Celebrate Today!

Morning in Disneyland.

We are sitting in an outside patio. DD is having a bacon and egg croissant. I’m having a tuna fish sandwich. The air is like Hawaii, silky, and I guess with a hint of moisture since we are fairly close to the ocean.

I look around at the plants. It’s like Buddha’s garden—that was when he was the Prince Gautama Siddhartha before he became The Buddha, the enlightened one. His father protected him from all aged people and wilting flowers, so he had the gardeners preen the Castle grounds so his son would see only perfection.

I wandered why I had ever left Southern California, but then I guess Disneyland would not allow me to set up residence on their veranda. (And the traffic tells me why.)

“How do we keep the magic going?” Asks DD while her little Man Cub sleeps contentedly in her arms.

“Perhaps that’s what enlightenment is,” I say. “You touch the magic, and keep it going.”

We wonder how to do that, and know there will be wood to chop and water to carry in the future, but for today we decide to go shopping on Main Street USA. It is between the two parks—California Land and Disneyland—with no entrance fees, and no entrance lines save security. I owe DD a Dulce De Leche Swirl Haggen Daz ice cream, as she spotted the Matterhorn Mountain first. An old routine. When the kids were little we frequented Disneyland and the first one to spot the Matterhorn got a dime. When my husband was with us about four years ago we found the Dulce De Leche Swirl. Dulce De Leche ice cream, caramel sauce and a banana. Perfect. The best.

DD—that stands for Darling Daughter (And Baby D is Baby Darling), had to haul me away—“Leave wanting more,” she said. And so the dogs, the baby, and the two travelers aimed up the long state of California toward home, enduring LA traffic, traversing the Grapevine on probably the most beautiful time of the year. One hillside was painted, completely covered with orange and blue. And since some of the color spilled down to the freeway I could see it was California poppies, and a blue plant, maybe lupine, I wasn’t sure. There were truck farms in their spring finery, and orchards that went on for miles. Once we passed between rows of orange trees on either side of the road, and the scent of orange blossoms filled our air passage ways with sweetness beyond compare. Some of the time DD slept and I drove feeling happy, loving what I was seeing, and wanting to savor every moment.

Up ahead we saw what looked like a dust cloud, and thought maybe a storm was coming, then the scent hit us so hard it woke up the baby. It was a cattle feed lot that went on for miles. Cattle wouldn’t like the stink either, and I felt it permeated everything, their coats, their feed, probably their meat. On that spot I considered being a vegetarian again—in California for sure. “Cowboys don’t let your baby steers grow up to be corralled in feed lots.”

Sorry about the blotch on this transcendent experience. We continued up the state, finding a motel in a place only identified by The Apricot Inn.

We could feel the altitude again around Mt Shasta, which shone clear and sunshine gilded, past Shasta Lake where they rent houseboats, and into Oregon. Everything is green. The deciduous trees have new baby spring leaves, and Roseburg which is dry most of the year is glorious with spring, and ten thousand different shades of green.

We fell in love with the cargo van we had rented. It was perfect for our use, a seat for DD and I, a seat for Baby D, and room for DD to crawl back into the seat beside him. The next seat served as a luggage hold, and Bear, the Newfoundland dog, had the entire back. I even parallel parked it once, it was that maneuverable, but then compared to driving a truck and a horse trailer it was a breeze. (Those who have read my book, It’s Hard To Stay On A Horse While You’re Unconscious, know I break out into a sweat when trying to back up a horse trailer.)

When we unloaded the van, it looked sad.

Home:
4,089 miles.
Eight States.
Two Weeks.
One Daughter.
One Baby.
Two hundred diapers.
Two emergency room visits.
THE PLEASURE OF THE TRIP--PRICELESS!