WOW! What a rush!
This ended up being much more than I expected. First, my sister offered to fly me down, but based on my flying experience to and from the Houston Subsim meet in 2008 I decided I'd rather take the bus. My sister thought this was crazy, but I am crazy, so what do you do.
I got on a Greyhound at 1830 Friday night. We made a couple of stops in between, and got into Las Vegas at around 0100 Saturday morning. The trip was great, the motor coach was new and top-notch, and I met some interesting people and talked all the way, planning to sleep on the second stage of the trip. Alas, the bus from Las Vegas to Los Angeles was old and beat up. The bathroom was foul, like it hadn't been cleaned in a month. The door was broken, so you had to hold it shut when you were inside, and when no one was in there it would swing open and let the smell leak out into the back part of the bus. The only good news was that both buses were half full at best, so everyone got their own pair of seats and no one had to sit next to anyone else.
We got into LA at 0825 their time (Utah and California are one time zone apart) and waited until 0900 for the bus to Long Beach. It was a fairly old bus, but was owned and operated by some local Mexicans who operate locally for Greyhound. They keep their older equipment in tip-top shape, so that was a fun ride.
My sister met me at the little Long Beach station, and the whole twenty minutes back to her house she kept reminding me that Jet Blue flies direct from Salt Lake to Long Beach, and that the Long Beach airport is only five minutes from her house. Of course I kept reminding her that I didn't have to come at all.
After I showered off sixteen hours of bus smell we headed over to my dad's house. The main part of this story is that my dad spent 36 years as a pilot for United Air Lines, was an avid golfer and loved to travel and kept very fit, and was always on the go. Nine years ago he was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease, and between that, the medication they put him on, and his current age, he can barely walk, let alone do any of the things he was fond of. My sister tried to prepare me for what I would see, but apparently the fact that I was coming for his birthday gave him renewed energy and my sister and stepmom both said he was looking and acting better than he had in weeks.
We had a good conversation and a mini-birthday party, and a pretty good time in general. They gave me a tour of the house, showing all the changes they had made since all three kids moved out.
A story: United moved us to Los Angeles when I was two. My dad rented a couple of places during the next three years, and in 1955 he bought a tract home while the neighborhood was still under construction.
Dad, mom and me, probably around 1954.
My mom and dad divorced in 1958. My dad remarried in 1961, and my sister was born in 1962 and my brother in 1964. This means that I was an only child, but I still had siblings. I was enough older than them that I ended up being a built-in babysitter. In 1965 my dad sold his first house and bought a very nice home further up the Palos Verdes Peninsula. They still live in the same house, and, say what I like about my stepmother, last August 1 was their fiftieth anniversary. Pretty wild, that.
A portrait of my dad in his prime.
And my dad now. His friend is my sister's dog Roscoe, who my stepmom callse The Red Rascal.
My dad and stepmom, Barbara.
Me, my dad and my sister Chelon.
A picture of a picture of the boat my dad used to own.
A funny pic from my dad's office.
The last time I saw my sister she was pregnant. Her daughter is now 12, so it's been awhile.
My sister Chelon, her husband Pedro and their daughter Danielle, from Chelon's FaceBook page.
I made a post last year about Danielle's hockey team. Here is Danielle decked out for battle.
