"Once there was a way to get back home"

(A note before reading about Monday, July 14, written for you on Thursday, July 17. It’s Thursday AM and I was just able to post the Borderlinks entry. I might have posted the rest of the week, but it takes a while when your connection is slow. Favoring the idea of getting on the road, we decided to get on with life. I know we’ve been remiss about posting. We have been writing, but sometimes it is slow going. There are a variety of reasons: we’re tired, little to no to slow internet connection, camping with no connection, we've been busy(how cliche!), and some much needed down time, as you will read about below. Anyway, that is why we’ve been out of touch…we’re ok. Thanks for your emails and asking!)

Monday, July 14, 2008 – Dorothy’s birthday, Zoe’s belated birthday, Terry’s belated birthday, Amy’s belated birthday, Macy’s belated birthday, and Bastille Day!

Before I get started today, I just want to make it clear that when I ended Neil’s entry with my Editor’s note on Sunday, I was only referencing the fact that I post the blogs and photos. I’ve never tampered with his writing, just as he’s left mine alone. For better or for worse.

But, if I had written Sunday’s entry, I would have noted that being reunited with my family at the Borderlinks office and driving through the desert at dusk with the silhouettes of cacti against the mountains’ peaks and valleys, were two of my favorite memories of this trip.

One of the not-so-favorite memories happened this morning, after I received an email from my mother, “call me.”

I’m recounting the story of this morning for you on I-8 West to Route 85 North to I-10 I-10 West. It’s a driving day, and the Beatles are on and things are peaceful.

This morning Eleni woke up and told us “I want to go home. I want the blue house.” We heard it three more times in the two hours that we sat in our hotel room trying to decide what to do next.

I want the blue house too, Eleni. No, I want more than that right now…I want a brown and white house in the middle of Gorham, Maine thirty years ago. I want to go back to those moments cuddled up on the blue couch listening to my Grandmother read me stories. I want to relive that innocent child’s belief that things are everlasting, and that when we finish reading this story, we will go into the kitchen and have some of the Rice Crispy Treats we made an hour ago.

Appropriate…the Beatles are singing, “Once there was a way to get back homeward. Once there was a way to get back home.”

So, I called my mother this morning and she told me the news.

My 91-year-old Grandmother passed away this weekend in Scarborough, Maine.

Just as my family was gathered around my Grandfather’s grave in Gloucester, Massachusetts depositing his ashes on Saturday at 2 PM, she, as ever, followed him.

Grandma was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s five years ago, and I think there is a certain amount of preparation that goes into anticipating this moment of physical death. And yet, while we sat in that hotel room in lonesome Gila Bend, I found myself despondent. I’ve had the blessed privilege of sharing a strong friendship with my Grandmother for my entire life, and while life happenings naturally changes the intensity and course of any relationship with time, this event marks one less lodestone in my life.

And, in the superficial, yet practical world of maps and guidebooks, it changes our route. Not only will we not go to Maine for the tail end of this trip (there will probably be a separate plane ride that I will take somewhere in the middle of this trip for the funeral), but also in the immediate future, I can’t imagine following our original plan for Tuesday’s activity.

I’ll let the so-called cat out of the bag for you, and those of us who know us well can gasp in shock – we were planning on going to Disney Land on Tuesday. Yes, after much hemming and hawing back and forth from both of us (let me stress the both of us so that no one thinks this was all my idea!), our plan was to let the kids have their day. And for us, what better way to observe American culture. I had even made for peace with it in its strange juxtaposition with my trip to Mexico this past weekend (hold that thought). This morning, there were even moments of considering that this is something that Grandma and Grandpa did for their children when they traveled cross country, so we should follow suit.

But how can I honor someone whose whole life was devoted to simplicity, beauty, peace, and taking care of the environment, by over-stimulating my family with colored plastic? And, from a purely selfish point of view, how can I grieve with “It’s a small world after all” in my head all day?

So, Alex and Eleni, when you read this entry, years from now, I hope you will forgive us, or maybe you will thank us. Either way, you didn’t get to Disney Land (and we tried to keep the fact that it existed quiet, anyway) this trip. And, so it goes…

So, we’re on the road again.

We’ve passed the town of Quartsite (and a McDonald’s sign advertising Quartsize drinks!), Sore Finger Road, Gold Nugget Road, the Palo Verde nuclear power station, and a canal with a name I did not document.

It’s so barren, we’re imagining when there used to be dinosaurs here. Eleni is singing “Lone Dinosaur” from a Land Before Time movie. “Where is Littlefoot?”

We almost took the turn for the “original London Bridge” at Lake Havasu City. Neil told me that what they think back in the old country is that the (foolish American) rich resort developer bought the wrong bridge, thinking he’d got Tower Bridge instead.

Passing over the Colorado river and into California, we can immediately see the difference in greenery and the difference in population of the two bordering towns. Miles of palm trees, fields of lavender, a sign that says “State Prison Next Exit – Do not pick up hitchhikers,” and the occasional accordion playing from Alex and Eleni, Mariachi band, in the back seat (the accordion and maracas were requests from the kids and bought by an ‘eager to please her children’ mother in Nogales, Mexico).


We saw this warning at a rest stop.

CDC monkeys in the desert!

We stopped at Chiaraco Summit and took some photos at the General Patton museum. It appears that, unlike the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, DC, you have to pay to get your name on this memorial.

The sign says "Defenders of Freedom Wall: 9/11 to present." No names, yet.

We had a bit of a breakdown in the backseat. Now the kids are listening to the moral compass of Fat Albert (hey, hey, hey) in Bill Cosby’s 70s cartoon, Fat Albert. It makes me smile, as I remember Saturday mornings of old.

We came across Joshua Tree National Park and our car wandered in…in retrospect, it was way too hot and way too long a stretch for the kids (and Neil), but I enjoyed it.

This is called the cactus garden. A sea of cacti...

Now we know how to tell the difference between a Yucca and the Joshua Tree. Just like the nomenclature suggests, the Joshua Tree looks like a tree. The Mormons gave it this name because they thought it looked like the prophet with his arms upraised.

Signs warning "Gusty winds" and windmills greeted us as we turned off for Palm Springs. 

Yes, we finished up our day in Palm Springs, tired and thirsty after our time in the desert. Anywhere that was good enough for Cary Grant was good enough for Neil! Actually, we bypassed all the cute boutiques (I passed on the facial) and headed for the best pool so far at our motel.

Looking very California to me!

And so it goes. It’s been a long day full of weight and wonder. I found some ways to get back homeward in my mind and spirit . . . “And in the end, the love you take, is equal to the love you make.”
My Grandma and Grandpa last summer in Maine. 65 years of marriage and still holding hands...