Where's PETA when you need them?
I'm two days behind on posting, but will catch up over the next 24. OK, maybe it will take 48.
We left the overpriced motel in Santa Rosa about 6:15 Sunday morning and made the drive to SFO without trouble. "Michelle," our GPS guide, took us through the city instead of down Hwy 101 because it must be the fastest route. It gave us a view of the post card style houses along the way - the side-by-side, pastel homes with rooms over a garage at street level, all on a hill. Even early on a Sunday morning we had enough traffic that taking a picture out the window of the Kia didn't seem like a good idea. But the trailer followed right behind and 90 minutes later we arrived at the United terminal and Pam got out for the last leg of her trip.
I then drove 90 minutes south to Prunedale just in time to attend the worship service at Grace Community Church where I was the pastor from 1976 to 1983. Afterward I got invited to lunch with Danny & Candy Boss at their son Andy's house. Paul Richards heard I was going to be there and drove over from the valley, and he joined us for lunch on the deck. We sat out in the sunshine and had a great time visiting and catching up on life's transitions.
Since that lunch I've tried to figure out how to explain in words the connection that exists between this pastor and the people it has been my privilege to shepherd, but I can't. There's a bond unlike anything else I know. Here we are just shy of 30 years after we moved from Prunedale to So Cal (several stops since then) and we picked up like it had been 30 days. There are a lot more I didn't get to see - summer weekends mean people away, and some have also moved far from that rural community - but it would be the same thing with them.
The people are the best part!
By 1:30 or so I was again on Hwy 101 headed south to Solvang, CA., four hours away. Lots of traffic along that two lane stretch as people headed back to their LA area homes after time at the beach or.... By Pismo Beach I needed a break so I pulled into a small park right on the ocean and climbed into the trailer for a 30-minute nap.Then I drove the last hour to Bruce and Debby's home, arriving a little before 6. And speaking of inadequate words, I cannot describe their home. If it were a BandB they could charge whatever they wanted and people would stand in line. "Retreat" is the closest I can come. Pics of their place in the next post, and of their two dogs, who should have their own TV show. Think "The Odd Couple." Both big and white, but that's the only thing they have in common.
They don't come better than Bruce and Debby.Oh, by the way, Bruce is a pilot and flies his plane two or three times a week to "commute" to various sites as part of his work as the regional manager of a large construction firm. We had time for a quick flight Monday afternoon. Cool!
I had planned to leave their place Tuesday morning but decided on an 8 p.m. Monday departure. That put me driving through LA at about 10-11 p.m. when traffic would be light, and across the desert in the "cooler" wee hours of the morning. I actually pulled out of their driveway at 7:50 and pulled into ours almost exactly 10 hours later. In addition to gas stops I pulled over twice to climb in the trailer and snooze, once for 30 minutes and once for about an hour. When I got out of the LA basin I saw almost nothing but semi's on the road.
So vacation is officially over, although that driving through the night bit has my brain less than fully functional. In the next post: "A Satisfying Serving of Justice," "The Hidden Treasure That Is McDonald's Cuisine," and "The Radio Preacher Who Refuses to Die."
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