The weekend got off to a bit of a rocky start. A little miscommunication between my mother and me. Where I saw a weekend of rest and relaxation, she saw a weekend of community service. Specifically, my service, her community. First thing Saturday morning I was presented with a list of chores that started on the roof and worked it's way down. I couldn't say no. At least there was the refreshing pool in the backyard when the tasks were done.
"You didn't plan on going in the pool did you? my father asked. "We didn't turn on the heater..."
At 60 degrees, the pool was a little more "refreshing" than I had counted on, so that was off the agenda.
They boyfriend spent the entire weekend in the kitchen, but that was his choice. He adores my parents and the feeling is mutual. They rarely cook for themselves anymore and he relishes making them elaborate, gourmet meals when we're there. He spent weeks planning each and every menu and he didn't disappoint.
Once we got over the initial little bumps, the weekend ended up being wonderful. It even survived the arrival of the Wingnut branch of the family for a Sunday barbecue. My Teabagger sister and brother-in-law, and their poor brainwashed daughter, pulled up in a car freshly plastered with "Don't Tread On Me" stickers from the Glenn Beck store. I'd probably have more sympathy and tolerance for the new über Patriots if they didn't insist on pissing in the punchbowl at every occasion. There was no small talk too small that it couldn't be twisted into a harangue about "big government Socialism", a comment about the weather turning into dark conspiracies about "One World Government" and a looming VAT tax. The boyfriend pulled out all the stops and put on an amazing spread that was designed primarily to make my sister look bad (Mission Accomplished!). Thankfully their visit was brief and the rest of the weekend went smoothly.
Leaving is always so sad, and not just because we know we're headed back to Bakersfield. We always had a good relationship with my parents, but I don't think we ever truly realized how special they are until we moved away and couldn't see them that often. On the long drive back we really, for the first time, started talking about our future.
We have 104 days left in this hellhole (not like I'm counting or anything) and we really hadn't firmed up our plans. Up until now, our plans for Life After Bako basically fell into two categories: The first is probably unrealistic and impractical, the second involves winning the lottery. A lot of them involved moving out of state, both of us feeling that California's "sell by" day is long past. But the weekend reminded us of the importance of family, or at least the left leaning, reality based part of it.
So as we sat in silence, stuck in car, the freeway closed by an accident in the middle of nowhere out of radio range, we for the first time honestly weighed all our options. And by the time the MedEvac helicopter lifted off and the freeway reopened, our path going forward seemed suddenly clear.
We're headed back south.
