|
|
Bottom |
Part 1 |
Part 2 |
Picture Gallery
Coming back
The second time I went out to California, it rained. And rained. And rained. Levees
broke. There were immense floods - I saw some myself, on a soggy trip to Stockton where
we passed lakes with stop signs poking out from the water. No sign of the roads. I got
to listen to American news reports; a bit more lively and a bit less informative than
British ones. The floods were a huge talking point.
There were some dry bits, of course. And that's when I got Arnie. But let's do this
chronologically...
There were other differences. For this trip, Don and I were an item. My divorce
actually came through three days before I was due to fly, in December 1996. My
solicitor handed me a letter which stated, and I quote, "Here it is! You are now free
to re-marry if you so wish." I like my solicitor.
When I flew out to America, the checking-in queue was so long and chaotic that tempers
were fraying and those who had queued for hours were teaming up and holding
conversations while fielding those who were trying to push in. I ended up chatting to
someone whose boyfriend was in Australia, though she seemed not to mind the separation.
I too saw it as a feature, though it wasn't easy: the Internet brought Don and me
together, and it keeps us in touch. It was intriguing though, that out of all the
people in the queue, two with such a long-distance similarity should be next to one
another. (Wyrd.) One other woman turned round and somewhat snottily told me, "The end
of the queue is back there." I just smiled, and told her I'd been behind her
for the last half-hour, following her bright green jacket like a beacon.
In the end, the Virgin staff herded the San Francisco crowd through and I was able to
check in some ten minutes before my flight was due to leave. Panic! Panic! I managed to
leave my jacket behind in the x-ray machines and after running back, had to explain
that the things rattling in my jacket pocket were Ibuprofen pills and contraceptives,
would the official like to see them? "No thank you," said the official, and off I went
again. The upside of all this was that I was upgraded to Premium Economy, with a window
seat, because they'd given away my pre-booked seat. I still ended up seated next to
the wing, like I have been in most of my trips to and from the States!
The flight, after all that, was delayed an hour, during which time one of the air
hostesses saw me reading The Stand by Stephen King and ended up enthusing
with me about it. In chatting, I mentioned that I read cards and it turned out that she
had always wanted to have a tarot card reading, that she
was a Virgo (like Don) and that she had a boyfriend in San Francisco, too! You could
almost hear the Twilight Zone music playing as Wyrd Syndrome asserted
itself again... We swapped addresses, and were penpals for a time.
Because of the extra posh seat, food and excellent entertainment, I found that the
journey passed in no time at all. And there I was in San Francisco again, waving at Don
through the plexiglass, then waiting forever for luggage and customs. So long, in fact,
that Don had sat himself down, and I didn't see him for quite some time after finally
getting through. But then, the holiday and a new chapter began - in his friend Jim's
orange car, since this time I had a suitcase.
On the return journey Don tried to persuade me to strap the suitcase to the
motorcycle, but I wasn't having any of that!
Settling in and dishwashers
In many respects, the whole trip was a different flavour than before. It wasn't a
holiday, more like living together, getting a feel for the country in more depth than
last time. I ate far too much burger and put on weight. I began to get a picture of
what was where in Mountain View - including Psychic Eye, where I was followed round the
store by a purple-clad gaudy psychic with a phoney European accent who wanted me to
buy things like books and tarot readings. I told her I had five years' experience and
went out with an attack of the creeps. I determined there and then that should I ever
go into that line of trade, I'll do my readings wearing jeans.
Three weeks in, I decided that I didn't want to go home then and made Don a nice big
'phone bill, arranging everything so that I could stay out another three weeks. After
four weeks, I was getting Bike Withdrawal Symptoms.
But I did learn something about dishwashers. One evening, I decided that I was
going to be infantile and blow soap bubbles using a straw and a glass of washing up
liquid. When I was done, I put the not-quite-empty glass of liquid into the dishwasher.
The next I knew, I was going round to say Hi to Don at his computer, and saw
foam just oozing out of the machine. I was speechless: all I could do was point, and
make some sort of "Errrrmmmm...." type noise. The stuff was coming up through the
garbage disposal and flooding the kitchen; it took over an hour to mop up, once we
both stopped killing ourselves laughing. The living room carpet got to be a bit cleaner,
though!
We'd talked about getting me a bike; bike hire was so expensive that it was much
cheaper to just buy one, but somehow we couldn't find the right one in the right place
at the right price. The rain didn't help, of course. On one occasion I threatened to
steal Don's bike, as I was stranded with only a large T.V. and rotten programmes while
he fixed his San Jose friend J.C.'s computer (which he'd apparently blown up last
time)... This was a fate almost worse than death! Still, there was compensation: we
went out to Harry's Hofbrau, and I got two cats on my knee at the same time while
watching the box.
Top |
Part 1 |
Part 2 |
Picture Gallery
This page created 25 Apr 1997
Last update 06 Nov 2003
© 1997-2007 White Raven
The Wild Wyrd World
Annwn, the Wild Wyrd Web Site
Affordable
Astrology Reports
Raven's Roads: Travels, Motorcycles and Writing
Markeroni, the Gentle Art of
Landmark-Snarfing
|
