It's supposed to be Spring Break from school here at Orchard Ranch, but so far it hasn't been much of one. I took off first thing last Saturday to San Diego to see my dad and do his taxes. The nice thing about leaving early in the morning like that is I get to my destination before noon, and have a whole day to do stuff. Coming home, though, I spent eight hours either waiting, flying, or waiting. Darn that time zone malarkey.
So, Dad and I started in on his taxes right away and it's a good thing we did. The hard part wasn't the tax forms themselves -- Dad uses an online service and it does a lot of the work for you. However, he couldn't remember the password for his email, so we had to set up a new one for him in Gmail, and then tried to set up online accounts for each of his income sources so I could check that he had all the forms he needed (he had about half of them). In a couple of cases we were going to have to make phone contact with a company, so we had to leave them until Monday. All in all it took about an hour for the actual tax work and the rest was search, search, search and Dad trying to remember something vital. And talk, and just hanging out.
I spent the weekend with my not-crazy cousin D--, and the first thing she did when I came through the door was to hand me a glass of wine. We were talking about things my grandmother did, and I mentioned that she used to make Boston Cream Pie for us when we came for supper. D-- had never had that! So of course we laid plans to make one. On Sunday, we drove down to the south part of the county (D-- lives up north) and picked up our Aunt S-- to bring over to see my dad. On the way, D-- mentioned the Boston Cream Pie, and S-- said "oh, I have Mother's recipe," and I knew it was all over with but the crying. We had a fine visit with Dad, and when we returned S-- to her home, she dug out the recipe, plus a handful of others.
That evening, I baked the yellow cake part, and D-- made the custard and the topping from Grandma's recipe.
The next day I had to take off early to get Dad's truck tested for emissions and registered as the deadline was the end of March. D-- suggested I go to a place in her town, which is small and far from the city center. With directions in hand, I went to the mechanic and he took the truck immediately. Before I could get the paperwork filled out, it was ready (and it passed), and then I mentioned to the clerk that I was now going to try to get it registered and expected it to take all day. She said, "try here" and gave me a business card for a small district office of the DMV. I went around the corner and down a block, literally, and was the first and only customer. There, they registered Dad's truck and handed me the tags in less than five minutes. I had been steeling myself to have to spend my entire day waiting to get this done, and there I was, finished with my hard chore in ten minutes.
Then came the self-indulgence part of the day. I knew that the Yarnover Truck was going to be parked in the general direction I was going in to see Dad, so of course I had to go see it. The Yarnover Truck is like a food truck, but with yarn and knitting and crochet supplies. Here's a picture from their site, showing the truck parked at the Needlework Cottage in San Diego.
It was pretty cool! I brought home a needle gauge shaped like the truck. At the store next door, I picked up three skeins of Malabrigo Rios in the Piedras colorway to make a project sometime down the line. For the time being, I needed something to stuff a box with; D-- had given me some very nice hair goo for curly hair, but there was too much liquid in the container to take on a plane, so I was going to have to mail it home. This was a fantastic reason to pick up some yarn.
After that, I went back to Dad's to finish the taxes (we did) and hang out some more. From there, I went down to where my cousins were congregating at Aunt M--'s home to work on a biography of her for the memorial, and to look through photos. We spent the night there, and the next day I left for home in Smack In The Middle after saying goodbye to Dad.
While Aunt S-- was talking to Dad, she told him that she wanted to sell the house he'd been living in, and he didn't blink at the idea. They discussed it, and I felt a sense of immense relief that now Dad understood he couldn't go back to his previous life of semi-independence. On Tuesday, during our last visit for the week, Dad said that he didn't think he'd be able to go back to the house, and I told him "no, it's just not possible." He wondered where he'd go, and I told him he could stay where he is as long as he wanted to, and he whispered, "But it's so expensive!" We talked about the money, and how if we're careful he would have plenty to last for years. That was his biggest worry -- the money. I'll keep an eye on things and if the current living arrangements become too expensive, we'll move him. If his brother goes into care at a veteran's home, I might see if Dad wants to join him there, because he's eligible. But otherwise, he seems content to stick to where he is for now. This is an immense relief to me. I've been worried for months about how he'd feel when he figured out he couldn't go back to his old home, and it's okay.
When the plane took off, I felt a tug -- this was the first time I'd felt that tug in over twenty years. It's not that I don't love my family, but I hadn't felt like I really belonged there since early in 1993. My life has been elsewhere. Now, my cousin D-- and I find we have a lot in common, both in how we see the world and in our experiences. We are both teachers. We each had to take care of our mothers in a time of illness, and do the hard stuff that has to be done. There is something to be said for deep roots.
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