This is what payback looks like.On the first morning of our Fall 2009 Girlfriends' Trip, Claudia woke Denise and me up at 6 a.m., taking of photos of us asleep. I woke up to Denise saying "Hi hon" in a dreamy, half-asleep voice. Followed by a less dreamy "What the HELL?!"
Flash. Click.
Then Claudia cackled with delight and boasted in the dark, "Oh, yeah. That's going on Facebook."
She'd already photo-raped Renee, who slept prettily through the whole thing. Denise and I were much more rewarding victims.
Fast forward 36 hours to when we found Claudia asleep in the recliner.
Oh, yeah. That's going on the blog.
The fall trip was fabulous. Our time in the desert is like being suspended in amber--one made of sunshine and idleness. We have no schedules or have-to-dos. We clean only for ourselves. We don't make the beds. We eat ice cream for dinner. We leave dishes on the counters. We don't sweep the floors. It's complete indulgence. Shopping, eating out, drinking martinis, sleeping in, staying up late. Reading. Lots of reading. And talking. Girls talking. And painting toes. Life without men or children. Just for a little while.
Then the plane lands in Washington. We come full circle and jump back into our lives.
Splat.
I returned to a sullen husband and grasping children. Rain. Lots of rain. The next morning--today--James headed south in the caravan that's moving my dad, his wife and their nine pets to Palm Desert. At press time, my dad and his wife and the other four drivers are sleeping off car-sickness and exhaustion in Vancouver. James is behind the wheel of the moving van, somewhere south of Salem.
I also returned to lay-offs. Rumor has it that they'll occur in my department Thursday or Friday. We've known they were coming. So now I hope. And I wait. And I worry.
A lot has happened since the last time I baked. Dulce de Leche Bats (p.297) were disappointing. For one thing, my family was suspicous of dulce de leche. "What is it, what's it made of, where'd you get it?" Sigh.
And then there was the bat-shaped cut-out. I bought aspic cutters months ago, but just discovered on Halloween that my cutters were too big for the cookies. So my bat (a combo of the triangle and the crescent moon) just didn't fit. My cookie sandwiches (with the dulce de leche filling) had just lonely triangles on the top cookie. When triangles bake and dark filling squeezes out, it looks a little like, well, a poopy cat butt. That'll kill an appetite.
Shortly after Halloween, Christian got sick. My cold turned into a sinus infection. And James developed pneumonia. The nine days between Halloween and my departure were full of anxiety and worry. And even a 911 call. Swine flu? Lay-offs? Hospitalization? Cancelled trip? So much to worry about.
But everyone recovered--in this house at least. The trip was wonderful. James is on the road--alone, but on the road. And the boys and I are on our own for the next week. I hear rain outside. It's not 80 degrees here. And here I have lots of housework to do. But there are trade-offs. I came home to rain, but I brought with me new wool clothes from California. I came home to cold, but my furnace is fixed. I came through the front door alone, but my kids were happy to see me.
Nostalgia and worry are my companions tonight. I worry about my job. And my friends' jobs. I worry about family driving so many miles through the night. And I think about my dad, moving all the way to the desert. The next few days will tell me if they all get there safely. And the next few days will reveal if I still have a job.When the plane left Ontario at sunset yesterday, I watched California drop away. And I felt a little sad. Washington has its roots in me deep, like a cedar tree. But California is growing roots, too. Roots made of friends and good memories. A safe, familiar place. A respite from worry. And lots of laughter.
Even at six-freaking-a.m.
