Happy Mother’s Day

Just some ramblings from a homeless traveller.

I went out to California for a family wedding, which was at the Ritz Carlton in Dana Point. So that is where we stayed. Ahh, the crosses we bear for family. We also stayed for mother’s day with my Mom, and are flying to Reno later today, to visit my Wife’s Mom as well; getting all the familial obligations covered in one trip.

On coming here, we got an offer on our house that we accepted. So we were signing and faxing papers; and it are no longer going to be home-owners. My wife is excited, and dreading the chaos of another move. (Reducing her commute to Houston from Cleveland). Once I get the new Job lined up, things will be a lot more stable/secure for me — but it always works out.

The best thing about the trip, is it got me off my heroine fix. Well, not heroine exactly; a computer game (World of Warcraft) that has a recitivism rate and addiction rate that far surpasses mere opiates. So instead of trying to get my character to level 40, so that he can finally wear mail armor, and get a mount, I got sunburned laying out by the pool, and have sore feet from the multi-mile walks along the boardwalk, and looking in the tidepools. “OH yea, this is what real life was about”.

Walking along the beaches, and reading the papers of California, gives me endless amusement. I just love the signs at the beach; of which there are dozens.

“Falling Rock” along the boardwalk (below the cliffside), makes one wonder, if there is really only one rock that someone keeps reloading after it picks off some innocent passer-by. And if there are really humans so daft, that if they heard the clatter of a rock coming down a cliff, that they wouldn’t look up, or get out of the way?

There was the “Grey Whale migration route” sign on the Boardwalk; which as a pasty (Grey), slightly overweight Ohioan, I had to question which of us “Grey Whales” it was referring to. Personally, I’ve never seen a Grey Whale on the boardwalk, and had to take boats to see them; but never try to make sense of California Bureaucracy. It also reminds me of a law in California that states “You may not hunt whales from a moving car”; begging the question why hunting them in parked cars is OK?

There was a sign every 100 feet or so, warning that this is a Tsunami area, and that if there is an earthquake, you should get to higher ground. My wife observed, “When was the last time a Tsunami hit Southern California”. I was more pondering the economics of putting up thousands of signs (and accosting us all with visual polution) on the miniscule chance that might actually save a few of the daftest elements of society; those that couldn’t figure out the obvious on their own.

There were a dozen or more other signs, all warning of the rules of proper beach ettiquette; “no dogs” — which was ignored by everyone, “No fire’s”, next to an impromptu firepit. No bottle’s, next to the jagged rocks. “No Smoking”, right near the falling rock and dangerous riptides. And “No alcohol” right next to the the garbage can full of empty beer cans (and bottles), with a big phalus spray painted on it, which read, “I [heart] penis”. Leaving me to think about the state of society where spending millions on Tsunami Warning signs or other various busy-body regulations, is important — but offensive (to some) grafitti on a $10 trash can is tolerated. Ah, California.

Silliness like that, along with lame taxes and intolerable housing prices, are what remind me why we left California for more sane places on earth (like anywhere else). And reading the L.A. Times each morning just re-affirmed what a loony place California is, and why it was far better to visit than actually live here. There wasn’t a single article I read, that didn’t have glaring stupidity, bias and errors leaping out at me; and they still can’t figure out why Newspaper readership has plummeted? But then again, just sitting and listening to the pacific ocean crash against the beach and the gorgeous weather, reminds me why people like to live there in the first place. Personally, we’ll visit and live where at our income we can have a less harried lifestyle. And keep a better buffer zone from relatives. Unless we make 30 Million in some Lotto, and could afford a modest house here.

Ahhh, family. It took my mother about 15 minutes to push all of my brother’s, wife’s, and my buttons. Driving us all to drink Laguna Lemonade’s; some conconction that really sneaks up on you, by the way. For my brother the buttons were how to better run his family and raise his daughter. For my wife, it was advice on how to dress more like a trendy-tacky-fashionista, and for me it was how I should die the grey out of my beard and lose weight. I suggested she do the same; ooops, one too many Laguna Lemonade’s talking.

The wedding seemed to consist of much of the family complaining about their various physical ailements or life changes; but was of course gorgeous, and we ended well fed. Mixed with the usual chaos, old family rivalries, and various comments or actions that manage to offend someone. MY wife was offended when an older Uncle of mine totally felt her up, and apologized by saying, “I’m sorry, you’re just so soft”. I offered to punch him out for her, assuring her that I could still take a 70 year old man; but she declined, and I think was a little miffed at me that I wasn’t more upset. But heck, what can I really do 15 minutes after the fact? And as I told her, I can’t keep my hands off her either — so how could I get that upset that a dirty old perve got a cheap thrill? Melissa kept a leary eye, and respectful distance from the letch, making occasional barbed comments from across the table, and leaving no chance for a repeat performance. Ah yea, some reasons we live a couple thousand miles from this coast.

Well, anyways. It is on to our flight to visit Melissa’s family. The one’s that don’t push my buttons at all, but manage to push all of hers. Happy Mother’s Day.