Travels with The Rayman

We are currently headed to Portland to embark on a new phase in our lives. How we got to this point in time is worth a story or two. So, let me expound on that.  Just sit down now and take it all in.

DIVISIONS OF RESPONSIBILITIES TO FOLLOW FOR MOVING NORTH

We both had a discussion of responsibilities while in a sober state of mind which in itself may be a major milestone. Then we parsed out the work required according to aptitude or lack thereof. I would make all the arrangements based on our agreements of what would work. Rent two PODS, check. Hire loaders, check. Verify insurance, check. Make hotel reservations for our trip north, check. Sign all the docusigns, check. Change our address, check. Arrange for the house to be cleaned, check. And-the list goes on. Oh, and on that list the 1800-GOT-JUNK was scheduled for two separate pick ups. And yet, a third haul away was needed. Plus Jim, our favorite electric truck owner volunteered to haul all our food to the land fill. 

Rayman would lift things. 

Oh, I kid the Rayman!!

We both wrapped things up. Glasses, plates, lamps, pictures, etc. That was not entirely our choice because the guys I hired to load the PODs came through the front door and asked where our boxes were.  I said, “I thought we agreed you would pack and load.” “Oh, no, I just load”, he huffed and puffed. Preferring not to piss him off since he was loading our lives’ accumulated treasures into a big thing that was placed on the curb by a robot-controlled lift and drop machine that also shifted and jerked, I kept myself in check. So, there we were with a Gordian Knot. This was day one. 

 

On second day with these two characters, we rehired them to just pack. We worked like dogs all day wrapping, stuffing, taping, throwing rugs, and lots of lifting by the Rayman…Of the three days in which we were all attached at the hip,  that second day was the most sane. This was because they DID WHAT I HIRED THEM TO DO.

Third day of agony was another loading day. A second POD had arrived so now there were choices involved which slowed things up. A few loaded items had to be reassigned to the other POD and vice versa. And this was the drop dead date…everything that was going had to be in POD 1 or POD 2. But that wasn’t the big bloop. With hands above his head with all fingers sticking straight up like a the woman above is doing, loader number one entered the empty living room and announced that the glass table top out in the atrium has shattered while he was carrying it.

WHAT?

Yes. You heard me. So when I asked through clenched teeth, “How did that happen?”, he said it was caused by static electricity. “Yes, that has happened to me on several occasions. And if that wasn’t it, the table top was probably nicked, it’s old, right?” 

 

“Static electricity.” And believe me when I tell you that he seemed dead serious. That is when I figured I had to either scream, AAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH or just go nuclear. So, I looked up from the checkbook as I was sitting on the hearth getting ready to pay these guys and I said, “Well, isn’t that something.”

When the PODS were picked up by the same robot-controlled dumaflache, we turned around, headed into the house and looked at all the stuff that was still in the house. Stuff is very sexual because it seems to multiply. Actually, every day for a few weeks we had been making trips to Achievement House, a local charity. The amount of loot we unloaded because of this move was staggering. Furniture, sets of dishes, fancy wine glasses, that nail clipper that out-served its usefulness. Coffee maker, bean grinder, and a partridge in a pear tree (just kidding about the bird). Fancy dresses, a tux with shoes to match, the shredder, thousands of paper clips, safety pins, old buttons from the 1950s, costume jewelry and on and on and on.

GIVING THINGS AWAY

It must be a fact of life that people with means accumulate way too many things which I refer to as “stuff”. The stuff includes old tea cups never used, too many platters for food service, a yoga mat, a lifetime supply of printer paper…It also, for a cook, means every spice known to man must be thrown out. I flushed the flours, emptied the fridge of all condiments including anchovy paste and 5 bottles of pickle relish. My only excuse is that we had two fridges so it was easier for the pickle relish jars to hide when two ice boxes are involved.  Ergo: each fridges’ average was only 2.5 jars per fridge.

Back to the cook and her provisions for a minute. Frozen persimmon pulp from 3 years ago, a mayo jar full of fast-acting yeast from years past. The list when on and on. It was one of more depressing things I had to do through in this entire process. Throwing away perfectly good food is a gigantic bummer. But I did it… proving that it is easier to throw it away at the end of the process because I had reached my limit of dealing with all this crap now that we were almost done. Had I thrown it away at the beginning, my mostly morose-like emotions I had to deal with would have lasted longer

Do we take the fly swatter or no? Do the shoe horns, both of them for some reason, both stay or go? This is a pertinent question because we had another house full of stuff in Portland and why have three of everything? Does the bedspread go? What about the stag’s head that I use to dangle jewelry go? All these things had to be discussed and that slowed us down. Sometimes arguments occurred. Rayman hissed at me at one point…I was too directive throughout.

Bottom line, it all got done. Sun up to sun down we worked. We even slept in four beds. Our bed, the guest room bed because our bed was relegated to POD 1, the sofa bed in the den because the guest room bed was hauled to the consignment store, and finally the bed at Mary Kay and Jay’s casita because all the beds were gone. We had to move out before the close of escrow.

It is funny how different the Rayman and I are from one another. If there are two ways to do something, we always pick the opposite of the the other. Uncanny, it is. My idea for the shattered glass that still remained in the atrium is a case in point. I wanted to pay our gardener to do the clean-up. Rayman wanted to clean it up. Every time I turned around he was on all fours digging shattered glass out of the small pebbles that filled the spaces between the flagstone…using my Ralph Lauren soup spoon as a tool…all other tools were packed away in POD 1 or 2. He just couldn’t help himself. (And neither could I!! ) That was because the new owners noticed the shattered glass on the final walk-through. Just multiply that example by, say, 100, and you get close to the order of magnitude experienced by us during the ordeal.

 

OF WIPERS, KEYS, AND LOSING TRACK OF THINGS

A few other funny things happened. The Ford C-max needed windshield wipers. Instead of getting them, Rayman announced that no rain was expected so we could get them in Healdsburg on our way north. Today, we headed north. At Palo Alto it started raining and by the time we were opposite SFO  (20 miles?), the CHP was weaving from lane to lane to slow traffic because WE HEADED INTO A CLOUD BURST. At one point, a high profile truck passed me going way too fast and the road water washed completely over the car which induced sudden blindness. I could not see the road. Terrifying. Rayman was following me in the Ford. He got the same treatment from Mother Nature. He might have regretted not getting wipers after all. 

Then there were little funny things…like to speed up our getaway this morning, the first Saturday of the new year, I drove to the drive-thru for 2 lattes, Rayman picked up some pastries, and we headed down to the rock to watch the outsized waves lashing the jetty while we ate. He moved to my car. We ate and drank. He stayed to walk Beau and I headed back to the casita. Just pulling up in front of our fourth bedroom, my phone ran. Rayman was on the other “line”. He left the car key in my car. So, off I went to give him the key. It was no wonder, though. We had spent days trying to remember where this was and that was. Did we lock the door, did we bring the key, where was the iPhone? Where was the receipt from Ace for the scotch tape dispenser we were returning?  OMG, we forgot to do thus and such. It was just way too much to remember everything. Consequently, we remembered little. And that slowed us up. Have you seen the series, Slow Horses? It was nothing like that but I would very much like to plagiarize the name. We were slow horses.

When I was a kid I would ask my mom where my shoes were. She would exclaim, “In the shoe department.” Loosely translated that meant ‘look for them yourself’. Through all this work, I never once said that to the Rayman nor did he say that to me. We really were pulling together most of the time. It is just that the odd things seem to be the funniest to me. The inexplicable, the unusual, the downright unbelievable. Those experiences are what I remember.

But don’t get me wrong. There were problems. Rayman didn’t pull into the garage all the way and then hit the garage door opener by mistake and the SUV trunk was sticking up in the air. Crunch, scape. I shrieked and Rayman pressed the door opener again but the damage was done. We over-ordered some packing supplies and not enough of other supplies. So that required multiple trips to and from Home Depot in San Luis. But that is the way it goes. The ying and the yang of it.

The local food bank at the senior center in Morro Bay gladly took all of our unopened foodstuffs. Until the last day. I took some stuff in the building and was immediately intercepted by the rules Nazi. “Nope. We don’t take food donations”, he growled. “I’ve been bringing food donations here every day this week.”, I countered. He insisted and I insisted again. Then in a fit of pique, he explained to me that the director just sent out an edict that no more donations could be accepted effective this day. Well…I ask you, what are the chances? So as I was leaving the building, I dumped the food in their wastepaper basket. Vengeance by thine.

Now it is Sunday morning in Healdsburg and cold as a witches’ tit. Look at me. Already taking note of the cold weather. In Portland it is currently 39 degrees going to high of 45 today. Burr. Also, what were we thinking? We plan to meet up with our friends, Bob and Margaret for brunch and a day of visitation and fun. Ate at their new place, Enso, a Buddhist enclave that had GREAT food. You don’t have to be a Buddhist to live at Enso. We found it to be very calm and because it is brand new, very lovely to behold. Their two-bedroom apartment had a great kitchen. And because they are artists, the walls were covered with great art and some exotic masks that looked down from above the door jam. 

 

Stayed tune. There will be more stories of our historic migration north.

As most of my readers are aware, we are moving to Portland, Oregon in January.The house is in escrow and ever since that event a few days ago, the ghosts are wreaking havoc. In one night, two light bulbs blew. The printer died, the thermostat turned to the darkside, and I’m sure are there are other things…but isn’t’ that enough to make one wonder?

So, I wonder.

  In other news, moving is a bitch and as many times in my life that I have moved, this is still an ordeal that is the worst yet given my advanced age.

So…our address in Portland will be as it ever was…3591 NE 44th Ave, Portland, OR 97213. Everything else will remain the same. Phone numbers, emails. So only an address to change.

We have elected to use PODS. One POD will go to Vancouver, WA where the kids live. They are taking a lot of stuff!! The other POD will be our stuff and it will go to storage…POD storage until we decide what the heck to do with all our stuff. We hope to sell the OR house and buy a one story affair next year.

Oh, my. Organization and planning are on high alert around these parts. Of course, we are both sad to be leaving the state of CA, my native land. Time marches on and it is time to be closer to my family, our family. We are looking forward to adventure and trying to squash any regrets to the dustpan of history.

So, there you have it.

Later, gator.

Dianna

P.s. we are happy to entertain anyone that we like to come and visit!! After winter, that is. No one in their right mind would go to visit in the winter, let along move in the winter. Just sayin.

Do you wonder what lurks in the crevices of your garage?  or attic?  or basement?  CA doesn’t do basements too much but I had the good fortune of having grandparents that had a basement. It was dank, dark, foreboding. And I loved it in a dangerous kind of way. The steps were steep and one lone lightbulb illuminated the entire terrain. The wood that held the house up above the basement was pristine redwood that I once managed to lodge across the palm of my hand. A giant splinter of redwood. Yikes. Did that hurt.  

Once down in the abyss of the concrete reinforced (I hope) room, were located shelves. And on the shelves were unopened boxes. White boxes. And they had ribbon around them. Silver ribbons.  Along with those boxes were a myriad of plates, cups, glasses, piles of clothes. Thinking of it now, it is not too far removed from what the Rayman and I just found in our garage as we embarked on our “spring clean”.  However, the basement had much more character. It also had a vent to the outside which was useful for light and air. Uncle Dodo, the architect of my grandparents house was no slouch. He thought of everything, apparently.  

But I digress.

Our neighbor, the Jordan family had a basement too. As far as I know, these were the only two basements on our block but then I never did a census, and I didn’t snoop. Surmising is the best I can do.  Johnny Jordan was an entrepreneur in the entertainment business. He entertained people in his bars and liquor stores. And because of this perhaps, he made the basement of his house into an elaborate bar. It had red tiles on the floor and a small bar, complete with sink, mirrors, glasses, booze. And it had a closet. That is where we changed our clothes when we were putting on a “floor show” for the adults. The water heater may have been in it. Not sure. Memories have faded over time. But that basement was high class. It was a hidden gem. Perhaps it was a speakeasy!!  I think it is fair to say that their basement had far less spiders than ours did.  Oh, and how can I forget. It had a jukebox. With records.  OMG.  It was so cool.  And it also had a high window to the outside for air and light.

So, today Rayman and I started cleaning the garage and it brought all these memories back when I stopped to take a water break and sit down to cool down.  

Our garage is not nearly as interesting. And it’s full of stuff that I wonder what ever possessed us to buy. Oh, I’m sure we had our reasons but really. There must have been located 10 tubes of silicon stuff. Putty. 30 cans of opened paint, mostly mysterious as to the application they were intended for. Many from the previous owner so they must match our walls. Forty two cloth bags for lugging stuff home. Wine bags. You know the kind that have 6 compartments. Bags from Whole Foods, New Frontiers, Albertsons, Morro Bay Golf Course. Bags up the ying yang.  Old tire chains that do not fit on presently owned automobiles. Hats which we plan to keep but hats galore. Baseball caps, my floppy golf hats. And pictures. OMG. Family pictures. And many of them framed. So, I took the pictures out of the frames and they now the frames rest in the back of the Prius. Off to the Goodwill truck with the frames, old tools, clothes that don’t fit anymore. A major clean up.

But back to the boxes those boxes in the basement. When I got old enough to reach the shelves, I opened one of the boxes. It had a white small card attached. Dear Donna. Congratulations on your marriage. Love, Whomever. The boxes were unopened wedding presents filled with Fostoria glasses and plates. Cups and saucers. Never opened.  he vestige of a broken marriage.   How sad, really. My parents were only married for a few years, not long enough, apparently, to open the wedding gifts. Not long enough to set up house.  

Well, some of those dishes are in my kitchen today. I use them for desserts and salads. Quite useful to the homemaker. Take that to mean what you wish. I will spoil your fun by telling you that my mother was completely uninterested in making a home. Her favorite meal to make was fish sticks, at the dawn of the frozen dinner era. She was also quite fond of cream tuna on toast. So, I guess she didn’t need salad and dessert plates for that, now did she?

Well, I had my rest. The garage beckons. And I found an old box of my grandmother’s recipes (she was a good cook and homemaker). So, perhaps, I will share a few of them with you later on. But first, I must plow through that box and see what i can find.

Hope there aren’t any spiders in there.

 

http://amtrak.com   Click on this link for train info.

 

Today is our rendezvous with a train.  We are scheduled for a 4:45 p.m. departure.  It is now 6: 00 p.m. and there is no train.

Where is that darn train?  Well, let me step on my own story to back up and remind, you, dear reader, what the plan was.  We were leaving Portland on train 28. NN, The Empire Builder, to travel to St. Paul, MN.  Additionally, we booked first class at the insistence of the Rayman who said something to the effect of, “I will not take a train if I can’t have my own loo.”   To say he wasn’t thrilled was an understatement.  But Rayman is a fabulous person who knew he owed me a train trip.  This has been an ongoing convo for years…my begging and pleading to take Amtrak.  

Rayman on the other hand doesn’t like Amtrak because it isn’t a train you can count on.  This story is a case in point.  Which is unfortunate for me as the person that booked this trip!!  So, where is that train?

Everything is so complicated.  Our plan was to take Uber.  I couldn’t get the Uber app to work.  Tamara, our daughter-in-law, luckily had come by for a glass of wine yesterday so she got the Uber booked for me.  Well.  Uber got cancelled for the 4:45 train.  Then another alert from Amtrak came in.  The all aboard time was now 9 p.m.  Then the all aboard time became 10 p.m.  So we got to thinking, why don’t we just drive down to the PDX train depot and see if we can change our departure station to Vancouver, WA so the kids could take us to the train from their house, as they live in Vancouver. 

On the way to the station to do just that, Ryan called us.  He discovered the problem.  The train had mechanical issues and that is why it was late.  With that info percolating we decided to go talk to a person in person at the train depot.  That decision was made because yesterday when I had some software problems with the Amtrak website, I sat on hold waiting for a person from Amtrak to help me for like 100 hours.  The website, “just ask our digital assistant” didn’t even work.  

Perhaps I should send Secretary Pete Buttigieg this epistle.  Just sayin.  

Arriving at the train depot, I jumped out and sauntered in to the station and met with a man named Alex.  He said such classical things like, “Well, yes.  Train travel is unpredictable”.  When I asked what the problem was, he told me, “Well, the train from Chicago broke down.  A train to tow the train was dispatched.  It is currently in Pasco and it will arrive.  Then we will change the engine and off it will go”.    And,  when I asked him if the whole trip could be canceled, he said, “Excuse me while I take this call”.  Then he said to the person at the other end of the phone, “Well, do you want to come in on track 3 or do you want another track?”  This made me wonder if he ran everything at the the train station.  Holly mackerel.  

When he completed his call, he said, , “Now, what was your question?”  I said, “I don’t remember!”  Really, people.  I was now worried about who was in charge of things.  

Then I piped up and asked, “Will the train be canceled?”  He assured me he wouldn’t because “he would know”.  OMG.  Alex is to trains as Hal is to the space station.  

Returning home, we drove over the Steel bridge.  It is a draw bridge over the Willamette.  That caused me to remark that maybe we should traveled by boat up the Columbia.  

It is now 1:15 a.m. We are sitting in the Metropolitan Lounge at the train depot.  To state the obvious, the train is still indisposed and Amtrak is holding us hostage.  We spent $36 for a Lyft ride and the guy picked us up at 11:40 p.m. so we could get here on time.  We could have walked here with no problem of missing this train.

My new friend, Alex, was still here at the depot.  And he was still unsure about everything. Then we met some other new friends in the lounge.  Their story was thus.  They live in Portland but they booked the train to leave from Vancouver, so their daughter took them to Vancouver.  Well, the Vancouver station closed at 9:30 p.m. so they took the train coming from Seattle back to Portland.  And here they sit.

Just now Alex said all the sleepers could board.  We are sleepers.  We rose like a phoenix from the  grey couch and headed for the door.  When we got outside, Alex informed us there was a miscommunication and the train was, in fact, not ready after all.  At this point the passengers started to get a bit rowdy until it was explained that a person had died on the train east of here.  Then the train engine died west of Spokane.  Then a rumor started that a wheel needed to be replaced along with the engine.  Eye rolls were observed.  But the death news did have a calming effect because really, how mad can you get when there is a death on a train.  

Rayman mused aloud that we had booked the death train.  Then we retreated to the lounge again and sat right back down on the grey sofa to continue the wait in comfort.  

Another few minutes dragged by another employee came in and gave us our marching orders…to the train we went.  This time it was the real deal.  We embarked on the sleeper car, the last car on the train, and the last room on the car.  Here is a pic of us this a.m.

 

The room we have would have made a very good broom closet.  Our “room” gives new meaning to this space.  But before complaining, we are extremely fortunate to have a window that looks out at the world and other interesting things.  I snapped a picture of a coal train that I affectionally named The John Coltrane.  Much of the trip this morning runs along a river.  The Kooccccc river and there is no other way to see this part of the country except by river.  The view from the train has been extremely interesting.

If only you could have seen us at 3 a.m. this morning, trying to move into the closet.  Exhausted and annoyed, we threw stuff where it would fit… a 6-inch wide closet, a chair in the corner, and hit the hay.  My hitting the hay involved climbing up to the suspended bed without killing myself.  And there I lie looking at the ceiling which was about a foot from my nose.  A suspended futon is a good descriptor of the contraption.  And while I lie there being tossed around by the train, I held onto the thick cord that was attached in two places for the purpose of keeping me in my place.  One roll in the wrong direction and I might have been the next person to die on this train.

 

Rayman was in complete shock about the size of the room, the tardiness of the train, that without even saying it, I think I know this may be our last overnight train trip in the U.S.  

Barring him throwing me, MaMa, from the train, we are due to arrive in St. Paul, MN tomorrow evening.  

 

Update, update, read all about it.

Things slowly but surely improved.  Our attitude adjustment was critical.  Expectations were modified.  Some examples.  The second night, we slept head to toe on the lower bed that serves as a couch during the day.  A employee comes by and converts it to a bed, a single bed.  This had the added benefit of not having constant air blaring at me from the ceiling vent which was located right by my ear.  Think of it as me trading in the air-in-the-ear situation for a Rayman’s feet in my armpit.  

 

The observation car was a good car.  Chairs in various configurations tightly bolted to the floor, sat in from of the windows on both sides of the car.  Nice.  Spent lots of time there.  The dining car was well appointed sans crystal and silver or glass.  Throwaway was the name of the game.  At least they didn’t use styrofoam.  And eating was family style so we met Harold and Maude.  Just kidding Harold and Margaret, he a professor from Connecticut, and she of the – I don’t know who lives in Spokane.  Tom and Claire, he a retired surgeon from St. Paul, and she from St. Paul who intimated to be a doc but never stated it.  Lovely couple returning from Glacier National Park.  We traded info about our favorite websites for news, places to drink in St. Paul, etc.  

There is also a 90 year old two woman that travels by the train almost constantly.  She stopped by to tell me this a.m. that this is the worst service she had ever experienced.  She was traveling alone and could walk this tilting, lurching train better that me.  I almost fell into others’ laps as I weaved down the aisle.  She was sure-footed.  Oh, and she and another woman went and lodged their complaints with the person in charge of the entire train.  That shocked me.  Someone was in charge!!

We have about 5 hours left before we arrive in St. Paul.  Because we are being picked up by firends, I sent out a warning that we were going to need showers.  Yes, our cabin has a shower/toilet room but it was just too hard to stand and shower.  Rayman decided to try and as he was trying to get in the door of the shower, the train lurched which caused the door to slam shut and in doing so knocking Rayman on his keister. Luckily he fell on the bed.  So we scratched that plan and opted for a spits bath.  Or is it spitz bath.  Whatever it was, it had to suffice.  I’ll just say this is the first time that we have worn the same clothes for three days running.  My linen over blouse and my long skirt with no zipper or buttons was the perfect choice although I did get my skirt caught in my undies and after strolling the train, someone told me about this situation.  “Oh, quite the look!” I said as I pulled my skirt down.  Then I thanked her.  I just hope I’m not featured on TikTok without my knowing it.  It could be going viral as we speak.  

It’s memorial day so I’m taking out time to remember all who served this country and wondering if those who died in war would be happy with things as they now are.  

Here’s a picture of my dad.  He served in the army and the only thing I know is that he was stationed in Alaska for a time.  When I wrote a letter to the government in attempt to discover his military history, I discovered it no longer exists.  The repository for all military personnel that was located in St. Louis burned down in July 1973 and all the records were lost.  Very sad.

 

As most of my readers know, I’m thrilled with digital records.  Once digitized and properly stored, such unfortunate experiences will not be repeated.  

Now, on to other historical things.

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I was born on Memorial Day when Memorial Day was May 30th every year.  The only downside to it always being on May 30 is that there was no school on the holiday so my classmates never sang to me.  Sad.  On the flip side, I never had to take a test or hand in homework on my birthday so that was fabulous.  Life is full of ying and yang, this being one good example.

With that, let’s move on to the rails.  And by that, I mean train rails.  Rayman and I are getting ready to take a train trip.  The Empire Builder is a long distance train that embarks from Portland at the far west end of the line.  It ends up in Chicago.  Initially, we were going to take it to Chicago.  However, our friends Mari and Jim invited us to visit them in Minnesota so we modified the trip and are now going as far as St. Paul. If you would like to know more about our impending trip, just click on the following link.  https://www.amtrak.com/empire-builder-train

As you can imagine, this will be a hoot.  Overnight travel together on the iron horse will be a new experience for both of us.  What can go wrong?  Not sure, but what can go right will be plenty.  We are traveling first class so that we can have a roomette with a shower and toilet.  Rayman insisted for reasons best left unexamined.  This is a family blog, after all.

First class on a train includes meals in the dining car!!  Years ago, I would take the train from San Luis Obispo to Salinas or San Jose, where the Rayman would pick me up.  Why, you ask?  Because he drove there to meet with clients in the Bay Area while I minded the store in Arroyo Grande.  After work,  I’d jump on the train and we would reunite in the terminal of the distant location.  I loved it.  Eating in the dining car while sipping my zin was nirvana.  The fields of veggies rolled by as I savored my meal.  The sun would be setting, creating a beautiful scene to enjoy.  Never stayed all night on that train, the Coastal Starlight.  

My first train trip, however, happened in 1964.  It was the summer between my first and second year of college.  My mom met a man at the Paso Robles Inn whose job it was to staff National Parks.  Through that meeting, I landed a job at Yellowstone.  The summer of fun started with a train trip.  I still remember what I wore.  A navy blue, sleeveless dress with a “navy” collar with red and white piping.  On this trip, first class was not a thing.  I slept in a seat.  

When I arrived in Pocatello, ID a few days later, there was snow on the ground.  I froze as the park-arranged bus shuttled all us college students to our respective locations around the park.  In my case, I disembarked at Yellowstone Lake Hotel.  What a great summer.  We hired hands slept in dorms and ate our meals in cafeterias.  It was like going to college without the books, the classes.   My roommate was Carolyn Campion from Iowa.  We became friends and in the fall, Carolyn and her family came to visit in Paso Robles.  It was very special.

Of course, there was angst.  Like the night I discovered a woman in the bed of my “boyfriend”.  That was a shocker and I was crushed.  As a virgin, I was bereft.  I grew up a lot that summer.  As a young woman, saving it for marriage was the mantra of many like myself.  However, my mom was a thrice-divorced woman.  My grandmother was married only once.  As I later learned, my grandmother never knew her father.  That’s because my great grandmother gave birth to my grandmother out of wedlock.  

As an aside, isn’t wedlock an odd term?  Locked in marriage, is what it means.  No wonder the family never told me.  As a precocious  teen, I might have wiggled my way out of virginity while in high school.  Just sayin.

I could not figure out how to shrink the picture.  Please click on it to see the entire digital picture.

 

Pardon the digression.  Ancient history, really.  

RETURNING TO TRAINS

So, why the trip? Our plan is to trace the route that my great great grandfather took in 1850  so that I can write about it.  William Henry Dresser,( my mom’s side of the family BTW)  crossed this great land in 1850 during the gold rush in California.  I have letters from him that reveal the route taken.  From Beloit to Clark Gable in Three Generations will be the name of my book.  And this material will be blended with the previous two iterations of the book, the first two entitled Tales of the Dresser Ranch, 1850 to1972.  Writing, it turns out is a labor of love.  Lots of re-writing.  However, it does at least two things.  It keeps me busy (think pandemic), and it makes me happy to learn about the history of family.  

 

Hope you will join me in my adventure this summer.  We leave on June 9 and will rent a car for our return to the Northwest. Additionally, we will play it by ear.  Visits to historical societies are included in the “plan”.  Stops at night will be decided when we get tired of sitting in the car.  A map and GPS will be employed.  

In this day and age, it is hard to even imagine William Henry Dresser’s trip, but let’s take a stab at it anyway.  While grapevines were being planted by the friars at the missions of California, William and Sarah , my great great grandmother, were listening to the grapevines they knew:  and those consisted of human beings telling tales.  Some true, some rumors, some outlandish, some within the cloak of credulity.  They got their information from friends, family, and newspapers.   Radios had not been invented (late 1890s), Walter Cronkite was not on the still-to-be-invented technology of television. and neither had GPS become a technology used my millions.  Phones?  Nope.  Telegraph, yes.  Things were so uncomplicated, I don’t think it unsurprising that people provided their own entertainment which apparently included sex and playing the piano.  Oh, and leaving the family behind ( one wife, and three children) on a farm and joining a wagon train to go to California.

So, stay tuned.  All aboard!!

 

We made it!!  We are in the land of Portlandia after a three day drive to the Pacific Northwest.

This year, we took the direct route, partially to our chagrin.  This is said because we opted to take 101 to 680 and 680 was one giant parking lot going over the Sunol grade.  In the brilliant minds of those in charge, the state of California has installed Fast Pass which enables people of wealth to beat the traffic by paying a fee: I am supposing a monthly fee, to use a dedicated lane just for themselves.  The rest of the riff raff is excluded.  That means us.  So, it was a crawl as we finally escaped the jam after what seemed like an hour or more of stopping and starting while keeping a keen eye on the rearview mirror.  This type of jam ends in fender benders all the time.  Just ask the Rayman.  He was a victim one upon a time.

Anyway, here are some of our observations.   

This mountain still has gobs of snow.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We spent the first night of our trip in Davis, CA at the Hilton Garden Inn in the heart of town.  Great location for walking to dinner.  As it was, the place we ate was within range of a BB gun.  We walked Beau and look at what we found!!  You can hardly see Rayman and Beau.  Overshadowed, shall I say?

 

 

But the beast wasn’t half of it.  Our room was on the second floor.  The hotel had outside corridors.  Big, high-octane lamps lit the parking lot below.  Our room had Venetian blinds.  There were cloth panels provided not to block out the light, but to provide “decor”.  They did not stretch across the window.  We were aghast.  But, I devised a solution.  Towels stuck into the blinds.  Here is the outcome. Not full-proof, but it did help a bit.

 

 

 

 In our morning walk, we came across a very old “cabin” in the center of a busy intersection.  It is a mystery.  There was not explanation.  So I will make one up.  This is the cabin my great great grandfather stayed in when he emigrated to CA in 1850.  

 

Leaving Davis, we headed north to Ashland, our next  stop on the trip.  While driving we discovered that Shasta Lake  is full.  A before and after the winter of 2023 points to the difference in the pictures earlier in this post.

Obviously we did not stop to gawk and get a good picture, but as I was speeding by the Crags State Park I noticed how clear and beautiful it was.  Usually, there are clouds, smoke that obscure the view.  I lamented that we did not stop.  In fact, we had never stopped.  Rayman remarked that we could go see it next time.  With that interest on displayed, I exited the freeway and drove back to the exit for the park.  We drove up to the lookout.  Here are some pictures.  

 

 

   if you would like to read up about the park, click here and click on the park.ca.gov symbol.  .

 

With those images captured, I tried to get a picture through the telescope.  That did the job.  I produced a picture that looks other wordl-ish!

 

Motoring on, we arrived at the home of Nancy and Jonathan, our “hotel” for the night.  We had a delightful visit and then we went out to eat.  Sat right next to a roaring river.  It was warm and perfect for al fresco dining.  Nancy and Jonathan are bicyclists of the best kind.  100 miles.  No problem.  And we even got to visit their daughter-in-law and they baby granddaughter.  Here is a picture I snapped at dinner.  And incidentally, they have a lovely home right in the middle of Ashland!!

 

 

The next morning, we drove north to Portland.  The entire length of Oregon, really.  And we made it!!  On the way from Ashland, we did stop at a rest stop and ran into a gaggle of Corgis.  Here is a picture Themza, our granddog.  So, that’s it.  A trip where angst was kept to a minimum.  We did not get lost!!