, but with California we all keep watching it go higher and higher.

Maybe that is changing. Supposedly, the bubble is or has crashed--I don't know, I can't keep up with everything, and to figure it out would take more hours out of my life than I care to give. All I know that back home in Missouri if there was a bubble I didn't see it. The outdated home we bought 15 years ago hasn't appreciated all that much, (which gnaws at me when I hear of the big bucks "everyone else" is making), nor has our neighbors'. However, our neighborhood is in good shape and stable. Good old Midwestern stability: Boring, but steady. Now, pass the potatoes, please.

Life in the Canyon

This neglected Airstream belongs to my dear friend, Denise, and sits on her acreage in the canyons outside Arroyo Grande. It has served them well, first as the "wagon" that took them to their new life in Montana years ago and now to California where they raise their four sons in a remote rural setting. I try to convince Denise that she should renovate this 1966 cutie into a studio or guest apartment, but she looks at me like I'm crazy--she's had enough renovation projects in her life. And where would she find the time? So it sits like a pretty piece of yard art and maybe a reminder of their strenuous migrations from Missouri, to ranch life in Montana, to rural life on the outskirts of wine country on the central California coast.

The weather is near perfect 365 days a year. Of all the places we've been so far, I could see Robert's radar turning. He really liked the area. Mark took us on a little tour that included San Luis Obispo and a stop at the Tally vineyards. San Luis, or Slow-town, is just right. Not too big, just enough culture (the home of Cal-Poly,) and again, perfect climate. I caught Robert looking online at real estate later, so that says something. Allison loved that she got to feed the horses which amounted to Mark driving the pick-up down the drive and letting the kids divide a bale of hay among them.


Besides all of that, it was especially nice to reunite with an old friend. Denise and I were college room-mates. We both married young and had a handful of kids. And from what our men say, we are still the loves of their lives. Oh, yes, and that they married up and don't deserve us. We're both still falling for it, apparently. Robert and Mark hit it off well. They did not know each other in college, but had lots of mutual friends. They're pretty good guys.

It looks like a pretty nice life to me. They remodeled an old ranch home, added a swimming pool and a top-notch outdoor kitchen. Old red oaks stand in the yard and their horses ramble freely on their acreage along with the deer and Arnold, the English bull terrier. The nearest neighboring property belongs to a Boy Scout Camp. The winding road to the village of Arroyo Grande is dotted with orchards and wineries. Denise works part time in a cute store in the village to provide her a "girly fix." I'm not sure how to categorize Mark's work except that it affords him the freedom to wear flip-flops instead of dress loafers everyday. He invests in property. I'd say he has the knack.


Our time was short. They have busy lives with four school-aged boys. Plus, with the Thanksgiving holiday approaching they had family visiting. We came in like a whirlwind and left two days later on the road to our next stop--Santa Barbara.

My other Airstream is a Dune Buggy

We tried to do as Rich and Eleanor did-- camp on the beach at Pismo State Beach, one of the rare places in America where you can pull your rig right onto the oceanfront. We were not successful. We should have heeded the wary looks from the park attendant when we paid our ten dollars admittance and insisted we could manage just fine. After all, Rich and Eleanor pulled their Airstream right up on the sand and they made it look fun.

We, however, met with some challenges I don't think they encountered. First of all, we arrived on a Saturday. Once we hit the sand we immediately saw what was hidden from view at the entrance: hundreds, maybe thousands of helmeted people on ATV's. The place was like a raceway with no boundaries: Road toys zipping to and fro between 4WD vehicles and RV's; little nylon tents dotting the sand behind the "roadway" and the dunes; people strolling on the surf's edge. Everywhere a dangerous collision lurked. We had no opportunity to make a U-turn out of there. Our best move was to keep our speed up and keep moving before we got stuck in the sand. We were told the campground was two miles down the beach, but would we make it?

No. A mile down we hit a patch of deep dry sand and came to a halt. Robert and I looked at each other and grimaced. Now what? The wind was beating sand against the windows. The last thing I wanted to do was to get outside, but I did in a vain attempt to access our situation. Within moments we had help--a man began instructing Robert to deflate the air in all the tires. I let them have at it and jumped back into the car to get out of the blowing sand. Amazingly, the trick worked. We popped right out. Robert's new friend encouraged us to stay. He said, "You're fine now, just pull in down there between that group of RV's" Robert hesitated to say no after all the man's help, but I was poking him to get a move on. I wanted no part of this mayhem.

We graciously thanked him, waited for the brief moment when we could clear a U-turn and gunned it out of there. Once we hit pavement we nervously searched out a place to get air for the tires. And once we were put back together we pulled our sand-beaten selves to the county park into a pull-through with hook-ups and called it a day. We laughed about what silly rookies we were and for the next few hours I would occasionally bite down on a grain on sand.

Sometime in the night our Airstream began to shake and rumble. A passing train roared down tracks unnoticed by us when we chose our spot. It was one of many. But I felt as long as it didn't jump its tracks and tumble down on us we were certainly safer than down on that beach where some combustion driven toy, big or little, might easily run us down.

Those Lucky Hearsts

Hearst Castle is just minutes up the road from our campground in San Simeon. We've seen the castle once before, years ago, but we wanted Allison to have a look. Some things have changed, namely the visitors center is renovated. Now there is an IMAX movie included in the tour. It does a very good job of romanticizing Hearst and his times. No mention of Yellow Journalism or Citizen Kane. It gives appropriate credit to the great architect, Julie Morgan, an individual worthy of her own showcasing. Has there been a movie made about her, I wonder?

The buildings and grounds are truly impressive though nothing like the great medieval castles of Europe. Hearst Castle has it's own style, mostly called Mediterranean Revival. Allison actually seemed a bit disappointed: was she expecting something along the lines of Disneyland? What I love most are the cottages with their dark, cozy rooms overlooking the Pacific.


The setting of Hearst Castle is what impresses me. What a commanding view. Hearst's daddy bought up all the land farther than the eye can see. I think something along the lines of 300 square miles worth. I can't even imagine what that must have felt like to make that big of a land purchase on the California coast. George Hearst was one lucky man. His enormous wealth came from gold and silver mining ventures in California.


I would have liked to live in that era at the turn of the 20th century. Newcomers to California and other points west must have lived in a perpetual state of exhilaration at all the abundance and promise the territory held. Of course, I would have preferred to be in the lucky camp--the ones who made it big in mining, ranching, farming, etc, like good old George Hearst.

Road Schooling

Every few nights Robert and I discuss our directions. Where will we go next and when? Overall, I've had the biggest say in these decisions partly because it requires research and that is not his job. His responsibility is to the transport and delivery of trailer and precious cargo. We never sat down and discussed this, we just naturally fell into the jobs we were suited for.

Just like our marriage. We never sat down and laid out the process of how it was going to work. Somehow, we knew where to jump in. We tended to delegate responsibilities in full to one another without a lot of negotiating. Tasks were determined along gender lines, no doubt, but for the most part that seemed reasonable. He made the living; I ran the household with little interference. I didn't want to see Robert doing laundry no more than he cared to see me carry firewood. It worked for us.

So we carry the same process on the road. However, there are some things that simply don't transfer. First, the household, my domain, is now a travel trailer. Not much house management to do. In fact, most of the concerns are mechanical and therefore fall to Robert. Second, and most impacting, is that my charge over travel planning is akin to his usual job of being at the helm of our lives. I'm steering the ship, so to speak, and although he is literally in the driver's seat I am calling the plays, especially lately as we travel through my home state of California. He's unfamiliar with most of it and is therefore even more at my mercy. I know he likes the ocean so I aim for that. But what he really likes is boating and cronies to play with, a little television, and a lot of space to relax. The cramped space of the Airstream bothers him more than I.

One thing I've learned on this journey is this: I feel more responsibility to his happiness. I think he's always worried more about mine. And now I know why--he was the one leading--the one to take the blame if we should fall. Surely, a little trip in a trailer does not equal the trials and burdens of a 24-year marriage, but little insights are quick to grasp if you're willing to be schooled.

If I could pick my neighbors

We are happy campers here at San Simeon State Park. The weather is perfect and apparently warmer than usual. Yesterday, we walked from the campground to the town of Cambria. We started on the beach but soon found that route too disgusting because of the massive amounts of flies swarming the beached sea kelp. Maybe it's a seasonal event, I don't know, but it was nasty.

However, further down on the beach near Cambria, the ocean was more hospitable to humans, especially the kind in wetsuits. We sat on a bench on the boardwalk and watched the surfers--and fed the squirrels. Funny to see squirrels on the beach, but these were awfully tame and beggarly.
Cambria is a cute beach town and amazingly small. It could be Santa Cruz 50 years ago. There are dozens of unique shops and restaurants (no franchised eateries that I could tell.) Secretly, I was wishing to dump Robert and Allie so I could shop at my leisure. Actually, I don't shop leisurely, I sort of speed-shop. I'm feeling due since on this trip I have bought nearly nothing. "Where would that fit in the trailer?" usually stops me.

Oprah has a segment this week on people who are hoarders, basically women who buy, buy, buy and then live floor-to-ceiling with their hoarded goods. I watch that stuff and gasp. What is wrong with that woman? Her rebuttal is that everything she buys is clearance or deeply discounted. If she has 42 umbrellas it's because she got them on sale. Pshaw! My particular purchasing style may not have any better logic but here it is: I rarely care what something cost (as long as it is within my means) if it only passes my one criteria: DO I LOVE IT? If it's a bit pricey I justify it with my time and labor. How much time did it take me to find this item? Since I am such a particular shopper I usually end up with nothing. But when I do.....

"How much did that cost?" Robert asks and I always snap back, "Well, do you like it? Do you like your new stainless coffee percolator? Yes, I could have bought a cheap french press, but then you'd have cold coffee after I'd hogged the first steamy cup." You'd think by now he'd buried that question, but he can't help himself. But, he knows one thing--anything I buy will be around in in use for our lifetimes. So that's how I justify my arrogant shopping style.

After a few hours wandering around we headed back to our campground. By now we were very tired. We'd started out with big ambition--now we were groaning about the 3-mile walk back. But on we went and by the time we reached the park entrance the sun was setting. It is not often we get to see the sun set into the Pacific. I think often about the trekking Allison does with us. Is it asking too much of an 8 year old to take these hikes and long walks? Interesting, she really doesn't complain, and she has never mutinied on us. She enjoys what we enjoy and that is a blessing born out of conditioning. I've been making that kid walk since she outgrew the stroller. One day when her kids complain about anything, she can say. "Well, when I was a kid, my parents made me hike mountain paths with names like, Damnation Trail. And we'd walk 8 miles in one day!"

Our new friends, Dave and Sheri, (with the 66 Airstream Tradewind) came over for dinner again. We pool our resources to come up with some pretty satisfying trailer cuisine. I was happy to have their company. I'm learning that it's easy to make friends on the road and often the friends you meet are ones you'd like to keep. The fact that you are traveling in the same manner opens the door for mutual appreciation. Now, if I could just gather all these acquaintances up in one place, I'd have one great neighborhood.

Is That Your Airstream?

I like to mix it up a little--a few nights camping followed by a night or two in RV luxury where I can catch up on laundry and get my fill of obnoxious cable news programming.

Talk about one extreme to the other: From the rustic campground of Yosemite we moved to a resort-like RV park in Paso Robles near the coast. For a pricey $46.50 a night we got a level piece of concrete complete with full hook-ups, cable, and amenities galore. The grounds were immaculate as well as the pool and hot tub (which we actually used.) Our Airstream Abby, which to us is a luxury apartment, sat like a pipsqueak among the McMansion motor coaches that filled the park. There must have been $50 million dollars worth of polished luxury units out there. However, we were not alone: I counted three other Airstreams, including this 1966 mirror-finished Tradewind.


Like Airstreamers tend to do, we gravitated over to the owners of this rig. Or maybe, they wandered over to us first, but anyway we got friendly and now we find ourselves having dinner together in our new spot--the rustic bliss of San Simeon State Park.
Our new friends are a wonderful couple from Seattle. We knew them all of 20 minutes before deciding to reunite at San Simeon. That's the weirdness of "Club Airstream"--instant friendship based on owning a certain aluminum tube on wheels. No back-ground checks necessary.

Here at our new digs we pay $20 dollars a night. We get a semi-level space with no hook-ups, but a partial view of the Pacific Ocean, a mere short walk from our door. The park is quiet and practically empty. Now that the generator is off we can hear the surf pounding the shore. The little town of Cambria is a couple miles away so we will do some exploring tomorrow after we stroll the beach. It is such a wonderful spot. We are thinking we might stay here a few days.

What we saw of Paso Robles was very nice. There are something like 200 wineries in the vicinity, but we didn't visit one. Again, with an 8 year old in tow, it is difficult. Instead, we went to a spa where we dipped into a mineral tub (stunk like sulphur) and strolled the historic square downtown and ate Thai food at a place called Basil. We kept wondering why the buildings all looked so new and we learned that a recent earthquake resulted in a lot of rebuilding. We also wondered why a place so temperate in climate and so close to the ocean is not a sprawling metropolis, but I'm guessing it may have to do with lack of water, or the occasional smell of sulphur, or maybe it's actively quaking. I don't know, but it seems like a lovely place to live.

Me and John

Twelve hours later and I am already dreaming of returning to Yosemite. I can't name one other spot on this trip that has the spiritual pull of that holy place. No surprise to me that John Muir became obsessive about it. There's no revelation he's proclaimed that I, too, would not have arrived at myself. So, that makes me a transcendentalist, like Mr. Muir. I always suspected so.

Muir wrote: I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown,
for going out, I found, was really going in.
Yeah, me too.

Where's the Bears?

We awoke to another beautiful unseasonably mild morning in Yosemite, yet Rich and Eleanor had decided to leave for new adventures south. We could have tagged along, but we are enjoying Yosemite too much. We're sure we'll meet up again somewhere down the road soon.

Having another Airstreaming couple to hang with was certainly fun and educational. You can't help but bond with people who are similarly engaged in such a unique quest. The fact that they had a daughter Allison's age was a special bonus and made for a tug-of-war farewell this morning between the girls.

We managed to distract Allison with the pursuit of earning her Junior Ranger badge which she did. The rangers made a little show of it with Allison raising her right hand in pledge followed by a loud announcement to onlookers that there is a new ranger in town. Later, we took another ranger walk. The subject was bears, though good luck if you ever see one. The days when rangers actually fed local garbage to the bears as spectators crowded to watch are long gone. Again, born to late, missed all the fun. Now, conservation and protection are the norm and understandably so. We must protect the bears from us and us from the bears. Still, who wouldn't like to see a bear in Yosemite.

Tonight, I am again loitering at the Ahwahnee Lodge to tap into their internet connection. There is a big crowd tonight, a wedding party. I left Robert at "home" with a book I bought today: Death in Yosemite. I know he'll enjoy it for he likes the macabre--well, don't we all? The book documents the many sad outcomes of people who made wrong choices or were simply in the wrong place, wrong time and paid for it with their lives. There are numerous accounts of people going over cliffs and steep waterfalls in the pursuit of a better photograph. You know, "Honey, back up just a little.. a little more..." It happens more than you'd think.

It's dark now and generator hours are over so I'll be returning to a trailer lit by a Coleman lantern and probably a couple of candles. Robert's probably up to his eyeballs in scary tales of death. I should hurry home, but I'll make him wait a bit. He's quick to tease others, so I have to get my licks in when I can.

Yosemite: IMHO

Wherever we go I'm always scouting out internet access. Doesn't matter how beautiful the spot; I have to know where I can get online. I waste a fair amount of time in this pursuit.
Sometimes it pisses me off how difficult it can be when it doesn't have to be. I believe too, that some people, i.e., park employees, get a smug satisfaction in my discomfort. I imagine they have a prejudice against "tourists," with laptops in tow, as if we were addicts unable to enjoy the brief disconnect from our habit.

My cellular service is out of range therefore my data card is useless. I must find wi-fi which is severely limited to the two hotels here in Yosemite. The Ahwahnee offers its wi-fi free (supposedly to guests only), but the Yosemite Lodge charges a fee and requires a passcode. But to purchase this service you must wait in the 20-deep line of guest registrants. If that is too much trouble, you can purchase time on one of two internet kiosks at $.25 cents a minute. Same at the cafe near the Visitor Center, though there are a few more there. No thanks.

I do understand the concept of intentional disconnect. People complain that they can't get away from their work, or all things tech, but some of us think we can do it all. God knows I can spend 10 hours in the great outdoors taking in the meaning of wilderness. I just want to not spend one more driving around the park, wasting resources and time, parking and trekking to the hotel interiors to get online. Especially after dinner, when the sky is so incredibly dark that driving is not recommended and you're likely to run over something. What would be so hard about friendly locations for wi-fi? I have some other recommendations for the powers that be in Yosemite, but I don't think anybody much would care to hear them.

The Ahwahnee Lodge is impressive in its architecture and setting. And no one frowns on me for plopping in front of the huge fireplace with my laptop or has yet to ask me if I am a guest. At $400 plus dollars a night, I'll pass. Again, I sound like a complainer, but the Lodge did not blow me away. It is very nice, but not as grand in atmosphere as I had expected, which makes staying in the campground in my Airstream a fine alternative. Someplace like the Biltmore in Arizona puts out a better, more awake, atmosphere. The Ahwahnee is stuffy and unattended. The dining hall is the best feature inside. We tried to have dinner here last night, but the hall was reserved for a vintners' party. Maybe a fun party to crash, but we'll wait and have lunch or coffee later.