road trip

I just returned home from my final surgery to remove the portal that the chemo drugs went through to make me sick and make me better. The procedure was painful, labor-breathing painful. Now I am numb. I also had the surgeon drain what we'd assumed was a seroma (an accumulation of fluid) but it was a hemotoma instead. It is still bleeding. I have a little advice. Most of you won't need it, but in this era of drive-by surgery I'm sure Amy Vanderbilt would agree with me: Don't wear white linen to day surgery. I bled all the way home. They kind of patched me up and sent my on my way. Driving. In traffic. I was shaking like a leaf and could barely get my breath.By the time I got home, my pure white eighty dollar linen top was drenched and the absorbent dressing, absorbed. But the hematoma is gone! My surgeon told me this is the rite of passage out from cancerland. I am happy to leave it.

We're just back from a roadtrip: Redwoods. Glass Beach. Mendocino. Time to get out of the house and drive through the deep green cathedral for miles and miles. It was Kurt's idea and I jumped at the chance. We took the easy way: car and motel rather than truck and trailer. Kurt and me, Nicole, Sid and Duffy, all in my car.

The first day we made it all the way to Garberville, the land of weed and little else. After picnic-ing our way south with a mediterranean lunch in the grove, Nicole and I wanted something light for dinner. Maybe a taco.

Behind the motel was a restaurant called Sicilio's. The sign out front advertised Pizza, Mexican, Seafood, Burgers, and Italian Food. Now, I know a restaurant that claims to do everything usually does nothing well. So, we went in, read the menu, and found no Seafood, no Mexican. It was pretty much pizza and burgers. I asked the waitress what was up about mexican food and she said, "Yeah, its pretty much false advertising." The prices seemed pretty high, so we passed and went on back to the room, then down to the complementary wine and cheese social, and settled for cheese squares and crackers for dinner. They had brie so I was okay. We had asked the waitress beforehand where we might find a good taco in town. She said, "Deb's has the best tacos. They're about five bucks but they're incredible. I don't know what spices they use but they are amazing. Go a couple miles down the road and blah, blah, blah."

The next evening we drove the two miles to find Deb's. The prices were incredibly high and we finally deduced that local income derived from weed had created an inflated economy. So I ordered the amazing taco. My husband, smarter than me, ordered a burger. When the remarkable taco arrived, I was stunned. It was a small, corn tortilla with a crumbled hamburger patty topped with chopped lettuce, tomato and cheese and a small cup of salsa. It had virtually no flavor at all. Except beef. It did taste like beef. I could only imagine that they don't get much of a Mexican influence in Garberville.

We couldn't pass through Fort Bragg without stopping at Glass Beach*. At first glance, all of  the beaches were completely empty of glass. We tried the final beach off to the left, access was limited, with rocks quite difficult to climb down, especially for me, having worn my evening gown for glass picking. I'm exaggerating -- it was a long summer dress. After the climb, I sat on the beach and picked to my heart's content. I have a nice collection to use in my encaustic work.

The final morning of our road trip, Nicole and I were heading down for breakfast. Two crackhead women were lingering around the door of the complementary breakfast room. As we approached, they put on their act. "Did you bring your key?" The other one looks horrified. "Damn! Do y'all have your key? We forgot ours." I let them in. Who am I to censor the hungry? They followed us in and made up plates to take back to their cronies parked out back.

We stopped in Mendocino, wandered on the headlands and in town. Bought white chocolate with fresh raspberries, and a bar of espresso bean dark chocolate for Kurt.


* In the 1800's, the early inhabitants of Fort Bragg threw their trash off the cliffs at the ocean's edge. Gotta love the white man. Over time. the churning of the surf created shards and bits of colored and clear glass that sparkle like gems when wet. Over the years, folks have scooped buckets of beach glass until the beaches are empty. Only one area remains, and picking is forbidden**.

** Sue me.






mendicino
earrings
swimming