Day Nine: Cousins

There is so much joy in running for me. It’s my favorite thing to do when travelling, a great pace at which to orient oneself to the local scene, sights, people, personality. I was grateful this morning for a long run along the harbor, up a hill leading to what Tom defined as “the next Agrestic”, and up staircases leading to gorgeous (though playgroundless) city parks. It was an hour and a half of meditation where I shook off the strange dreams of the previous night, aligned my spine, cleared my head and my lungs.
When I got back to the campground I reveled in the joyful welcome of my bike and scooter riding kids and we jumped into the car to head to spend the day with cousins. Not long after we arrived (it’s a half hour or more up the 5 to the 91), I was in the steamy hot bliss of the shower. After a long stretch it’s pretty special to sit in the hot running water. Just this moment as the night air is getting chillier and chillier I am dreaming of a long, hot bath, but the shower was pure heaven.

Mary and Dave lay out a spread every time we come, and today was no different, beginning with an extravagant breakfast of eggs, sausage, bacon and bagels. Much needed fuel for the park visit that came next. We’d brought Jordan and Sawyer’s bikes and when our kids mounted theirs we learned that Sammy and Jack don’t have bikes and this was the cause of much upset. Tom and Ned planned to teach Sammy at the park, maybe a bit later in the day on a solo trip as she had some embarrassment about being seven and not knowing how, but somehow soon after she arrived (late due to a tearful breakdown), she was getting ready to get on with her dad. I could see the tears and frustration starting up, and since Sammy and I have a pretty easy repoire I asked if I could help.

It’s amazing how different learning something can be depending hoe different your relationship is with certain people. I’d like to say that I’m easygoing enough that Tom could easily teach me to kayak or snowboard, but perhaps because of our closeness or of feeling safe with him, I express my fear rather than focusing on the learning. Sammy was coming too easily to tears with her parents about everything, but with me she was all confidence and smiles and was quickly on her way to riding. I added another three miles of pretty good running in clogs) to my total mileage for the day and pretty well negated my shower. It was so worth it. Her progress was monumental – after a late lunch, Tom took Jordan and Sammy and Laney on her scooter for a long exploratory trek around the neighborhood. I took Jack who was enamored with Sawyer’s bike and Julia who was just starting to get past the constantly braking step and Sawyer who was on Julia’s three -wheeled princess scooter on a long circle around the neighborhood which was somewhat more involved and taxing given the little ones inability to power themselves up and down the driveway slopes to cross the streets, and to consistently safely police themselves in doing so. But it was well worth their feelings of accomplishment at the end.

I did two massive loads of laundry and played a fun game of Phase 10 with Tess and Jen and Mary and we had a great Sloppy Joe dinner with the kids in one room, all the girls but Laney in princess garb, and the adults in the kitchen/dining room. Sawyer had a much needed bath before cake, and Jordan decided to stay for a sleepover. We haven’t gotten so much as a phone call and her last sleepover a year ago involved tears and a late night phone call. Even though it was cousins, it was a little bit hard to drive away. My little baby seems so much older and bigger every day – although seeing her with Sammy and Laney I am so grateful that she got her mama’s geekiness or perhaps I should say dedication to her own ideals. She is thrilled to be playing with Strawberry Shortcake rather than a Wii, and dressing up like a princess has her at her most content (when not on monkey bars, in pool, or on a bike). She played a lot with Julia, the three and a half year old girl, who was willing to do all these things without worrying about it being to babyish. Sammy got drawn into dress up as well, and it was fun to see them all running around so comfortable together.
It’s strange to have an empty bunk in our trailer, but I am thrilled that Jordan has cousins she’s known for long enough that she wants to be with them this much. And it will be fun to have Sawyer time in the morning. Still, I can’t wait to have Brooks cousins for them to build long relationships with, to have sleepovers and dress up parties and bike riding marathons with. Not that I don’t feel close to these cousins: teaching Sammy to ride a bike will always be a pretty special memory. I never felt less close to Uncle Nick because he wasn’t the one my mom was related to, so I would hope the same is true of how Sam and Jack feel about me. And I know to Jordan, Uncle Ryan is synonymous with Aunt Allison. What special relationships those of nieces and nephews, aunts and uncles, and cousins are. How lucky I feel to have had such wonderful ones. How glad I am that my children get them as well.

Day Eight: Adrift

Being in the trailer at night reminds me of being in a sailboat. Only once have I spent more than just a day on the water, a week or less in New Zealand on a twenty foot boat. There’s a lot less rocking in the trailer (although when Jordan moves around in the top bunk it gets going), but when the lights are out and we’re all snugged into our spaces, tucked into the darkness, we may as well be in the middle of an ocean.

Of course, on the boat we encountered foul weather (it was New Zealand, after all), and I remember how forlorn a place the ocean can feel when you’re hurling your guts up over the railing. Our only weak stomach on this trip is Sawyer’s. He’ll say “I don’t feel good,” and we all roll down our windows and encourage him to take deep breaths and show him how to do it – so really these episodes are breaks for all of us, as we all wind up feeling refreshed. On arrival here our first night Sawyer had fallen asleep in the car and was beside himself at being taken from the car where he slept as soundly as one can sleep in a pure vertical sit (given the lack of recline in the rear seats of the truck). Tucked into bed, his crying ended instantaneously, and with his deep characteristic sigh he was back asleep. I tucked Jordan in, and as is our custom, I sang her “Hush Little Baby” which she prefers to hear as “Hush Little Children” or tonight as “Hush, Little Jordan.” I think she loves the sleeping arrangements best of all as she likes proximity without full contact. She’s stopped getting up at night to go to the bathroom (which required full parental involvement to help with the bunked descent and ascent), and she’s fallen out of the bunk only once. She’s getting her sea legs.

We awoke to freezing temperatures but were quickly warmed on the wide open Doheny beach. A fence separates us from the campground entrance road which parallels a main street of Dana Point where traffic passes all night long, although not in any way that kept us awake or bothered. We’re always amazed by Southern CA camping, the proximity to freeways and the numbers of people. In coastal Cali, most of them are mobile and when it’s light there’s a constant flow of people on the other side of the fence, jogging, walking, biking, even some still rollerblading. And for good reason; although it was cold, it was gorgeous. Despite the more constricted campground, we were able to bike safely around to explore and were thrilled to find the beach bordering the western side of the campground was beautiful though sadly surfless. We pulled ourselves from our beach sitting reverie and headed to a coffee shop to come up with a plan for the day. The cousins were busy most of the day and so we were on our own. I had nursed a dream to go out to Catalina Island, but when we found it would cost $250 for the while family, we decided to expand and postpone that dream, planning a camping trip for our next trip south. I googled aquariums in southern CA as we hadn’t stopped at the Monterey Bay aquarium, and found that in Long Beach there was the Aquarium of the Pacific – and they had a shark exhibit, so we were in.

We decided to head north on the 1 again to find lunch and to check out the surf in Huntington Beach, our regular beach hangout when we visit the family in Cerritos. It provided again with good surf, and so the kids and I hung out on the beach, Sawyer once again on the dry sand and Jordan in the surf. Much more interesting and substantial shells on this beach but today Jordan said “I’m not interested in shell collecting today.” She didn’t last as long in the surf, either, the days of travelling and a small cold seeming to wear on her a bit more today. She sat on my lap to warm up so of course when we headed to the truck to change her clothes and take Austin for his walk it looked like two children and their poor incontinent mama. But it’s Southern CA, so anything goes, I suppose.

I love their enthusiasm for anything, these children of mine – for walking Austin until he poops, for calling home these many campgrounds, for visiting twelve different potties in a day. We’ve promised them sand toys and not delivered and they never complain, just reveling in the joys of sun and sand and surf and shells. We promised them a playground and they find perfect joy in making balance beams of concrete barriers, and wooden log posts walls.

We delivered on the aquarium after a Jamba Juice pit stop, and they loved that as well. Jordan and I touched every kind of animal in the petting pools, sting rays, manta rays, sharks, horseshoe crabs, sea anemones, sea cucumbers, starfish. I was surprised at how I had to really talk myself into touching these creatures small children were touching – the rays especially made me pause. The sharks felt like sandpaper on our fingertips, and I wanted to remember the reason why for dad, something like denta dermatitis where there skin is actually covered with small bumps made from the same material as teeth. The rays were smooth, a totally different feel. The largest ones had occasional white bumps and when I stroked one, it waved it’s fin, brushing my forearm and making me jump three feet in the air. I was proud of Jordan touching all of the animals despite her fear, but the dollar per animal was enough to make her persevere, even with the horseshoe crabs who feel just like the shells she readily collects. The starfish were no problem, something about the positive connotation of the shape and name made it no problem at all and she was happy to brag about her papa who, when presented with two beached starfish by a young girl on the beach despite his hesitancy to touch them, paddled them out to sea on his board. He touched the sharks and a smaller ray, but was well short of enthusiastic. Sawyer had no interest whatsoever in touching the creatures, but was more than happy to balance on the rim of the pools risking a full on swim with the 200 sharks in the petting pool.

By the time we left, the drive back to the campground made a planned stop for laundry and a visit with cousins ridiculous from the vantage of those needing sleep. We headed back and introduced our children to their first fast food, tacos and burritos from the Del Taco near the campground. Sleep was instantaneous. Back into the darkness of our trailer we sailed, adrift on the bliss of winter vacation.

Day Seven: Boxing Day, or Festivus (for the rest of us)

It was easier to leave Morro Bay knowing our new friends were also on their way out. While we packed up, the pack of wild children roamed the campground on bike, scooter and foot (Sawyer got separated due to lack of speed and we had to search for him for a good three or four nervous minutes). We finally departed at 9:45 and checked the surf at the rock – no good despite a booming surge at the south jetty – incredibly tempting but with a 45 minute traverse time and a long distance south to go, Tom opted for a search down the coast instead. It was one of those days of being torn – we passed by plenty of surf spots, some of legend and some that simply looked good from the road. It was a gorgeous day, sunshine in abundance but still some wind and definitely with a bite of cold in the air. Which made it al the more difficult to pass the many surf spots. We stopped at another pier, a state park a couple of hours down the coast, but not quite enough was happening to get Tom motivated. Places where it would have been convenient and easy to park and surf, there was a twist to the coastline that protected it from the great swells. Places where the surf looked the best seemed least accessible from the road.

After seeing at least ten or twenty miles of northbound traffic backed up on the 101, we were nervous about our rush hour prospects going through LA. We took a deep breath in Ventura and headed south on the 1 rather than going down the 101. After an initial fifteen minutes of endless traffic lights, the freeway opened up onto empty coastal vistas, beautiful the whole coast down through Malibu’s twenty miles of coastline and into Santa Monica. We stopped in Malibu and I got a great beach run in, marveling at the way the public beaches were pristinely combed, the restrooms cared for by a uniformed worker on Boxing Day.
Still, the line between the haves and the have-lesses was clear: signs posted along a football field length stretch of beach advised that the sand to HERE was public, but past that was to be used by members of the Malibu Bay Club Members ONLY. The tempting playground wasn’t for our use, although I did deign to deposit the Austin pooper scooper bags in their trash cans rather than carry them with me to the public ones. One length of buildings looked like fifteen or so clothes closets for rent, until I saw the doors open on one: inside was a small wet bar, a man behind it served drinks to three others on chairs half in and out of the closet sized space and I laughed in wonderment that people would pay no doubt great sums for the privilege of drinking from their own small piece of real estate on Malibu’s famed shores. The kids and Tom had invented a game of going for a “walk” over a ledge of sand and toppling down the 3 ft tall drop into the sand below. They were, of course, covered in sand and jumped, slid and rolled over and over. We all did it together and it was of course wonderful fun (until walking to the car Jordan realized her undies were filled with sand).

We had about an hour’s drive to the Nakamuras in Cerritos, and it was the clearest driving we’ve ever done on any of our trips down to LA. Jordan and her cousin Sammy and her cousin Laney played better together than they ever have, time erasing past petty concerns and more toddlerish fussing and pouting. Sawyer and Jack who look strangely similar despite clear differences in specific facial features also played well both together and independently, and it was fun to sit to a meal all together and to chat and laugh afterwards. It’s always a welcoming atmosphere and everyone’s become more settled in their roles and identities as parents and so it’s a fun environment to be in.

We left too late, of course, for the kids – it was 8:30 by the time we buckled in. After the last half hour of Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Story, Sawyer was beside himself with exhaustion and his usually even keel was wildly off center; everything made him cry. He of course was unconscious when we pulled into our campground dead in the middle of a busting LA seaside town. There’s a rather posh Hilton that towers over city facing campground border (it’s wireless signal just slightly too faint to pirate), a constant drone of highway, and an occasional train whistle. It won’t be the casual ride your bike campground as it’s much busier and more compressed than our last two campgrounds, but the beach is yards away, and the sign promised an aquarium. We may try to get to Catalina Island tomorrow as the cousins are engaged in picture taking and dinner reservations. At some point we’ll have to wash not only ourselves and our children, but the pile of laundry has now outgrown it’s hiding place in the bathroom.

Sawyer gave his scooter to the 2 ½ year old girl at the last campground as he’s clearly ready for a two wheeler that moves a little more quickly – and the balancing should help him transition to the removal of his training wheels he claims readiness for.

I think it’s the coldest I’ve ever felt LA get, but the clarity and sunshine are worth it. The rain was great, too – especially knowing in Lotus it was raining and up in the high Sierra our stores of groundwater and snow were improving. The kiddos are snugged into their bunks sated from so much play with kids, so much fun for days now. It’s fun to drive into a campground in the dark, and to wake and discover what you’ve been sleeping in the middle of. Tonight it sounds like we’re in the middle of a concrete jungle, but I know in the morning it’s the whole Pacific we’ll see, more adventure to have and exploring to be done.

Day Six: Christmas is Here!

Somehow, Santa knew to find us at Morro Bay Campground Site 34! We woke in the morning to filled stockings and presents under the tree – and in the hallway, on top of the kitchen counter, in the sink, in the clothes closet and pretty much everywhere they would fit – thanks to wonderfully generous grandparents the present opening lasted all day. Of course we started with stockings, my long time favorite. It was raining a bit and still a bit windy, but not the epic storm that had been forecast. We opened a Santa present or two after stockings and headed outside to stretch our legs and to make breakfast. Tom had scrambled eggs and coffee going in no time and we loved exchanging “Merry Christmas” greetings with everyone out walking their dogs.

We made a campfire (I still don’t know how Tom did it with how damp everything was from our days of intermittent rain, but he’s a master at home as well, thankfully), and the kids opened more presents in front of the fire – a super special experience, I think and a Christmas I hope they’ll always remember. Perhaps the best present of the day came in the form of another family. 5 and 7 year old boys and a 2 ½ year old girl were camped just across the way, their grandfather next to us. They of course had bikes as well, and seemed to be a similarly minded family. Before long, Tom was chatting with the parents and the kids were heading off on their bikes, playing with the new toys, making up scenarios complete with play names (yes, Sawyer was Posey again).

Tom’s best gift was that the grandfather, Galen, used to sell RV’s and the three adults spent a good hour showing him how everything on it worked and how to check things and what replacement batteries to get and so on. Best of all, Galen told Tom it seemed he’d gotten a great deal on the trailer. Since he’s pretty sensitive to my seeming criticisms (I like to see it as my finding humor in it), that was music to his ears and he feel pretty vindicated about the whole thing.

The whole family was really nice and down to earth. We’re pretty sure the oldest son had Asperger’s or something similar but he was very engaged in his own way and his parents and siblings were really low key about it all, and all the kids got along just beautifully. We headed to another beach in the afternoon, Cayucas, just north of Morro Bay. We headed out for a walk on the pier, our second pier walk (our first was Santa Cruz). Sawyer isn’t sure of the whole pier thing, spends the whole time saying it’s time to get off the pier. It was windy, but Tom was pleasantly surprised by a decent break. The kids and I had a great time playing on a sturdy old swingset on the beach. It was so windy that I had to push even Jordan but got a great workout out of the experience. We walked down the beach collecting shells and looking for sea lions on the large rocks, and headed cold but happy back to the campground for a warming tomato soup, salad, hot dogs Christmas dinner – a perfect meal when finished with marshmallows toasted on our neighbors’ campfire.

It was a pretty special Christmas, being able to talk to our wonderful families and spend time with each other, not worried about home projects or paperwork or anything else. I remember from our Costa Rica/Panama trip that it took the first few days to adjust to the rhythms of being in a different kind of lifestyle. I wouldn’t at all say that it’s been a difficult adjustment, but everything seems to loosen and we adjust to a new rhythm.

I figure also that our children will always be wonderfully adaptive about things like camping trips in general, especially in inclement weather - and camping trips or travel over Christmas. Or, they’ll go to the complete opposite and refuse to do anything non-traditional (as well as despise camping in general). It’s been a pretty successful trip and I’m pretty sure they’ll go with the first option. I do hope they have a sense of humor about it all – it’s important to be able to laugh at yourself and your situation, to not take any of it to seriously one way or the other.

Day Five: Christmas Eve

We awoke to a blustery, grey day, which of course didn’t slow us down at all. The Morro Bay State Campground is a great one for kids to ride around on their bikes and scooters – which ours did in earnest. I rode with the kids (Sawyer is doing an amazing job on his bike) while Tom made coffee and breakfast and set up the trailer – not a bad deal as far as I was concerned! Jordan goes off on her own, talking to herself as she is almost always embroiled in some imaginary dram in her rich imagined world. Sawyer has his usual sublime countenance as he balances his massive helmeted head on his little shoulders and serenely pedals at an even pace around after his sister. As it had not yet started raining or storming, I went for a run with Austin around the campground and on the trail along the estuary (but not in the estuary, no dogs allowed).

We packed up and headed to Morro Rock – a long beach in the middle of town with a huge rock at it’s southern edge. It’s a surfer’s favorite beach with a huge dirt parking lot overlooking a half-mile of beach with a negligible incline. From the dunes to the breaking waves so from high tide to low tides a good thirty feet range is either covered or exposed – and when exposed there are a good many shells to collect. By the time we got there, the storm was coming in and it was incredibly windy, an ankle-high stream of fine sand coming off the dunes straight into the ocean. It was so cold it was nearly two minutes before Jordan’s pants were soaked to mid-thigh along with the sleeves of her sweater. To say Jordan isn’t a discerning shell collector – at least on this trip – is an understatement. She goes for pure volume.

Sawyer on the other hand is convinced every single wave is maliciously coming to get him. He prefers to play in the sanctity of the boulders bordering the parking lot. He climbs up and jumps off the rocks, a much more dangerous endeavor but not in the least frightening to him. I added another three miles to my workout going back and forth between Jordan in the surf going further and further north with the northwesterly winds, and Sawyer in the rocks on the south side of the beach. Tom had a great surf session as the storm was bringing a great swell with it.

Needless to say, afterwards the two most freezing (and wet) members of the family headed to the showers and we made lunch at the campsite and battened down the hatches in anticipation of the incoming storm. A lot of RV’s were pulling up stakes and heading out, but plenty of us were left at the campground. We headed for San Louis Obispo, a larger town 15 miles down the coast to get coffee, a quick internet hookup, and some last minute Christmas shopping in. As always seems to be the case, we ran into a former guide shopping with his father at the local toy store. While in line at the Old Navy (Jordan suddenly needs more pants in her wardrobe – who would’ve thunk it?) we had a few locals weigh in with their recommendations for dinner and wound up at an upscale Irish pub for a wonderful meal and went with full bellies back to the campground. Jordan and Sawyer usually snuggle up in our bed for stories or a video and then head into their little bunk beds and Tom and I jump in bed to read for a couple of hours before sleep – it’s been that cold and/or wet. With the kids inside we don’t usually want to get a fire going outside. Tonight Santa made a ruckus getting things ready in the trailer but somehow everyone slept through it.

The stockings were hung by the knobs of the closet and on the oven controls with care in hopes that St Nicholas’ reindeer would find the reindeer food the kids had sprinkled on the grass outside the trailer (oatmeal and two types of glitter – I helped the kids make it at Sawyer’s school). We set out milk and chocolates next to the mini tree we’d brought along. And went to bed with visions of sugarplums dancing in our heads.

Coastal Migration

The rains poured down last night as well, and in the morning when the children were tossing in their bunks and sighing loudly to gauge reactions from the parental bed, the sun was already trying to undo some of the damage. The kids put on coats and rainboots over their pajamas and we stomped through puddles and stared from the clifftop out over the beach and ocean below. We had everything packed up and were heading out) stopping at a vacant “hookup” campsite to see of our electrical hookup works should we choose to go that route (it does – juice for the computers down the line!). We headed to Manresa Beach again to see if there was surf, there was huge but choppy surf, not tempting enough to warrant sliding into a rain-soaked wetsuit so Tom ran instead while I drank coffee and picked up shells with half-naked children. We were back in dry clothes and our truck and headed down Highway 1 by 11:30, and although it took nearly two and a half hours of gorgeous views and winding roads for Jordan to claim boredom, I loved it, along with sing along carols and Matthew’s Christmas Mix as soundtrack. Jordan loves “All I Want for Chrsitmas is My Two Front Teeth” and has learned every word. Hopefully she’ll keep on loving it – Tom didn’t lose his front teeth until 4th Grade when his choral teaher mother had him solo the song for the Christmas Concert at school. No doubt a more rousing experience than when Allison and I performed the most silent version of Silent Night at EJ. A recommended hike wasn’t possible due to what I began to refer to as “trailer prejudice” – no parking for trailers – and I regretted a little not stopping after all at the Aquarium. Given the rain, the shortness of the days and the winding road with a trailer, we thought it best to make it closer tour destination, though.

By chance we stopped for a break at a random pullout just North of Hearst Castle’s dominion and climbed down the short cliff at low tide to what was now a hundred-yard stretch of occasional tidepools, hoping to get a better view of the sea lions on the island just past the deeper water’s edge. It was, of course, a wonderful adventure, seeing new sea creatures and scaling rock formations, watching a larger audience of sea lions wonder at us, waiting less in vain for us to do something interesting than we waited: at least we moved around although our noises were less distressing.

We arrived in Morro Bay and headed straight for a familiar beach: a great long stretch of shoreline similar to San Francisco’s Ocean Beach but with a massive hulking island hogging afternoon sunlight from the shore. Again, the surf was to choppy to warrant the excruciating process of changing into the wet wetsuit, especially with only an hour of daylight left. Tom and the kids launched bagel crumbs and tortilla chips into the sky to watch the brazen seagulls dive and catch midair. We collected shells with Jordan, helped Sawyer write S in the sand, and met a 4 yr old and his dad who’s brought a boogie board to sled down the sand dunes. Tom started getting ideas. “A cardboard box, that’s what we need,” he said.

“Or a cookie sheet,” I said and his eyes brightened. “You could stand up on it and see if you can break another rib. “ I couldn’t resist. He grimaced, wither at the remembrance of pain from last Christmas in Santa Fe, or from my lack of marital support I am not sure.

Jordan had another rare episode of tired/hungry/the tyranny of the world out to get her in the form of lost seashells breakdowns and it was time for dinner at our favorite local hole in the wall taco shop. We left an amazing amount of sand in the booth. I hope it’s none to shocking for them. After a quick grocery store where Jordan and Sawyer proved once again how well behaved they can be when well-fed, and we were off to our new campground. Santa Cruz was fairly desolate, a huge change from the month before when we camped at a crowded and warm campground for Tom’s birthday. This new campground at Morro Bay State Park has sited much closer together, the majority of them filled. It is warmer already although we are only 120 miles or so south of where we were. The rains are meant to follow us here tomorrow or he next day. We’ll find an internet hookup tomorrow and know for sure. If it rains we have videos, books, Sorry (Sawyer’s favorite despite his lack of attention or patience or his disinterest in the rules. I think he likes the pretty translucent pieces and the clicking noise they make on the board), Dora Dominoes and Cribbage. And a trailer that doesn’t leak.

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and despite wanting to want it to be more about the giving than the getting, Jordan’s fingers are itching to get at the presents she is expecting from Santa. If either of them had seen how full the storage compartment below Sawyer’s bunk was, we would have been living with pure mayhem this whole trip. Right now there’s a lot of veiled threats about Santa and humming of “Oh, you better watch out, you better not cry, you’d better not pout,” and “He sees you when you’re sleeping..” without a lot of evidence to backup the good behavior we’ve been getting. I think it’ll be worth it in the end. Then the post Christmas “I’m sure there’s a Salvation Army around here somewhere” threats will begin in earnest.

Counting Our Blessings

Couldn’t write yesterday as both computers were totally out of juice, but it was a great day for remembering.

We finished out day two at Noah’s Bagels in downtown Santa Cruz, and an afternoon snack turned into dinner with two small children miles away from home and a day of rain. We were glad for our snug trailer to come home to, and we finished out the day with Rudolph the Red-Nose Reindeer on video (hence the no batteries), and Tom and I tucked into bed early, watching the Shield (hence the no batteries as well), and reading. We needed an early start the next morning – at 8:30 am we had to be at St Francis Catholic Shelter to help out with their daily lunch meal.

It was a little funny that in order to be on time we brought our toothbrushes and so at 8:20 in the vacant lot behind the shelter we were all spitting toothpaste into the weeds and combing our hair. Things were in full swing when we came in with a handful of white-haired ladies wielding chopping knives, tattooed young men wiping down tables, and a gentleman who was clearly not operating on quite the same wavelength washing dishes. St Francis offers basically a day shelter – bathrooms and showers, a lovely noon meal, a gorgeous garden to spend tie in (and to queue up for the meal). There are outdoor facilities for the visitors, a twice-weekly clothing room where those in need can pick up items of needed clothing, and a lovely large bright yellow-painted high-ceilinged room with a picture of the last supper adorning one wall, Jesus on the cross in 2/3 size on another, cabinets holding supplies on the third, and the fourth a bank of windows onto the garden and porch area.

Christine was the head chef for the day – there’s a guest chef for each day of the week. A no-nonsense short-haired coke bottle glasses woman with a stern look and a great recipe for chili, she had things going in the kitchen. Josh, a twenty-something tattooed guy with a buzz haircut and who you’d expect to see giving dirty looks on the corner with the skateboarders helped arm us with rags for cleaning the tables. Another few older ladies who it turned out were sisters at the Catholic hospital nearby were buzzing about, and Will, a twenty-seven year-old Army vet (no Iraq or Afghanistan amazingly) newly arrived in Santa Cruz and gainfully employed at Taco Bell were on the crew as well. The center paid only one individual, an ex-engineer who applied for the open position a few years earlier and seemed to do it well. Sawyer and I were put to work collecting, cleaning and filling salt and pepper shakers while Tom and Jordan folded laundry. We helped wipe tables and chairs, sweep the floors and tidy up. The big excitement came when the boxes of donated desserts came in and we placed them appealingly on trays next to stacks of just over or under ripened bananas. 75% of the food at the shelter is donated and it’s pretty clear from where. It’s also fascinating to know nearly the exact cost of each item and where it comes from and to see how darn much of it gets tossed. Thankfully into gratefully open arms in this case.

Starbucks was responsible for a great deal of what went on the dessert trays - $1.75 muffins, 3 for $2 mini scones, $1.75 cookies all lined up in rows by my semi-drooling children. Donuts came, too, as did coffee cakes and a few pastry rings I’d swear were descendants of kringle. I got to cut them all into pieces, but the kids got to arrange wearing plastic gloves so huge on their little hands it made them operate as if they were wearing space suits on their bodies. Safeway’s loaves of sourdough and French are in abundance although the jalapeno cheddar from an unknown bakery is the clear favorite. I’ve paid over $2 a loaf at Safeway many a time for loaves that on this day I cut and sliced and tossed into breadbaskets three at a time without a piece going to waste.
Another family of tall blondes having loud discussions about their tennis matches and holiday plans helped early on but left after a couple of hours. They had a teenage son who seemed to be getting a lot from the experience which was great. We were asked to stay for the long haul – to help in the dining room as they were short handed for servers and cleaners – we were thrilled, of course. Tom and Jordan left at one point to pick up a load of donated poinsettias to replace the silk flowers in mini vases that adorned the tables, and Sawyer posed for pictures in the garden crèche with the Virgin Mary (he seemed as comfortable with her as with his own mother – we are so similar) and we sang This Old Man all the way through twice. It was a gorgeous morning, but the closer we got to noon, the more the storm clouds advanced and by the time we left, it was raining in the garden but sunny out, a neat little miracle for the kids to exclaim at.

At 11, the volunteers swelled with an interesting influx of meal servers including an Asian man with Down’s Syndrome who loved to give hugs, a guy in a Fed Ex jacket with what seemed a light case of Turrets, and a few folks who clearly were existing on the fringes between homelessness and dependence and making it on their own including a long-time traveler with red hair and yellow teeth and a love of fishing, a beautiful twenty-something girl who was in some capacity with a forty-ish Mexican man. Twelve of us sat down to eat the meal together following scripture that dictated that before one served they should fill their own bellies so as not to have tow grumbling bellies - compassion borne from self-care a lesson to remember always, of course.

When the doors opened, a well-oiled machine went to work, serving the food. Jordan stayed with one of the sisters in blue jeans serving bananas and desserts at the end of the line. Sawyer and I trolled the room refilling breadbaskets and butter plated and water pitchers. One of our co-servers was a 75ish clean-shaven middle class man with an engaging personality and a red Santa hat. Every single time our paths crossed in the busy room, Sawyer’s eyes lit up and he shouted “Santa!” which tickled the guy no end. Sawyer was fairly shot at that time and needed to keep close in the busy room so he sat on my hip and provided the smiles while I ran around rediscovering my waitressing self. Santa Cruz has a fairly healthy homeless population, like Santa Fe it’s one of those centers that attract a good societal fringe. There were the teenagers and young twenty-somethings who may or may not have been on drugs, the many, many men who had more than one conversation happening in their head at once, a good number of Mexicans or Central Americans who we’d seen also waiting to be picked up for work at the Nursery on the corner. These guys (and the few women among them) were the nicest and most polite, though I only heard one or two negative comments through the day in general, and Sawyer and Jordan charmed everyone into smiles from the start.

The carefully laid out trays of bananas and desserts were an either-or proposition. The short, brown into grey-haired sister Jordan was helping had a sweet, young voice but was no push-over on the either-or rule and gave praise to those who chose a “healthier” option like a scone over a chocolate donut. If they chose a banana, they got Jordan pushing the fruit on tippytoes over the top of the glass display case and a winning smile to boot. When I asked Jordan to remind me of her name at the end of the day she wrinkled her nose, “I can’t quite remember. Something like Chlorina?” So she will always be Sister Chlorina to me and although it’s unlikely she’ll ever be the muse for a musical (“How Do You Solve a Problem Like Chlorina?” sounding more the jingle for a pool product commercial than the intro to a memorable character’s appealing flaws), she made quite an impact on Jordan, I think. I don’t know if the day did, or not, so used to a myriad of interactions with adults are our kids, but I’d like to think it opened their hearts that much more.

At the very end the twenty-ish girl who had been serving milk and her Mexican companion had to leave and so I took her place pouring 2/3 glasses of milk and Tom took over collecting dirty trays and dishes and silverware from departing guests. Sawyer had the chair in the corner between the two stations and charmed everyone again. It seemed that they had everyone in and out so quickly, but with all the prep and cleaning and so on, it was easy to see why they stayed so firm in their hours and deadlines. And knowing what I know of those Catholic sisters, it was easy to see how they kept to those deadlines so successfully. When we’d swept every crumb, Jordan holding the dustpan for a few grateful guests who’d wanted to help out with cleanup and Sawyer wiping tables, I waited in the garden with the kids for Tom to be done. Two of the sisters came out and thanked me not only for the help but also for bringing the children and complimented both me and Tom on our patience with them and how we let them help and be so involved. A few of the guests complimented us on “raising them right” or “starting them out on the right foot.” I was proud of them all day – of course – they are such amazing kids. For Jordan and Sawyer it was fun like everything is, and no one treated them like “just kids.” They had important jobs to do and sis them well, they engaged independently with volunteers and guests alike and treated them no differently either, it occurs to me, and I really hope my attitude was the same. We’re none of us so far apart, it seems – from the volunteers who were volunteering either to be of service or because of the free meal that felt more earned rather than donated, to the couples there who clearly were down on their luck and somewhat shocked to be there. We were asked by one middle aged woman, smitten with the kids and who would appear every bit in step with the shoppers we walked with on the street the day before if we also were looking for a permanent place to live. There was no offense in it, none meant or taken – just indicative that there are a lot of regular folks out there who are stunned to find themselves without what before they took for granted.

We were all tired when we left (and went straight to Starbucks armed with gift cards – an interesting reality shift), but happy. More serious looking grey clouds were moving in but the kids still wanted to go to the beach, so we drove to the famous (but seasonally shut down) boardwalk, walked the pier and played in the dunes. Everywhere we drive, from Starbucks in the posh downtown to the beach, we saw people we’d served at lunch. At the beach while we watched the kids give themselves up to the joys of dune jumping and marveled at the sheer amount of sand their clothing could trap and disperse, we witnessed a fifty-ish couple, good looking and well-groomed whom we’d seen at lunch unfurl their tents and rinse and attempt to dry them from the storms of the night before.

We made it back to the campground in the late afternoon and while Tom cooked dinner and watched the kids bruise themselves on scooters, I ran along the beach in the last half hour of the shortest day of the year, watching the grey clouds gather and billow over the horizon. I ran past RV parks and beachfront mansions and wondered at the randomness of it all, thought about the pleasure we take in cooking our meals out of doors and wandering our way down the coast, showering the kids in quarter-slot showers and paying $25 a night for a homeless home with our little camp trailer. The guy with the $2500 newer trailer called a week after Tom had left the message and three days too late, saying yes it was still available and to call anytime. I said I still was interested and have thought about why ever since – whether it’s because I just want things to work and not to have Tom have to spend more time and money on fixing them, or whether I want more space or more amenities or more safety or just, as Tom says, the human condition of wanting more. Maybe it’s to feel a bit further away from that reality of having no place to stay but in that wet tent, nowhere to eat but with the other 179 others at the shelter.

After dinner and a shower we snuggled the kids into bed and for a while after they fell asleep huddled up reading in our bed, the heavy rains starting to fall not long after we dimmed our headlights. Jordan had a restless night and I did as well, worrying after her and thinking of all the questions she’d asked during the day, wanting to hear again the story of Jesus and the cross, the story behind the song “Away in a Manger,” one of her favorites, and why no one would let them stay at their inn. I loved the Catholic traditions at Christmas, still love the music and the mass and the stories. I felt at home standing side by side with the sisters, holding hands for the grace before the meal (although my children don’t know to say “Amen” at the end as it’s not a part of ours). But I feel most at home here in the little trailer because it is where my children are laying their heads, dry and warm, safe and close.

Swimming in Winter

We finally made it to our campground at 8:30 or so – the longest drive ever with an accident on a bridge, shopping and holiday traffic, and general Bay Area woes. But we made it! It didn’t take the kids long at all to transition to sleep in their new bunk beds. Jordan woke a few times needing assistance with getting down from the bunk into the miniature trailer restroom (it flushes!), and Sawyer woke once wanting a snuggle, but all in all it was a smooth night, and warm as can be.

We woke to a gorgeous morning in a nearly empty campground, just a few clouds over the ocean, still tinged orange at 8 am from sunrise. We had a long campground walk, watched the lone bike campers packing up and heading out, a lot of trailer campers starting their days indoors. We set up our camp kitchen and in spite of my desire that our indoor kitchen work, having two river guides set up camp goes pretty darn quickly and Tom had hot cocoa, tea, and eggs boiling in no time. It's pretty special to cook your breakfast under a mile high cedar with a clear view of the Pacific just over the cliff fifty feet away. We got dressed and headed to Manresa State Beach to check out the surf. By 9:30 the skies were clouded over and it was looking likely that the rain forecast was true, but that didn’t stop us in the least: within five minutes, Tom was in the water with his surfboard, and Jordan was in her bikini in the shallow waves.

Manresa is a gorgeous beach, you can look down for seems like miles in either direction at a wide, beautiful expanse of shoreline open for exploration. Austin was thrilled, and (for a Santa Cruz Sunday) there were relatively few surfers on the moderate waves. Sawyer never took of his parka and the contrast between the two kiddos was stark. Watching Jordan’s utter delight in the workings of her body and the feel of the waves and the sand is infectious. Sawyer quickly became one with the sand, as evidenced by the mark he left on the truck on the way home.

One older surfer on his way out of the ocean in a full wetsuit with hoodie and booties stopped to ask “You have told her it’s winter haven’t you?” Both she and Tom were popsicles as we headed up to the car, but the five minute drive back to the campground with the heater on full blast had everyone warm in no time. We had lunch and enjoyed a long bike ride around the campground. We’re thrilled by Sawyer’s progress on the bike lately, he’s pedaling beautifully and steering as well. Tom walked with him while Jordan and I explored the closed part of the campground, and suddenly it was 2:40 - Jordan’s earlier question of how one spends a day at a campground fairly well answered.

We’re at Starbucks in Santa Cruz (bless those gift cards) which is a pretty cramped place. We can’t get the internet hookup going so we’ll post late, but we’re warm and caffeinated despite the rain outside. It’s nice to have the decisions of the day include what to have for dinner and what game to play next, whether to play Sorry or to watch Santa Claus is Coming to Town.
The beds work on the trailer, and so far the potty flushes (we apparently don’t have keys to get into the propane, electric or water hookups), so trailer living is working pretty well! We hope you all feel as blessed as we do.

Maiden Voyage

School was out at noon on Friday. By three, we were frantically packing our “new” travel trailer. Frantic because we were planning to leave the VERY NEXT DAY. Not a big deal, one would think, but with a work Christmas party, five loads of laundry still to do, and transferring the entire contents of our house and porch into the trailer and truck, we’ve got our work cut out for us. Tom was on the roof installing a new leakproof sun-roof. Helping him from the inside, I checked another one to get a clue about how to do it and find that it’s broken.

Broken. We may need to christen our travel trailer Broken, but I’m wary to hit a bottle of champagne against it’s hull. Something else might break.

Our travel trailer adventure began about a month ago: we borrowed a friend’s pop-up trailer for a camping trip in Santa Cruz, deciding whether we wanted one of our own. After putting a 30” tear in the canvas and having a crank cable break, we figured that pop-up after the first few years means big repair expense and so we started looking for the real deal. Such a process proves a good way to rediscover the differences between your priorities and those of your spouse. We spent a week and a half feverishly checking Craig’s List, comparing notes, poking holes in each other’s picks for one reason or another. Finally, Tom headed to a middle of nowhere even more remote than our middle of nowhere to look at a small trailer advertised as ‘in great condition, everything works, price firm”, armed with a wad of cash and our checkbook and my voice ringing in his ears “You can get it if nothing’s broken and it doesn’t smell like mildew.”

Tom’s not the negotiator in our family. Not that I’m a lot better, but he can find a way to pay for free stuff. He came back with a trailer about perfect in many respects – size, bunk beds for the kids, clean, no overwhelming mildew smell (I can smell it anywhere and I’m sure there’s a touch in the bathroom but nothing that seems to threaten the health of my children). But everything works? Not hardly. The tail-light system jury-rigged to the trailer was clue number one that showing up in camp with a fridge full of cold beer and a working stove was unlikely. The random handles falling off cabinet doors opened once too often are ubiquitous. When we were finished packing and ready to head off (the Clampetts have nothing on us – if we had tin cups tied off the sides with twine we’d look no more special than we already do.), Tom fastened the door closed with a screw and screwdriver. VERY special. We smile as often as possible from the right lane, big toothy grins to prove we have all our teeth. (Speaking of which, Tom just rolled down the window as a friendly random bearded man was signaling us to roll down our window to tell us our rear lights aren't working).

How we came up with the moniker Trailer Community is pretty fitting. When Tom brought the trailer home and we all climbed in, Jordan said after a while (in a mostly happy voice, perhaps tinged with a bit of confusion), “It reminds me of our house.” That hurt just a little bit. Our house is a 30 year-old 2000 square foot “manufactured” home. We’ve been known to refer to it as “triple-wide paradise”. We painted over the dark wood paneling and the avocado and rust wallpaper, but the original feel must not be completely diminished given Jordan’s comment about it’s similarity to our new travel digs. Definitely a lateral move. Our kids are Montessori educated and so we talk about things like treating each other with kindness and respect, etc. When a tired Sawyer chose to hit his sister during a cramped game of travel hide and seek during the packing frenzy, Tom lectured him with “ You need to get out of the trailer until you are ready to treat your sister with kindness. You can go back in when you’re ready to be a part of the trailer community.” At which point I burst into laughter. Part of the trailer community indeed. Never in the wildest dreams of my youth did I envision this as a part of my future. When Sawyer was out of earshot Tom confessed his satisfaction at having been able to work those two words into the same sentence.

Tom and I are very different travelers. I like everything to have it’s place, to know exactly where everything is. Tom is a get it in and go kind of a guy. Somewhere in the middle is our nirvana – which is why we didn’t make it out f the house until 11:30, but when we did, we only had to go back once for Christmas cards, crayons, and a longer screw for the door that was flapping open by the time we got to the mailbox. We stopped at the gym to ensure a little parental sanity, the library for our children’s drug of choice (books), ice for the cooler (the refrigerator in the trailer is holding a few non-perishables) and coffee – the parental drug of choice.

It’s been slow going on the 80 through the long tract of retail hell from Dixon through Vacaville and Fairfield (what recession?). The kids are their usual sublime selves although the clamoring for an early In N Out dinner is just beginning to gain momentum. We’ll pull into our campsite in Santa Cruz later than we would’ve liked, but after unscrewing the door, the beds are made and we’ll be able to go straight to sleep in our little home away from trailer. Every night our stash of firewood will go down, and we’ll be driving a little lighter down the road. In three days on our way to Morro Bay, the tin cups will be stashed a little lower in the bed of our truck, and the load on our shoulders will be lighter in as the responsibilities of school and work and home repair projects recede in the glow of our taillights (Tom got them working again at our pit stop). We have every piece of outdoor equipment (except rafts and kayaks) we own stashed in the truck or trailer, enough firewood for ten days worth of beach bonfires, a guitar a dug, and two of the gamest kids on the planet. In a half an hour when it’s dark, the never-ending line of red brake lights in front of us will look like so many Christmas decorations. We had our white Christmas adventure last night driving up to my Christmas work dinner at 3000 ft, it took five tries to get our of the snow covered driveway so we could head home. “Go Papa, go!” the kids screamed from their car seats. The adventure begins!