Would you believe I have written 25,000 words so far in this story? I guess the writing bug has really hit me. The story of my vacation continues:
As I stare out the window at the breathtaking beauty that surrounds me, my mind wanders. I conclude that it is arrogant for Sonoma County CA to believe it cornered the market on eye-catching scenery. Washington takes my breath away. Staring at the mountains I lose myself to daydreaming. In my perfect Hollywood movie, [insert man] would show up at my front door, sweep me and Brian away from California, and release this princess from the prison I call Santa Rosa, California.
The three of us would live in one of those homes along the water of Puget Sound, with a boat and a dog. The kind where the lawn grows right up to the beach front, and only a line of trees seperate the properties. Brian and I would fish everyday if we wished. There'd be laughter and plenty of dancing. We'd spend our summers traveling with Brian around the world. [Insert man]'s kids would come visit us with their friends on college break. We'd dream of retiring to Europe - either Ireland or Italy.
[Now, before I start receiving emails of shock from people reminding me that [insert man] is [insert secret] Please keep in mind that A.[Secret is not that bad], and the marriage that linked us has long been over since [hiding secret to protect everyone] B. There is more to the story, but it is private, this is the Internet and I am not putting it here to be shot at later, C. I am writing my thoughts, which isn't reality or doesn't mean I will do anything about it. JUST THOUGHTS...which regular redheads have everyday, but seldom act upon.] Now back to my story...
Uncle Bill snaps me back to reality from my daydream when he asks, "Alice, do you have my card with you?" Uncle Bill is retired from the Air Force. He retired from McChord Air Force Base in Olympia. The next thing I know he is flashing his card at the gates to the McChord Air Force Base. I am about to see the first military base I have been on since high school. I am suddenly jolted to attention. I love F-16's - maybe we will see one. This is the first time Brian has been on a military base. Bill glances at me and says, "I want to show Brian something". Bless his heart for knowing boys and wanting to open up Brian's world andexpose him to the wonder of military jet aircraft.
There is an Air Museaum on the base, and as we approach I am already unlocking my door. We stop and get out. Brian and I are thrilled. There is a A-10A Thunderbolt II; a Douglas B-18A Bolo and a B-23A Dragon; a C-47C Skytrain; a C-82A Packet and a C-124C Globemaster, along with a C-141B StarLifter; oh and a F-4C Phantom II; a F-15A Eagle; and finally a T-33A Shooting Star. We can walk right up and touch everything. Brian and I are amazed at the size of the bombs. What it must be like to travel like a comet across the sky.
The museum gallery was closed due to the 4th of July holiday, but inside is a F-106 simulator and a Control Tower. We spend a good hour looking at every piece of equipment, while Bill explaining it in great detail. Brian ran around pretending he was in the air force....boys...
It is late afternoon and the sun feels warm on my back as Bill, Brian and I explore. This base is beautiful. Aunt Alice once worked here assigning base housing. From the museum, Uncle Bill drives us to the air strip. Unfortunately for me (and Brian) nothing is taking off. No F-16's today, but the tour of the base is enthralling. Aunt Alice yells, "We have to get back home Bill!" I am sure she has been on this 'Bill Tour' a thousand times. However, we are approaching the finest hours of my birthday (in honor of me) ...fireworks.
Back at Aunt Alice and Uncle Bill's nephew Mitch is running around concocting his fireworks plan. I have no idea what we are doing. Mitch races up to me in his truck, "Get Brian and get in!" he shouts. Brian already is running for the truck. I grab a blanket and sweater. Cousin Jeff and his wife (from Fallon) pull up in a really really REALLY big penis truck with a bunch of chairs in the bed. Even my redneck cousins know how to invade Washington wild country.
Mitch, with a cigarette in his mouth smiles and shouts, "We are about to corrupt your son - you better not bitch!" ME bitch? We are off to where.... I have no idea. "Have you ever seen real bottle rockets up close Brian?" he asks, as Brian sits glued to him in the truck, hanging on his every word. Oh good lord. Now I am going to get arrested with my son.
Mitch tells us we are on our way to the Indian Reservation where illegal fireworks are legal AND there is a huge fireworks show from the casino. Oh ok, so we will only get arrested when LEAVING. I feel so much better. Delaying handcuffs and the back of a squad car comforts me. We travel down this winding country road, heading east out of Olympia, through massive redwoods and country I would give anything to have a home on. Mitch is puffing on his cigarette and talking a mile a minute to Brian. I've lost both of them to their own boy-men world.
We cross the reservation line and cars and trucks are going in every direction. Sudeenly it is clear to me that we are not in Kansas anymore... let alone Washington, or the United States. A dark, thick haze of smoke covers the ground to about 10 feet high. It sounds like a reenactment of the revolutionary war. Suddenly, I want to let the natives know my family came to America from Ireland via CANADA many years after other stupid white folk took their land. Did you know on a reservation one can pile 25 men in the back of a truck, with cases of beer and drive on the wrong side of the road and not get arrested? Who knew? I really need to move here!
Mitch finds his "regular" parking place in the middle of this dry field. Jeff gets out and immediately starts his own fireworks display. Bottle rockets and fireworks that usually are controlled by professionals I have never met in my own town, are being set off by every day people with a Bic lighter and a Budweiser. I imagine that we are going to return home without limbs and hair. Brian is literally dancing. Ok, I was not the buzz kill, but I did need a valium.
About this time, Jeff decides his fireworks show just isn't manly enough, since everyone else around us is exploding enough fireworks to send their trucks to the moon. He's got to take a walk with Mitch. They tell Brian he is 'in charge' uhhhhhh HELLLOOO. Brian puffs up like a turkey before Thanksgiving. Yeh, he's a man alright...right up until I tell him it's bedtime and remind him who brought him into this world. Jeff and Mitch go see some "friends" on the reservation and come back with 28 super bottle rockets.
Yes, I did type 28.
As I survey the 10 inch tall, dried yellow grass surrounding us, I surmise the world will be hearing about this huge Washington fire started on a reservation by some stupid white people who came to America through Canada some decades back and the FBI is trying to find them. Fox television will have it's own news special; 'Fireworks! A fire on a Washington Reservation. Terrorism or race wars?'
Jeff decides it's a great idea to line the bottle rockets 4 in a row and set them off with a smaller volcano firework. Oi. Men always believe they need to reinvent the wheel. What is it about the male species? Why do they always have to show that they are bigger, better, stronger? Some throw back to the caveman days? I make Brian stand with me back with the truck as a possible shield. Good lord, is this really how we celebrate my birthday?
Kaaaabooom off goes the first, then the second, third and forth. Ok, I'll admit...this is damn cool. We are our own artillery unit now. All hail Catherine the Great's birthday squadron. (Just ignore the men I am with who are smoking cigarettes while surrounded by fireworks). Jeff and Mitch set off all the bottle rockets. People around us applaud. Good God, please people don't encourage them!
I fear we will be launching canon fire next. Brian thinks he has died and gone to heaven. Luckily we all have our limbs and haven't burned anything down when at 10pm the casino fireworks show begins. We pull our chairs from Jeff's truck, sit down and take the rest in. HA! We are still alive. It's a great birthday.
At 11:30pm, we arrive back at Uncle Bill and Aunt Alice's home and get ready for bed. Brian is still wound up and wants to talk to me. Isn't my birthday over yet? He finally falls asleep somewhere around 12:30. Well, at least he won't be waking up early...
It's now Tuesday. Mom and Uncle Bill go to the mechanic's shop to check on the car. It turns out it's the alternator and it can be fixed in a day. Looks like I will be going back to California. Damn. The dream to stay in Washington is quickly fading. Reality is setting in. My cell phone is beginning to ring with phone calls from clients. I am on ROAM. They won't be hearing from me while ROAM is in session, unless I can charge two points on the loan. Brian tells me he is missing his Dad, his dog Boonie and his cat Annabelle. California is beginning to pull me home with a vengeance.
We hang out at Alice and Bill's for the day. At noon, big Uncle Bud and Aunt Patricia stop by pulling their trailer. They are leaving and resuming the rest of their trip. Patricia owns land in Alaska and they are off to spend the rest of the summer in the great northwest. This is the Uncle from Fallon, Nevada who looks like a noble character right out of a Louis Lamour western epic novel. With his thin build, large cowboy hat, huge mustache, Levis jeans and cowboy boots - all he needs is a pair of 6 shooters. I adore him. He is 85 years old and acts like he is 50. In Alaska, he will be chopping down trees and clearing their property. Yes, he does this himself. He always teases me and tells me he's a young stud because he marries younger women. Patricia is 62. Well... he has buried two other wives who died of cancer. I am of the opinion that no one can keep up with him. What a stud. He tells me to get a younger man, and winks at my mother (his step-sister) informing her that he has "set me straight". Yeh, I'll go right out and marry that 21 year old guy...(rolling eyes)...
As he pulls away in his huge diesel truck pulling his trailer, he yells, "Cat!! Get yer butt to Fallon for a visit and bring Brian. I'll teach him about ranchin! We'll be back home in September!" He waves, and in a heartbeat they are gone. This vacation is going by too fast. God, how I miss the days this big family of aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents got together twice a year in Sonoma County. Christmas eve was the best. Now we are scattered like stars against the night sky.
The phone rings. My mother's car will be ready at 3:00. It's time to pack. My mom wants to leave and drive to Grants Pass Oregon as soon as the car is ready. Damn. I am going back home starting today. At 3:00 sharp the car is returned to Aunt Alice and Uncle Bill's home. Service in a small town...wow. (Or maybe they just want people from California to hurry up and leave the state...?...)
Sadly, it is time to say our goodbyes. Aunt Carmen is there, Mitch is in school, Ron, Randy, Ray and Rick are at work and Rob (BOB) is in his earn on the mantle. We exchange hugs and tears as I get into the driver's seat. Brian has been sitting in the back seat since the car was returned. He is ready to go home.
As we pull out of the driveway "Every RoseHas Its Thorn'by Poison is on the radio. [Insert secret man] and I slow danced to this song. The lyrics couldn't be more appropriate. Funny how coincedences like this happen to me all the time. Brian mom and I are now on the freeway heading south towards home, Olympia is fading in the rear view mirror. Farewell Washington.
On the way to Washington, we stayed at my redheaded Aunt Colleen and Uncle Leon's home in Grants Pass, Oregon. Aunt Colleen is my father's oldest sister. Now, a week later, we will be returning for our last night of vacation. She is a crazy redhead, so at least the vacation will end on a high note. It is Colleen's eldest son who was a pitcher for the Yankees and is the coach at Grants Pass High School. She is a real character - so is my Uncle Leon. Colleen looks and acts like Luciele Ball. Leon looks and acts like Art Carney (for those of you that remember the Jackie Gleason show). They are a riot together.
We arrive in Grants Pass at 10:30pm exhausted and road weary. I'd love a martini, but I don't drink them anymore. Aunt Colleen and Uncle Leon weren't home yet. Ever since Leon's 11th or 12th heart attack, Aunt Colleen accompanies him to cousin Stacy's baseball games. Not only is Stacy the high school baseball coach, but his brother's sons play on his team. The game was in overtime. I get my PJ's on, wash my face and crawl into the spare bed. I barely remember Brian saying goodnight.
The following morning at what seems like the crack of dawn, Aunt Colleen and my mother are at the dining room table chatting girl-talk over cups of coffee. They did grow up together, and Colleen, is after all, the sister of that handsome man in the Army uniform that swept my mother off her feet those so many years ago. {My dad} My Aunt Colleen still cannot bring up my dad's name without tears rolling down her cheeks.
My dad's death was as if the sun went out and we have all been living by artificial light ever since. Brian has helped to bring the light back into my world. Aunt Colleen cried when she saw him. "Oh my God. He is your Dad all over" she grins. "Yes, yes he is" I smile back. Brian is twisting in his skin from all the attention, but Colleen is spoiling him rotten like she does with all us kids and Brian has fallen madly in love with her.
I pull myself out of bedand join themfor coffee. I don't get to see her as much as I used to. Growing up, I always ended my summers with a visit (by myself) to Aunt Colleen and Uncle Leon's home - where ever it was. Being as she was in a house with all boys, she would pamper me with beauty tips and products. She has owned her own salon ever since I can remember. I don't leave this time without a bang trim and a facial. Some things never change.
We have our breakfasts, and assemble our things. It's time to get back on the road. Instead of returning by Interstate 5, my mother wants to return through Crescent City and the giant Northern California redwoods. It's a beautiful sunny day and by the end of it I will be back home. Back to reality.
The drive is smooth and lined with trees of all types. As we approach the Smith river and Patricks Creek, my mom begins to tell Brian her stories about growing up in this part of California. Her father had a ranch that makes up most of Garberville out to Black Sand Beach and Shelter Cove. Ultimately, he died of a massive heart attack and my grandmother moved off the ranch and operated a general store near Crescent City. All the women in my family tree are business women. There has never been a "stay-at-home" mom in the group...ever. Must be something about Irish women...
We have lunch at my mother's favorite Crescent City restaurant, which is known for its clam chowder and seafood. It's a thick foggy day - like the chowder. Staring out the window I have decided not to return to mortgage banking. I can do some free-lance work and have had some offers for contract work. The decision brings me peace, a peace I have not felt in years.
The next step besides starting a new career is getting well from this Hashimotos disease. Baby steps. As we drive out of Crescent City I feel content. I can go back home. I can change things. I can form the dream group and create the next stage of my life. I look down at my beautifully painted toes from Ron's daughter's handy work. I may not live where I want, or am living the life I want, but I am loved by some amazingly wonderful people...and I have a fabulous family.
Until next time...
C
