2013 - San Jose

“You look like a snake charmer.” Uncle Julian and Aunt Cathy have hosted me a number of times over the decades, with lengthy gaps between. First time was when they were stationed in Europe in the early 70's, I've mentioned that before; and prior to this trip was 1996.

The night before I arrived was spent in the back of the truck in an I-5 rest area, lying crooked, curled around this basket and that bundle (while BC had the front bench seat).  I could hardly move to get out the next morning and vowed to reorganize.  Why did I bring all those clothes? And in ROUND baskets, that was smart space-saving. But first I needed to find my bank card.

I wasn’t used to pumping my own gas (Oregon still has attendants) and I'd stopped at a station before the Golden Gate Bridge.  Of course, I sat there for awhile waiting for someone to hop up to the window until I remembered.  That may have been the first time I used a card at a pump. I was fretting about that damned bridge so much that I didn't pay attention to where I put my card after I finished, but at least I grabbed the receipt.

I don't know how I got there; I wasn't aiming for the bridge but I'd left I-5 to take in part of the Napa Valley.  I'd been enjoying the scenic drive and identifying luxury vehicles zooming past. Some photos have been lost so I'll paint the picture.

Nice and green, la-dee-da, not so bad...when suddenly there it was.  San Jose was on the other side; I was almost there; how tough can it be?  As long as I don't get dumped in downtown San Francisco, I'm not certain the truck could handle the hills, have you seen Lombard Street?

I stayed in the middle lane, since I didn't know whether I'd be heading right or left on the other side.  I couldn't really sight-see but I'd seen the bridge as a kid and it looked pretty much the same; close-up the color always gets you.  When I did finally see directions I angered fellow drivers by slowing, blinking and almost stopping until I changed lanes, I didn't care.  I'm fairly comfortable driving in large cities but still, Californians are a different breed.

We finally arrived at my relative's home around noon.  At some point I was looking for my debit card when I discovered its loss, and panicked at the thought of having to go back across the bridge to get it.  I found the receipt and called...the lady remembered me (I'd asked for help), but they didn't have my card.

Now, that was my ONLY card. I didn't have any credit cards because of my rating; and it was my only bank account. So I was digging through those baskets, trying to keep a brave face while anxiously praying as I reached in here and there.

FINALLY I found it, shoved inside a pocket of the shorts I'd changed OUT of once I reached their cement home; it was much cooler inside.  However, I did find a bonus (and possibly the real purpose of the search):  Lea had slipped a card containing a $100 bill inside a basket when I wasn't looking. That would definitely help with gas.

I shipped 14 pounds of clothing back to 'Jersey and gave Aunt Cathy a couple baskets to make my load neater. BC was welcomed as much as me, and the family dogs accepted her easily. Aunt C. called BC her Pom-Pom Girl for her bottle-brush tail, here's the only photo I found.

My aunt and uncle, bless 'em, not only love dogs but children, doesn't matter whose.  Their two children have their own places, but an assortment of houseguests have been 'adopted' at various times through the years.  One or two may be related, but I'm not certain how.

"Have you been to their house lately?" another cousin asked before I left Oregon; then laughed when I said, 'No'.

Which is why, when BC and I arrived, there were 9 people and 2 dogs living under one roof: my aunt and uncle, Michelle (a relation?), a grandson, plus 5 of his friends living in the garage.  I slept on the couch, which was fine; but shared the facilities with 7 of them and thought I'd lose my mind, not to mention my meals.  I didn't grow up with brothers, God!

Aunt Cathy was French, of Greek lineage.  She explained that her home growing up in Marseilles, a tiny apartment over her father's shop, was always full of people and she missed the company, especially after my cousins moved out.  I'm afraid I 'd tried to dissuade them from being so generous as they aged, because my aunt was cooking, cleaning and waiting on them hand and foot.  I helped her of course, but was pissed at the (freeloader's) lack of courtesy by even putting dishes IN the dishwasher, not to mention the bathroom floor.  It drove me nuts, but since she didn't mind, who was I to complain?

I called Lea to thank her for her unexpected gift, and to beg her permission to mail back Dave's GPS.  She agreed.  My phone arrived sooner than expected but I'd already promised to stay the week. When Aunt C. begged me to wait another week until someone's birthday, I blamed it on my sister, "Hillary is anxious for me to get there," plus after Oregon, the claustrophobic nature of Silicon Valley was getting to me.

I'd been gone 9 days and was only 400 miles from home.  Looking at the map, I must have stopped further past Redding; then cut over to 101South.  No matter.

Aunt C. passed away in 2018 so she's not reading; and Uncle J. doesn't go online except for banking.

"I thought I'd head for Joshua Tree National Park,"  near the Arizona border.

"What for?  There's nothing there!" God love him.

Next up:  Joshua Tree.

To enjoy from the beginning:  Oregon to California.