Headed for the Hills

It's our nation's Independence Day, folks.  A happy and safe 4th of July to you all.

I've completed the backtrack trek to Merced, California from the hilly vineyard sprawl that is Napa, California.  Shifted from Brother Gary to Brother John.  Gone from sleeping in a creaky double bed in a very spare dorm room in an almost abandoned two-story building which once housed married nurses on the grounds of a sprawling state hospital facility, separated from my youngest brother by barbed-wire-topped fence and concrete buildings, to crashing on the comfy couch in the spacious ranch-style home with its airy decorative components and all the amenities once could ever desire, mere yards away from my younger brother in his own comfy sleeping quarters.  The contrast is severe.  The worlds-apart aspect of it all is an abrupt jump which takes my mind just a few sharp shakes of a lamb's tail to adjust. 

Switching gears without stripping gears.  That's a talent.  I'm fast learning how to finesse it all.  I'd like to take a moment to thank Starbuck's for it's role in assisting my transition.  Nod, wink, wink.  Long slow sip of soy caffe latte.

John's clicking ankle and knee joints behind me signal the need to hurry as we are preparing ourselves for an overnight trip to them thar' hills -- otherwise known as the Sierra Nevadas.  His wife and kids, along with a few friends and their families, are entrenched in a large cabin for the week.  It seems there is also a parade happening in a local town near there.  It's time to socialize, eat, celebrate, relax.  Yadda, yadda, yadda.  My dress is ironed and my face washed.  Time to head for the shower.  Yes, the SHOWER as opposed to the rusty water of the clawfoot bath which has been the source of my physical cleanliness for the past couple of nights.  (Is it possible to feel nostalgia this early in the trip over a dirty bathtub?)

So, dear readers, I must bid you farewell for now.  As I sign off, I ponder my biggest dilemma of this late morning: Jamba Juice or Starbuck's?  Hmmm.

P.S.  I really miss Gary.  But those few pounds of pizza and snack weight I'm doubtless carrying from our visits will sustain me until next Thursday and Friday.  Here's to an endless hike in the hills at some point in today's outing . . .