Yesterday I opened a “letter” from my mother; a perfect example of
her eccentric idea of correspondence. Bereft of card, signature, or,
God forbid, “Dear Daughter”, the envelope contained 3 newspaper
clippings – each annotated with her inimitable, looping script. To the
first clipping, a review cautioning that a new kid’s hardback called
“The Graveyard Book” may be too dark for sensitive children, my mother
had added “This sounds good!” A study exploring the effects of the
color red on both attention span and anxiety prompted this commentary:
“You know I made all red things for your cradle and crib! How to
create an obsessive compulsive?” And of course my personal favorite,
an interview in which Nadya Suleman, the recent mother of octuplets,
asserts that she wanted a family to help combat depression. In this
article the words “children” “cure” and “depression” have all been
manically underlined. Radiating a giant arrow, the newspaper’s indent
points to my mother’s own thickly inked phrase: “What an idiot!” She
may not write much, but it sure reads loud and clear.
My mother’s attitude towards children and their rearing being what it is, she often chose the Wolf Creek Inn as the ultimate destination on the many and extensive road trips we took together. Touted as “the oldest continuously operated hotel in the Pacific Northwest” by the State of Oregon’s recreation department, the Inn boasts perfectly articulated period décor, both a ball and dining room, and a magical, perfumed orchard. It is also remote, haunted, and almost entirely unfit for children (read: no television).
Last week I endured the two most dreaded days of my life each year for
the past 20 years. FAA mandated 'stewardess training,' formally known
as "CQ." Stands for 'Continuing Qualification.' Ladies and Gentlemen,
this has nothing to do with serving you drinks and meals, listening to
all of your problems, helping you stow your 100 pound compact
suitcases, with an everlasting smile on my face. 
Cecilia was a ‘10’ on a scale of one to two. She had unmitigated primal passion. Her sexual appetite was unparalleled and horizontal. It was vertical and diagonal. When I suggested to Cecilia that we spend the Fourth of July in Hawaii, she responded by giving me a fireworks show in the bedroom that went on till daybreak.
It's no secret that my best friend, Missy and I love to travel. We met 25 years ago in the parking lot of a Winn Dixie grocery store in Valdosta, Georgia. I was in college there and she was home on Spring Break from Pepperdine in Malibu, CA. I thought she was the prettiest girl I had ever seen and never imagined that we'd grow up together and travel the world.
Do you remember Mrs. Gooch’s health food stores? Opened in West Los
Angeles in 1977, Sandy Gooch’s markets served Southern California
hazard-free food until Whole Foods acquired it in 1993. If you remember
it fondly, you’re ripe for the picking. And let’s face it, if you’re
reading this you know its time for an escape. Religious experience or
not, the desert is dialing your exhausted and stressed number. Life can
take its toll, especially for those who spend a great portion of their
day trudging through traffic under the constant sun of Los Angeles,
California. It’s only human to reconnect with nature by departing the
idiosyncratic superficialities that surround you: billboards demanding
you lose weight, drink specific liquor, or watch the latest blockbuster
that diminishes your intelligence. Let a Midwesterner tell you weeks of
nothing but vitamin D infused blue skies can cause disenchantment!