Must be the forties.
I went to California because my mom invited me to celebrate her 70th birthday. I imagined a trip filled with sunshine; friends; good food; UCLA; dinner with my dad; time with my sister, aunt and mother; and a solid dose of the California crunchies (healthy food, tan bodies, beaches and surfers, tattoo parlors next to drug stores, recycling bins on street corners and traffic).
A friend wrote in an email that I was on an "epic journey" and I smirked. Yeah, right. Ten days in my home state. What's epic about that?
I want to write about that trip, about the various impressions and emotions that broke over my head like the egg-mayonnaise-avocado shampoo concoction of the 1970s. I've got journal notes and emails to comb through.
Stay tuned. There's more coming.