(clearly I need to dust-my room is always the last cleaned)
The alarm jarred me awake at 4:30AM. Terrified I would fall
back asleep I shot out of bed. Quickly raced down stairs and hit the coffee
then headed for the dryer and checked my tennis shoes. I did not want damp
tennies. I fed the dogs, cats and headed back upstairs to roust the boys.
Nick was understandably reluctant burying his head under a
pillow. He’d worked until the early hours of the morning on a China essay, but
nonetheless, we had to get going. Henry and I were meeting my dad and Quinn at
the airport to catch a flight to Oakland so Henry could compete at Stanford this weekend.
“Nicky, if you don’t get up. I’ll have to sing a good
morning song.” I threatened. “Good Morning, Good Morning little Nick – You
don’t have time to sleep now you’ve got to get up really quick.”
NO! I’m getting up. Don’t sing!” He pleaded.
(Nick and Rat-Bat Bruno -in the pink girlie Maryruth room he's staying in- they're blurry because NICK changed the focus on my camera for school)
(poor pink - Nick - he's trying to claim the room, but it's difficult)
The phone
rang. “Saved by the bell.” I said answering the phone, “Hey Mike
thanks for calling, I’m up.”
(Even new little Tabitha who NEVER sleeps is tired)
We were out the door in short order and on our way, as Henry
and Nick finished another “Kung Fu” episode en route.
“I can’t believe you guys are leaving me on my birthday,”
Nick moaned.
“I know, I can’t either,” I agreed. “I had no idea when I booked the
tickets for the Stanford competition that it was the same weekend.” I felt
terrible we were leaving, but suspected he was going to want to spend most of
the time with his friends anyway. He’d worked hard getting in his missing
assignments and meeting his deadlines. I was proud of his recent efforts.
“You could have come,” Henry said.
“No, it’s finals I really couldn’t.” Nick added practically.
We drove in silence all of us reluctant about our upcoming
separation. Lisa was meeting us at the airport at 6:45AM with Quinn and my dad
and we were exchanging passengers. She’d take Nick to school and I’d d fly out
of Bellingham International with my entourage.
After lots of hugs and “Happy Birthdays” and “Good-luck on
your final” and “Don’t for get to turn in your Vis Comm. assignments” and “Do
you have that paper you needed?” and “You’ve got your snack bag right? And
“Have fun,” Nick got in Lisa’s van.
“Good luck with Dad. He was ready at the door like a golden
retriever waiting for a ball. Rushing me to leave an hour before we had to go. But
I had to laugh, we left and HE was the one who forgot his reading glasses.” She
said chuckling. “Have a great time. Good luck Henry!” Lisa called out the
window as she drove off.
After getting our seat assignments Henry, Quinn and I put
our bags down right in front of Halibut Henry’s, a tiny store, in the small
airport. I looked around, “Where’s
your grandfather?” I asked.
“Uh, I have no idea,” Quinn said. “Maybe he went to get a
coffee?”
“No. He went through security already.” Henry said.
“What? No. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t leave us.” I
said, but knew the truth. When it comes to traveling he is a lone wolf always
rushing. “Henry go look in the bathroom.”
“OK, but I thought I saw him go through security.” We waited
while Henry searched the airport for my father. Finally, I dialed his number.
“Where are you?”
“I went through security. I thought you were right behind
me.”
“I thought we were traveling together.” I said slamming the
phone shut.
It was probably best he’d gone ahead because we are a
security check nightmare. Two bins for jackets, shoes in another, two computers
out of their cases in separate bins. A bin for my purse, a bin my camera and a
bin for my carry-on, then cell phones and Quinn’s shmancy belt in yet another
bin. I think my father would have had a break down.
We landed inauspiciously in Oakland and made our way to Air
BART where we paid to get to the BART. My father maintaining a forty-step lead
at all times.
“What’s with Grandpa he’s always way ahead of us? He acts as
if it’s a race” Quinn mused.
“He likes to keep moving, when I was a kid we were always
three hours early for every flight.”
“He’s crazy” Henry marveled.
“He likes to get where he’s going early and then read,” I
explained.
(Grandpa Horn pensive - because he's behind schedule?)
From there we heaved our luggage on to the transport. Once
at the BART station we figured out how to purchase a senior ticket, two kid
tickets and a regular fare, once purchased, we had to make our way through the
turn-style. This is simple for most people, but most people aren’t Quinn. She
was scared. She put her ticket in and then didn’t know if she should grab it or
which one to go through and for a moment I thought we might have to leave her
on the other side of the plastic orange gates, but surprisingly she was able to
amble through at the last moment.
“I thought it was going to close on me!” She screamed.
“Oh, Quinn.” Henry chided.
We were making our way to first to San Francisco but
eventually to Palo Alto. I didn’t want to rent a car because Tom would be
driving up and it seemed silly to have two, so we were going to make our way on
public transportation. If it killed us.
As we took our seats on BART Henry turned “At least this
time it doesn’t smell like urine.”
“EWWWW Henry! Stop!” Quinn shooshed him.
(Quinn, Henry on BART)
(Ahhh the city - San Francisco)
Twenty minutes later we climbed the steps of the Embarcadero
exit, Henry quickly realized we were standing at the same street corner we had
last year.
“Mama that’s exactly where we were standing in the rain when
the drunk guy was bugging us remember?”
"Henry you look like a goat herder with that hat on," my father decided.
"What?" Henry "Why?"
"Where's your goat?"
"Grandpa! You're so weird," Quinn had made her decision.
Ahh memories, I thought it was time for some new ones. “You
know we don’t have to be at the hotel at any certain time. Is there anything
you want to do?”
“I want to ride a trolley car,” Quinn announced.
“I want to eat,” Henry added. “Hey there’s a trolley car
going to Fisherman’s Wharf, can we go?”
And off we went, my father leading the way.
(Grandpa Horn leading the way with Henry close behind)
(Trolley car)
(Pier 39)
(Quinn get's her wish)
(Missing Nick - on Fisherman's Wharf)
Taking a page out of my mother’s
handy-dandy-have-a-good-time-and-make-memories-philosophy, we decided to go for
a nice white tablecloth lunch. Spotting Aliotos, we crammed ourselves into the
elevator suitcases and all.
Henry ordered grilled salmon, my father had a beer with his
fish and chips and Quinn stated “I don’t eat fish.”
“Oh yes you are young lady.” I insisted. “You are on
Fisherman’s Wharf and you will eat something on the menu other than bread. Have
some fish and chips. Just pretend it’s chicken nuggets.”
“Alright, I’ll have the chicken
nuggets.” Quinn acquiesced reluctantly, but good-naturedly. “Just don’t call
them fish.”
“I’m so proud of you,” the waiter laughed as she ordered.
“You’re really stepping outside yourself.” He teased.
(Henry, Quinn and me at Aliotos)
(part of the view from Aliotos on Fisherman's Wharf)
We enjoyed our lunch although the food wasn’t as good as it
had once been, but the view was spectacular. The sky blue with puffy white
clouds and boats bobbing in the distance, we talked about so many different
things.
"Where's your goat Henry?" Grandpa Horn barked as he made his way to the restroom.
“Denise, I didn’t know Grandpa was so funny.” Quinn
remarked.
“I know right? I always thought he was uptight without much
of a sense of humor, but he’s laughing and telling jokes,” Henry added.
“I know, I’ve never really seen him laugh,” Quinn said.
“Really? My father has always been funny. He’s the dad who’d
dress up or build a float for the parade. He’s the big eight-year-old who never
grew up. I think it’s that he can’t hear your high-pitched voices as well so he
doesn’t really respond.”
“I always thought he was serious until today,” Quinn said
and Henry nodded.
(Henry and Quinn with full tummies)
As we stood at the Wharf waiting for the trolley, Quinn said
she wanted to look inside a bakery nearby. So the two of us went in and browsed
for a while. When we came back we found Henry wound up like a top.
“YOU MISSED IT! Grandpa went to war! Full on war with the
Jamaicans!” Henry blathered.
“What are you talking about?” Quinn asked looking at Henry
as if he’d lost his mind.
“The Jamaicans over there were playing to a big crowd and
Grandpa pulled out his horn and started a rivalry. They’d play and then he’d
play and then he stole some of the crowd it was crazy,” Henry babbled proudly.
Henry turned to Quinn, “Quinn, since I want to switch from
the cornet to the oboe, next semester do you think my grandchildren will call
me Grandpa Oboe?”
Quinn paused a moment looking at Henry, “The way you dress, with that stained sweatshirt I think they’re going to call you Grandpa Hobo,” she said boarding the trolley.
“The oboe? Are you kidding?” My father exclaimed when he
heard. “You’ll sound like a *&%$#@% snake charmer. You won’t be able to
play jazz. No one uses an oboe.” My father snarled. Undaunted, Henry just rolled his eyes. This
family is not for the faint of heart.
“They had an oboe in the Paul Whiteman Band. I checked,” I
said protecting my son.
“Did they?” My father was silenced.
(Grandpa fresh from the battle of the brass - Quinn and Henry - getting a little tired)
Grandpa Horn was up and down on the trolley ride three times
asking the conductor when we should get off and what connection to make to get
to the train station. And once we were off we marched at a fast pace crossing
streets on the diagonal, weaving through crowds of people all the while toting
our luggage.
Finally at the bus stop we waited with a huge crowd. Bus
after bus came and went while we waited for the number 30. Eventually, it
arrived and we crammed into the center holding on to straps while trying to
protect our belongings.
“Mom zip your purse and tuck it under your arm, this isn't Bellingham,” Henry
warned me. I was touched. He remembered all my warnings about theft and crime
and was now protecting me.
The crowd thinned out stop by stop and yet we continued to
ride until the end of the line. When it was our turn we gathered together
adjusting our straps and stacking our luggage ready for the next leg of our
journey.
“How far to the train station?” Quinn asked innocently.
“Uh Quinn, it’s that big building in front of you that says
TRAIN STATION,” Henry said.
“If she had a brain she’d be dangerous,” my father added and
Quinn giggled so hard she almost fell down in the street.
Once again, we stood trying to figure out how to get a
senior ticket to travel three zones, two kids’ tickets and a regular fare. Each
time we did it was completely different yet easy once you knew what you were
doing.
“What time is it?” Henry asked.
“3:05PM” My father answered.
“The train leaves at 3:06 let’s go!” Henry called as he and
Quinn took off.
“We’ll never make it,” Grandpa Horn warned, “It’s too late.”
“We’ll make it, we’ll make it! C’mon Grandpa run!” Quinn
yelled over her shoulder. Her hair and legs flying in all directions, “Now he
wants to take his time!”
(Henry and Quinn race to the train - Henry figures if he gets on - we'll all get on)
We boarded the train out of breath. The kids victorious
wanted to ride on the upper deck and so we sat watching the scenery go by. I
fell asleep as did everyone else. We were losing steam. An hour later and three
exits before our stop, my father started getting his stuff all packed up and
strapped on. “We’d better start downstairs we only have a couple stops until
San Antonio,” he warned. “It’s going to take a while to get down the stairs
with all of our stuff. C'mon Henry don't forget your goat."
"Grandpa why does this hat make you think of goats?" Henry asked again laughing.
“He’s doing. It again.” Quinn said. “He’s driving me nuts.
It’s maybe 50 steps altogether.”
“Welcome to my childhood.” I said.
“No wonder you’re always on time. You took part of it, and
my mother completely rebelled. This must be why she’s always running late.” I
laughed as Henry and Quinn psycho-analyzed us, which is fine as long as I come
out the good one.
“Let’s hang back just to drive him a little nuts,” Quinn
said insidiously.
“Fun and games with Grandpa. The only problem is, I don’t
think he’ll care,” Henry said. “He’ll just leave us behind,” Henry laughed.
When we’d all gotten off the train and it had snaked away.
We stood there in silence. It was quiet and we were in the middle of nowhere.
There were no shops just apartments. Which way next was a complete mystery. We
just stood there for a couple of minutes thinking about our predicament.
My father wanted to head right, so of course Quinn said
left. We went left and my father dragged behind. We ended up at a little
cybercafé where we got an espresso and directions to our hotel about another
mile away.
(The Crossroads Cafe)
(Grandpa Horn looking for directions)
My father charged out the door and down the street as it began to
rain. “So much for sunny California,” Quinn moaned.
“Hush, just keep walking,” I encouraged. “We’ll be there
soon.”
“Not soon enough, I just want to get in the heated pool,”
Henry said dreamily.
(Quinn now wishing she'd chosen to go to the Las Vegas gymnastics meet instead)
As we walked we approached a hardware store. “Stay here.
Watch my stuff. I’m going to go in and see if we’re heading in the right
direction,” Grandpa Horn announced.
When he emerged he announced there was a faster way but we
had to double back the way we came. The rain was getting harder so in true
Washingtonian fashion, we put our hoods up and went on.
“Grandpa, there’s a lady from the hardware store whistling
for you! Stop Grandpa!” Henry called from the back of the line.
We all came to an abrupt halt as my father went over to talk
to her. “Would you like a ride?” She asked pleasantly.
“Sure, we’d love one,” Grandpa Horn answered all smiles.
Quinn shot me a look as if to say ‘are we really going to hitchhike’? I know she was wondering what her parents would think of this. I too was wondering what I thought of this. I raised
my eyebrows and shrugged my shoulders unsure. I weighed the options, I
could walk a mile or so in the rain with my father and two kids or take a ride
from a slightly overweight woman who seemed smitten with my father. We took the
ride.
(Grandpa Horn loads the luggage)
“Grandpa’s a chick magnet,” Henry said quietly to Quinn as we got
into the back of the truck who nodded in agreement.
