Bad Ridgecrest

That title should probably be "Bad Me" but I'm still cross, so I'm going to blame Ridgecrest.

We had such a nice day today, drove out to Trona late in the afternoon to go swimming, ate dinner at the Trails Drive-In, and then drove back to Ridgecrest for the "Night on the Town" (sort of like the old Wine Walks, except much less well attended). We went to one store that I like and bought some chocolate and scone mix, and then we drove to the Historic USO building, because I wanted to get a book. Baby B said he was tired (it was about 8 pm), so we agreed that Rocket Boy would stay in the car with him, and Baby A would go inside with me. But then Baby B changed his mind, so we all went in together. We were inside for 10 or 15 minutes, and then went back to the car.

The first thing I noticed was my purple water bottle lying in the parking lot by the car next to us. "What is my water bottle doing there?" I asked. The second thing I noticed was that my window was down. "Did I leave my window down?" I never leave the windows down. Cracked, yes, but not down. But there was all that fussing when we were getting out of the car about who was going and who was staying. Maybe I forgot. The car was unlocked, too. Maybe I was tired. The third thing I noticed was that there was a spark plug on my seat. That certainly wasn't there before. The fourth thing I noticed was that my camera was gone.

Long story short, it seems pretty clear that someone was walking by, noticed the open window, looked inside, reached in to grab the camera, the camera strap caught on the water bottle and yanked it out of the car (or he grabbed both the camera and the water bottle, but then tossed the water bottle), and a spark plug fell out of his shirt pocket when he was leaning over.

Rocket Boy went back inside the USO building to report the theft and call the police. The police wanted the serial number, so we went home and found it and called them back. I was a basket case on the phone, explaining all about how it was my fault, and the lady is saying, yes, that's fine, and what does the camera look like? And then I had to talk to a police officer, who asked me, "Do you want me to investigate this?" and I said "Well, how could you investigate it, I'm sure it was just some kid," and he said "Then do you just want me to make a note of it in the log so you can report it to your insurance agency?" and I said, "Oh, I'm not going to report it to my insurance agency, it's four and a half years old, it isn't worth anything now," and he said again, "So do you want me to investigate it?" and finally I paid attention to what he was saying and I said "OK, I guess so." So then Rocket Boy had to take the camera's paperwork down to the police station and they copied all the information down for their national database, and now if the camera shows up anywhere in the US, it'll register as stolen. Not that it will.

I guess I need to get a new camera. The old one was a gift, when boos were brand new babies. I think I took pretty good pictures with that camera, but I never actually read the manual, so I never even learned how to delete pictures from it, or use any of the special features. I read the manual tonight, in penance.

Bad Ridgecrest. How dare someone steal a camera sitting on the front seat of an unlocked car with an open window? Might as well be in LA.

Bon voyage to an old friend

So it happened, the piano is gone. I took this photograph last night just before bed. I'd gotten all the junk off the piano, dusted it a bit, played a few pieces, chosen the sheet music to put in the bench. But I still just couldn't believe that today I was going to say goodbye.

This piano was built in 1911 and my grandfather purchased it (for my father) in 1939, when my father was 17. It had just been entirely refurbished and my father was in love. Years later, maybe 1953 or 54, my grandparents sent it from Nebraska to Palo Alto, California, so that my father could have it in his own home.

The piano was an enormous part of my sisters' and my childhoods. It was especially important at Christmas, because my father played carols on it every night.

That's me pointing at the tree, and the boos' aunt Nonnie in her baby seat on the piano. We weren't allowed to put just anything on the piano, but I guess babies were OK.

My father died in 1989. In 2000, my mother (who didn't play) sent the piano to me in Boulder, Colorado, and a few years after that, when I got married, we moved it across town to Rocket Boy's house. In 2009, the piano moved with us to the Mojave Desert, and a few months ago it again moved across town when we did. Now today it moved once again, off to my nephew's new house in Torrance. My nephew is the best pianist in the family (vastly better than me) and I know my father would have wanted him to have it. My father would want the piano to be PLAYED, not have stuff heaped on it. And anyway, we have another piano (Rocket Boy's mother's old upright) waiting for us back in Boulder. So this is a good thing. But it's so hard to say goodbye!

The piano movers called around 8:30 this morning and said they'd be at our house in the 4-6 pm time frame. So I spent the entire day stressing about the move and cleaning the house. I also played the piano a little more. Both last night and today I found myself playing much better than I have the last few times I've tried -- I almost wondered whether "someone" was "helping" me. But each time I started thinking that, I'd make a mistake. So I tried to just enjoy the feeling of playing effortlessly and not worry about why.

Finally at 6:15 they arrived. And whoopsy daisy, here goes the piano on its side.

Here's what the underneath looks like. Mason & Hamlin baby grands have this characteristic steel spider web underneath -- it makes them terribly heavy.

Now it's being loaded onto the truck.

They had a little trouble getting it on, so Rocket Boy helped them.

Boos watched it all, with great interest.

And now there's a big empty space in our house. And yeah, in our hearts.

Take good care of it! We will miss it, but we know it's going to a wonderful new home.

Camping trip #2: Horseshoe Meadows

So we decided it was time to do another camping trip. When we were in the Bay Area over 4th of July we managed to score a family-sized tent on Craig's List for $55 and we wanted to try it out. Of course we hadn't addressed any of the other issues that came up on our first family camping trip, like how uncomfortable Rocket Boy and I were sleeping on the ground, but what the heck, we thought maybe our first campground had just had really hard ground.

We argued about where to go up until the morning of the trip (Saturday). I wanted to go to the charcoal kilns campsite in Death Valley, but Rocket Boy thought that sounded hot. He wanted to go back to Chimney Creek, but I thought that sounded hot. (It's very hot out here right now, could you guess?) His other suggestion was the campgrounds at Horseshoe Meadows, where we drove once and just looked around -- we can't remember when, either in the spring or last fall. It's basically straight up from Lone Pine, way high up, at 10,000 feet. And that sounded cool (in both senses) to both of us. So finally we agreed to go there.

We left after lunch on Saturday, around 1:30 pm, and drove to the visitor center at Lone Pine. The ranger Rocket Boy talked to didn't know whether the campgrounds at Horseshoe Meadows would be crowded or not, but we decided to take the chance. After all, the one time we went up there, there was absolutely no one around.

Lone Pine is at 3700 feet, so to get to 10,000 feet we had to drive 6300 feet up -- and it takes MAYBE half an hour to drive those 6300 feet. That's a lot of altitude really fast! Once you get high up, everything is so beautiful.

It was a nice drive, although at one point when Rocket Boy was negotiating a hairpin turn, Baby A shouted at me, "Mom! How do they make people?" (This is a concern of his right now. I gave him my current standard answer: "Babies grow in their mom's bellies.") We saw only a couple of cars on our way up the mountain -- and then we got to Horseshoe Meadows. And it was like a little city had popped up out of nowhere. The parking lots were full of cars, the campsites were full of tents. We stopped at the Cottonwood Lakes/Golden Trout campground and walked through it (the campsites are walk-in) -- but we didn't find a single empty one. So then we drove over to the Cottonwood Pass campground -- same thing.

We weren't panicking, you understand -- I mean, heck, it's about two hours from our house to this area -- we could have just gone home. But we wanted to camp! So then we looked at the Equestrian campground, right next door to the other two. The Equestrian campground is supposed to be for people with horses. Each campsite has a horse pen. But it was 4:30 pm, and there were about 5 empty campsites. Surely people with horses would plan ahead and not show up so late expecting to find sites. And the sign said "Priority is given to campers with horses." Not "You can't camp here unless you have a horse." So we picked out a site, paid the fee ($12), and settled in. It was a nice campground, with clean bathrooms and water spigots scattered here and there. Not much wildlife except little ground squirrels running everywhere, but the trees were lovely and it was so beautifully cool.

First we had to put up the new tent. The campsites had these nice little "tent pads," so we would be sleeping on slightly softer ground, and very level.

It took quite a bit of effort, even though we had practiced at home, but finally we got it up ("we" meaning Rocket Boy, with a little help from me).

The twins helped too, but mostly they helped by not helping. Fortunately they had a nice chair to sit in this time.

And once the tent was put up, they had a lot of fun playing in it. Of course Ducky was there too (you can see his yellow legs in the back of the tent).

Then we had dinner: veggie burgers grilled over a charcoal fire, hamburger buns, a can of baked beans, and grapes. Dessert was of course roasted marshmallows. We had been eating chips and grapes before dinner, so no one had a huge appetite, and pretty soon we were ready for bed, even though it was only about 7 pm. In retrospect, I suspect that altitude sickness was setting in -- nausea, fatigue... The campground is in a very beary area, so all the campsites have these great bear cupboards next to the picnic tables, with handles that bears can't open.

So convenient! We just stashed all our food and dirty dishes and garbage bag and everything in there and got it all out again in the morning.

We got in our pajamas, read stories while it was still light outside, and settled down to sleep by 8 pm. The boos always like to ask me questions right before they go to bed, Baby A especially, and last night was no exception. "How do they make sleeping bags?" he asked me, as we were snuggling into ours.

"In a factory," I said. I've gotten quite adept at thinking of easy answers to his questions.

"And how do they make tents?"

"In a tent factory. They sew them up. It's very complicated."

"And how do they make flies?"

(Rocket Boy and I snort with laughter.) Getting a hold of myself, I answered, "The mommy fly lays eggs and the baby flies hatch out of them."

Baby A was quiet for a while. But then, just as we were all dropping off, here came another question. "Mom! Do mailmans camp?!"

(Boos are very interested in our mailman, and often discuss what he does in his off hours.) Through more snorts of laughter, I said, "Yes, mailmen could go camping, but they wouldn't wear their mailman clothes while they were doing it."

The tent was very open, with the back wall mostly mesh, and I wanted to lie in bed and look at the stars. But to do that, I needed to keep my glasses on, and really I just wanted to go to sleep, so I put the glasses in a tent pocket and rolled over to go to sleep. Little did I know I would see plenty of stars later that night.

So, I slept a little while, and then I woke up. And so did Rocket Boy. And we continued to do so all night long. Which, since we'd gone to bed at 8 pm, went on just absolutely forever. We were on opposite sides of the tent, with boos in the middle, but since they're pretty sound sleepers, we could have whispered conversations over them. At one point I woke up and RB said "It's 2:30. When do you want to get up?"

"Well," I said in horror, "whenever it's light. Maybe at 6?" Thinking: three and a half hours? I have to survive three and a half more hours of this?

The problem again was that the ground was too hard. But I think something else may have been involved. After all, I didn't wake up twenty times at the Chimney Creek campground. When we got home today I researched altitude sickness online and read about Cheyne-Stokes respirations, which supposedly many people do while they're sleeping above 10,000 feet. It involves waking up a lot (among other things -- you can google it). It was a fairly quiet campground, despite being so full, but the horse at the campground next to ours neighed occasionally during the night, and of course that woke me up too. Also, as it got closer to morning, it also got FREEZING, and that woke me up too. Oh, a lovely night it was not.

Finally 6 am came, then 6:30, and Rocket Boy and I got up. Baby A woke up too -- I swear he's going to be a morning person -- and I got him dressed and we went out to have breakfast (cereal, rice milk, blueberries, and a package of apple rugalah from the grocery store -- not as good as homemade cinnamon rolls, but oh well). Baby B slept on and on, until finally I went back in the tent and made him get up. We were all jealous of how well he slept!

It was chilly in the morning, with the warm sun peeping in and out of clouds. We kept putting on and taking off our coats. We were all impressed to see that our horse neighbor was wearing a blanket (he hadn't had that on when we went to bed at 8)!

Then with great effort we took down the tent and packed up all our junk -- what seemed like thousands of sleeping bags and pads and extra blankets and suitcases and bags of food and miscellany -- and stuffed it into the car -- and drove back down the mountain. On the way down, we saw these hang-gliders preparing to go off the cliff:

This is the cliff they were going to go over:

Within a few minutes we were nearing Lone Pine and suddenly it was hot! We drove the 20 miles to Olancha and had a second breakfast there (with lots and lots of coffee, very important after that awful night), and it was so hot -- and steamy, lots of clouds in the sky. Drove on back to Ridgecrest and it was 107 degrees, just pukey hot. We really missed the campground.

So I don't know. We've decided that our next camping purchase will be REI inflatable camp beds, or something similar, to help with the hard ground problem. And the next purchase after that will be some sort of rooftop carrier, since our gear just isn't fitting in our little cars. But I think maybe, despite the coolness factor, we also ought to think about camping below 10,000 feet!

Shopping: A new plan

So we did another marathon shopping trip today -- the details don't really matter, but I'll provide them anyway. We left home around 11:30, stopped in Inyokern so Rocket Boy could get some things at the hardware store, and went on to Tehachapi to go to the excellent German bakery (http://www.kohnenscountrybakery.com/) there (that's about 75 miles from Ridgecrest). We got bread to take home, and sandwiches for lunch, which we ate outside, and the kids played in the little play area there. Then back in the car and off to Bakersfield to go to Target (another 40 miles). Yes, Target. It was huge and crowded, and we managed to buy the twins some summer shoes, along with some other miscellany that I'd been wanting. Then on to Trader Joe's (maybe 4 more miles), where we bought pretty much ALL the cereal in the store. Bakersfield was so hot and humid today. Just dreadful. Then we drove back toward Ridgecrest and stopped at Murray Family Farms (maybe 20 miles) and bought a whole lot of fruit and the kids played in the corn pit (like a mini swimming pool full of dried corn kernels -- here's a photo from the last time we went there).

Then we continued on to the exit for Keene (11 more miles) and drove past the Cesar Chavez center and on to the Tehachapi Loop, which actually had trains on it, and is one of the 7 wonders of the railroad world (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tehachapi_Loop), and TRULY fabulous and DEFINITELY worth seeing, except maybe not today, when we had driven 115 miles to go to Target. Also, it was still hot. Then we drove on a winding road back to Tehachapi, where we had dinner at the Apple Shed, and then back to Ridgecrest with only one potty stop by the side of the road (there had been one earlier too), arriving home at 8:20 pm. Total mileage: about 235. Total hours spent: nearly 9. Total money spent: about $400. Total boxes of cereal: I have no idea, I just know they don't all fit in our cupboards.

And that's normal. For us. Living in Ridgecrest.

And what's also normal is that Rocket Boy and I (especially I) got terribly tired and cranky, and the twins -- who are actually MUCH better than they used to be and real troopers on the long drive -- did not understand that when Mommy has been driving for more than 200 miles and doing all that SHOPPING, she does not want to have little people in the back seat say, "I have something at my painting house. Do you know what it is? Think about it," over and over and over.

And as we were driving home, Rocket Boy said, brilliantly, "You know, the next time we need to do a shopping run, you should go by yourself and I could take the twins on a hike."

And I thought -- oh my God he's right. This trip should have been two trips. One nice weekend, we could have driven to Tehachapi and gone to the bakery and seen the fabulous Tehachapi Loop -- and then gone home. And another nice weekend, I could have gone to Bakersfield and done a lot of shopping and Rocket Boy could have taken the twins on a hike somewhere. Oh, it's so blissfully simple. In the old days it wouldn't have been so great, because the twins were harder for one of us to manage all alone. But now it's much easier, and Rocket Boy loves to take them for hikes.

So we made a pledge, and I'm writing it down here so I'll remember it. No More Entire-Family Long-Distance Marathon Shopping Trips, if we can possibly help it. Let's see if we can do this.

At the beach

I want to write one more post about my vacation before plunging fully back into Ridgecrest World. It's not that I'm miserable to be back, it's just that, well... let's say it's been kind of hot here recently. It makes me a bit nostalgic for the beach.

We went to the beach for my birthday, at my request. I was touched that so many people agreed to go (my little sister really wanted to go, but got sick), because as we all agreed, going to the beach is kind of a pain. We were smart about it -- we ate lunch at home, and we had dinner reservations at Duarte's in Pescadero. So we didn't have to drag a LOT of food out onto the sand, just snacks. And we didn't have to be at the beach all day, just a few hours. Very smart.

But first we had to choose a beach. There are 6 or so public beaches on the San Mateo county coast, from Half Moon Bay to Pescadero. But none of us had been to any of those beaches in eons and we had no idea what would be best. Finally I chose San Gregorio beach, because I remembered that it had a nice little channel running from the ocean inland, and I thought the kids could play in that.

So we drove over the mountains to Half Moon Bay and then down the coast. The parking fee at San Gregorio beach was $8 and there weren't too many cars in the lot, which I thought was a good sign. We unpacked the cars and started the walk down to the beach, and then we realized the problem.

The little channel of my memory has become an enormous lake, taking up half the beach and making it almost impossible to walk from the parking lot to what's left of the beach. This new lake also has signs posted saying "Contaminated. Stay Out." We discussed going back to the cars and trying another beach, but no one wanted to do that, so we inched our way down the steep, narrow path to the beach. Here's my niece on the narrow path and some of the kids climbing up above her.

And here is the contaminated lake behind us:

But here is the beautiful ocean in front of us:

It was a truly perfect day at the beach -- blue skies, warm but not hot -- I don't think it's probably ever actually HOT at the San Mateo county beaches, but it's often very chilly and foggy, and so of course we had all brought sweatshirts. They were not needed. We made sand castles, frolicked in the waves, took walks down the beach, ate sandy snacks. I loved it.

But it wasn't just a nice day at the beach for me. It was Memory Central. It was as though I had walked into an old movie of my past, and I had to watch it play out.

Who knew that my past, my family history, lives at the beach? I certainly wouldn't have guessed that. It is true that my father's ashes were supposed to be scattered at sea (though they may not have been -- long story). I helped scatter my older sister's ashes up near Half Moon Bay. (My mother's ashes are inland a little ways, but same county.)

It's also true that beach trips were a regular part of our lives when I was a child. And when I was a teenager, I used to go with my friends. In fact, here's a photo I dug up of my 16th birthday party -- held at Bean Hollow beach. I'm in front, digging (with the long blond hair, not the bikini):

So I celebrated my 16th birthday party at the beach, and my 52nd. Pretty funny.

You know, maybe the whole memory thing was because the beach doesn't change (much). Sure, there was that contaminated lake, but the ocean in front of us was the same ocean that I remember from when I was little. My parents' house is sold and doesn't look anything like it used to. But the beach is the same.

Rocket Boy tried to go swimming, but the surf was too rough even for him. While he was out there, though, a seal suddenly popped up, right where RB had been a moment before. He and I were the only ones to see the seal -- as soon as I started yelling, it went back under and we didn't see it again. Still, pretty cool. And then a moment later, it seemed to be snowing -- and that puzzled me for just a moment until I realized that a low-diving seagull had just pooped on me. I've never had that happen! White seagull poop all over my shirt, and probably in my hair.

It was very very hard not to think that the seal and the seagull were two of my departed family members, paying me a little visit on my birthday.

We had dinner reservations at 5:30, so around 4:30 or so we started packing up. It takes so long to shake the sand out of everything and carry it all back up the hill and shake out the sand again and change the clothes of little people who have gotten sopping wet and shake out the sand again and pack everything and everyone back in the car. (And still there's sand on everything.) We drove further down Highway 1 to Pescadero where we had a delicious dinner at Duarte's.

Duarte's Tavern has been around forever, but it's famous in our family because our parents ate here on a little honeymoon they took back in 1943, several months after they were actually married. Duarte's has the best olallieberry pie in the world. Also other pies. Also fish, and artichoke soup. And sourdough bread with butter. It's a little pricey, totally casual, and just divine. I had a Petrale sole sandwich, with blackberry shortcake for dessert. Every bite was ambrosia. And every bite was memory lane again. I felt as though my parents were there too, eating right along with us. I didn't actually eat at Duarte's very many times with my parents -- it wasn't that -- it was just something about the place and the day and the wonderful food. A good piece of bread and butter can be a poem. A blackberry shortcake can be a nocturne.

I did think, on the drive back, how lovely it would be to drive to Duarte's on a date, if one were young and rich and in love. But going at age 52 with one's husband and two darling children and beloved extended family was really fun too. My family lives on at the beach. Well, now I know.

Vacation... at Gilroy Gardens

So we're back from vacation, trying to adjust to Ridgecrest again. Of course there would have to be a heat wave this week. Supposed to be 110 today, 113 tomorrow. Yes, it's a dry heat. But still.

We had a lovely vacation, despite the long drive (and it wasn't nearly as bad as I'd feared). It's always lovely to go up north, see the family, see the green. I imagine it's no greener there than when I was growing up, but I've gotten so used to bare dirt yards that all the shrubbery in northern California just blows me away.

We stayed at my sister's friend's apartment-attached-to-her-house, which is a paradise, complete with toys for the kids, and shelves of books I've been meaning to read, and great art on the walls, and a snazzy new kitchen, and a swimming pool. It is the nicest place you could ever stay, much nicer than any hotel could ever be.

We always have to do a special outing or two, so this time we went to Gilroy Gardens, which is an amusement park for little kids. It kind of didn't appeal to me when it was suggested, because Gilroy is HOT -- but the day we went, it wasn't! It felt as though it was about 75 degrees the whole time we were there. Maybe 80, but just barely. And they've clearly done a lot to the place to make it bearable even when it IS hot, lots of trees and artificial shade as well, so for us it was perfect.

We bought our lunch from a little food stand called Castroville Corners, that deep fries all sorts of delicious things. Here we are eating garlic fries, fried artichoke hearts, mini corn dogs, and fish & chips. Also Baby B wanted popcorn and Baby A wanted lemonade, and their indulgent aunt indulged them. We ate outside by the lake, and soon a female mallard duck joined us to eat what we dropped. As we were finishing up, a whole bunch of other ducks came to eat the rest.

The park has a great little train, which we rode, and lots of "produce" themed rides, such as this mushroom swing (too scary for little boos, but they enjoyed looking at it):

Our favorite ride was this one:

We rode it three times and Baby B did all the driving (Baby A loves cars but for some reason did not want to be the driver that day).

And after our long day we still managed to go out to dinner at the Lobster Shack in Portola Valley, where we ate divine food outside, the kids ran around with other kids, and the bulldogs looked for crumbs under the table. I think that was what you might call "gilding the lily," the lily being our lovely day.

We did a lot of other stuff on our vacation: celebrated 4th of July and my birthday, swam in pools, went to the beach, and spent a lot of time just hanging out. My sister puts out lots of toys for the kids, and books, and puzzles, and they play and play and play.

I'll write another post in a day or two about our trip to the beach, because that was special to me.

It's a bummer being back in Ridgecrest, but I don't feel depressed. The vacation definitely gave me a lift. Nice memories.