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Date: Friday, May 13, 2005
It all started out with an email from Fabio's office. Actually, it all started while Fabio consoled with me on the phone about the loss of my precious younger son, a month earlier. I had said I had to drive to San Diego and he suggested lunch. But this email set up the time and when I called his office, set up directions.
I am to have lunch with Fabio on the way to San Diego to see my house. I need a walk-through post fire repair and to paint a fence section. (Turns out, it was a whole fence - and I need to go back. $$$$ But that is another story.)
It will be my first trip without that loveable lump sleeping in the passenger seat. The first trip without him playing music over the iPOD until its battery died. The first trip without someone to sit in the car when I make my McDonald's coffee run. Someone for which to fetch soda, orange juice, Big Mac's, or whatever he wanted. I am on my own.
My older son did not make these mad dashes back and forth to the other house. He was also too busy at work to do so this week.
He was, amazingly enough, very sanguine about my meeting Fabio for lunch. That's a first.
Fabio will meet me at a gas station at 12:30 PM. The office supplied the exit from the freeway, GOOGLE gave me a map (with the last of my younger son's printer ink cartridge - I adopted his printer), and then they told me how to turn to find the gas station.
Great. I am meeting the "man of my dreams" in a gas station. That's a hoot.
You must remember than I am a woman who dressed in a velvet evening gown - big skirt - with a full-length mink coat, and rode in a pick up truck to sit on the floor and have Indian food and watch belly dancers. This was in 1982. I do wild and crazy things.
Oh, this is in keeping with that!
So, given the time, I needed to see that I got down there (San Fernando Valley - 400+ miles away) in time to meet him. Cannot leave that gorgeous man standing around.
Especially in a gas station.
To make this date, I slept little, got up at 3:30AM, and was ready to go at 4:30AM. I have fur children to settle.
Except, I discover, that even with a checklist, I could not find my glasses! My Glasses!
And there is no one here to help me look. (My younger son would come in on my panic screaming and stand there while I ran around. As soon as he came near me, I would find them. He's not here. I can't do this alone.)
I am a bit OCD. Normally, I would not leave until the item is found. I have driven home from work on discovering I left without my wallet (still do that), my wedding ring (used to wear them for protection) or some other things I thought I had to have.
I have a newer pair of glasses - gold not brown. I like my old ones. My next new ones will be brown. There are not a lot of choices for bendable trifocals.
I put on the new ones and leave.
I am hoping that the cat has not snuck into my bedroom (with his litter pan, food and water on the other side of the door for three days).
I refuse to drive back and check. I have done things like that too.
I head down 101 San Jose, because that leg of the trip I did not make often with my son. We usually went the 84-680N to 580W to 99S. I will do 101S-152E-99S. (Get a map.)
By Bernal, I think I should get gas. I am not "topped". I know my truck and the gas distance I can go and I am paranoid about filling up at the start of a trip. I need about 6 gals.
I know Bernal since I used to work right up the block. I get gas at Chevron and decaf at McDonald's. It was horrid. That's a first. This was OLD decaf. At 6AM? YUCK.
Note the Chevron and McDonald's connection. They are usually paired; if you find a McDonald's there is a Chevron nearby, and I know where the pairs are all the way to San Diego. (There are exceptions.)
I ran down 101S and actually found the exit to 152E. Actually finding it. Missed it one trip.
I also decided I would run all the way over to 99 and not down 5, since the comfort zone of the 99 was better than the quickness of 5. I did not, however, drive north 4.5 miles to Chowchilla, my usual stop. I stopped at a new station. I got gas and my normal coffee order. One large decaf, one small real coffee. This normally takes 5 Equals between them but McDonald's now had Splenda. I am not used to the taste.
Mental note to self. Carry Sweet & Low in the truck from now on.
McDonald's is also changing their coffee cups from the white things to the brown printed things. Each place, however, has a choice of tops. Tear-off or a hole already in. I will learn this today.
I normally make a gas-restroom-coffee stop every 90-120 minutes. I have a 4-hour gas tank and a 2-hour bladder. Especially when drinking coffee.
I have not made this 8.5 hour trip for awhile. Not since he relapsed post-stem cell transplant. It is about 6 hours to LA. So I am judging my timing. I don't want to sit too long in the gas station either.
Speeding down (well, not much) 99, in the slow lane for the most part, I find that truckers have now decided to play leapfrog and are causing slowdowns. They were doing this on 152. It's the "my truck wants to be in front of your truck" game. Not that they got to go any faster. Climbing hills will slow them down. Coming down hills they had better slow down. 99 is flat and pretty level. A few curves. Two lanes mostly. Needs to be three. They leapfrog a lot.
I skip over Fresno as a stop (only in desperate times) and sip the real coffee slowly. As it is, I barely made the restroom in Bakersfield. All the coffee, at home, at Bernal and Madera (?) hit at once. And I have yet to drink the decaf.
I get gas. This is where my son would wake up, take food and drink on occasion. So here I am having a particular bit of emotional hassle. This just adds to the failing bladder.
(I know I need surgery, but I need to loose weight, old story. Any woman who has had natural childbirth needs repair work eventually. Now I read the episiotomy they do routinely and did on me twice will cause rupture in the bladder and other area. How charming.)
I get OJ this time, no coffee. I get gas. I hit 99S within 12 minutes.
I merge with 5S below Bakersfield before the Grapevine - the ring of foothills that has snow on top. They are 4400 feet. Steep. I have 6-cylindar truck and can go up fairly well (55-65MPH). An 8-cylindar truck does better. Big trucks have a bypass. My old truck and my van chug up at 30MPH.
My son used to enjoy the Tacoma eating up the curves. It's where I usually lose my Jack-Head - the Jack in the Box toy on my antenna. They disintegrate at 95.
I prepare for the high-speed decent (I am 95 in the #2 lane normally). It is 88MPH to ----- ZERO.
ZERO?
Just before this I had heard a beep and then looked to see five mounted cowboys passing me - no wait - that's a song - it's five mounted (in cruisers) LAPD cars, including a canine unit.
This is the city (county) where they shoot people at random on freeways. Oh Lord!
Fifteen minutes later, we were dead stopped. Trucks, SUVs, cars, everyone, dead stopped where normally we run fast. In the middle of nowhere.
I could look between the trucks to my right and see around the curve - they are pacing us. There is construction. I see no reason for the pacing.
It is now 11AM. How on Earth do I call Fabio or Eric (his business manager) and tell them I am hung up on the freeway behind pace cars? No call box I can see. And when I don't know how long? This is tumbleweed country. (Hence, the cowboy reference.)
I am oscillating in my seat. I do not dare sip my coffee or orange juice.
After fifteen minutes of panic on my part and frustration on everyone else's, they let us loose.
I skipped the Magic Mountain exits (I often stopped there is hot weather especially) and ran straight to the 405, which hit me faster than I thought. (I seldom drive it.) Traffic on the 5 had been slow and was at another dead stop when I swung onto the 405.
The 101 branch-off came up fast, no time to hunt down McDonald's, don't dare sip my decaf. The 101 back the other way was another gridlock mess. Yikes. I seldom come through LA in high-traffic times. I used to live here after all. Remind me never to drive on Friday again. (No kidding!)
Now I am seeking the exit. I find it. Noting that the directions I had carefully printed out, printed with a failing ink cartridge. I can make them out.
I made the two turns I had been told. I had not been given a name for the gas station. It is now nearly 12 noon, and if I were not driving a stick-shift (5 on the floor with assist), I would be driving with my legs crossed. If I find Fabio, he had better not hug me too tight. I am a squeeze-toy.
Surprise and panic set it.
There is no gas station here!
I am now borderline hysterical!
Two blocks down, I pull into a gas station and it is crowded with workers, construction and gardening, illegal and not. There is no room to park so I drive through, casting a wary eye about for a porche or a tall Italian.
I park behind a truck on the street, gird my loins, grab wallet, phone card and a scrap of paper with phones numbers and walk inside.
I am a bit overdressed in knit pants, a flaming pink print top with floppy sleeves, jewelry and high-heeled boots. It is about 120 degrees. This is San Fernando Valley - forgot about that. Used to live in Reseda. A bikini is about the attire that is suitable around the house, something thin and light when outside, and run between air conditioning units. No one in their right mind goes outside at high noon. Which it is. Wearing black slacks. Which I am.
I ask directions. Restroom and phone. In that order. I have walked past the phone outside. The restroom is in the back corner.
It is unisex (Chevron station) and messy but I make do. Desperate times call for desperate action.
Relieved (in more ways than one), I find the phone.
Help!
I have an AT&T card from Target and I call Fabio. Answering machine. I leave the street corner where I am. Then I called the office. Answering machine. I again leave precise directions as to where I am. It is now about 10 minutes past noon. I am efficient.
It is hot. I cannot stand in the sun for more than a few minutes. I did chat with one friendly gardener-construction guy parked in front of me - and behind me as it turns out. Two trucks. My eyes are burning - smog and melting mascara. I climb back into my truck and power up the fan at least. I can now sip my decaf (in the heat it seems cool).
By 12:30 I am debating what to do. I am in mild panic.
Lost in the Valley!
I can see the headlines now.
I am really starting on my freaking out when in my peripheral vision I spy---
A big black truck awfully close to me.
Way too close. I caught the motion.
I look up - startled and worried, and Fabio is grinning at me and telling me to follow him. He has found me!
I do (follow him). He leads me carefully (making sure no one gets between us) around side streets back to where I was supposed to be told to meet him. Oooops. The valley is foothills and has lots of curvy windy streets. He pulls over when a car separates us until I can catch up. Considerate. I lead people like that.
We come back to the Blvd and a shopping mall plaza where we park.
My silver Toyota truck behind his black Chevy truck. I am rattled.
He steps out, dressed in black (of course) with a bouquet of flowers he had stopped to pick up. Pink roses and lilies and other pink and purple flowers. Matches my outfit. Lovely. I get my much-needed hug.
Flowers!
No one ever buys me flowers! They take me shopping with my VISA and have me pick them out. But they do not buy me flowers.
Startled at the gesture (which I did not expect), I, brain freeze intact, thank him and put them in the shade in the back of my truck (extended cab) while we go to eat. I forgot the valley. Cars become ovens. You do not leave children, pets, or flowers, or anything that does not react well to heat, in a truck unless the engine and air conditioning are running full blast. (The flowers were pissed at me but I revived them later, at the hotel after a 5-hour gridlock trip to San Diego, with ice and cold water. They actually did pretty well. Still are doing well. In my kitchen at home.)
Lovely.
We had lunch.
But I am tired and incoherent. My excitement at meeting him cancelled the depression at driving without my son. Leaving me neutral.
Which was Fabio's idea.
It worked.
I have chicken salad and it is huge. He has his egg whites and potato omelet I guess it is.
I have iced tea and he has water and a lemon slice.
He evidently eats here often.
We have an hour to chat and eat.
Turns out, he had reached the gas station at 12 - afraid I might be early. When I wasn't there, he got concerned, knowing I am usually early, he had called Pepper to see if I had a cell phone. (She is in Utah.) I don't.
Then he called the office - and got the machine. He called Eric on his cell and then Eric called the office and retrieved the message I had left.
Egad.
I am amazed at the persistence.
I was also scolded.
I am to get a cell phone. (I hate them. And they were not allowed in all parts of the hospital.)
I am to stop drinking decaf. (He said real if I have to - my dr says no - I later tried - gave me the shakes.)
He said no Sweet & Low - Equal if I must (yuck).
I told Fabio if he gave me the coffee lecture again I would tell on him!
He said fat cells are mostly water-------yeah, they are. Squish squish.
I ask him to make me an exercise program after he tells me I HAVE to go to the gym - in spite of $10,000 in equipment at home (my son had a lot of rehab gear).
Have to.
24-hour fitness never refunded my son's membership (he was ill within 6 weeks of a 3-year package - they should have refunded it.) But Gold's gym is near my new job. So I told him I would remind him to make me a program. I am de-bulked - and flabby - besides being overweight - down from really buff, overly muscled. He said high reps - and light weights.
We discuss picking up the pieces, my work, what he's up to (resting after the show in Australia).
We were discussing Pepper (and her predictions). She has been very, very accurate for both of us.
She has said I would marry again. I told him that and I said that I would stake her in the desert. I haven't dated in over 23 years. He said it would come.
He said I would remarry - put it out there - it will happen. I told him I would stake him in the desert!
He takes my leftover salad minus the pepperchinis for his dogs. They eat anything. I bet. I used to have big dogs.
He has to run to homeland security - someone stole his wallet and ID card - he is a resident, not a citizen. He has to be fingerprinted at homeland security. Oh yeah. He's a terrorist all right! He terrifies men and makes women become brain-damaged. Just look at me!
I want a photo (actually of him for the web, I am melted) and he grabs my digital camera and grabs me (OK - That's fine) and we try. He cuts off my chin. (That's OK - I have two.) We try this a few times - that's OK. I like being under his arm, clutched to his chest. (He always pulls me off-balance - I really do lean on him, hard body that he is. That is what I call fun!) I giggle.
We are both laughing by now.
Silly people that we are. Love it.
He must run (or that could have gone on a bit, I had no objection) but then he gives me a present.
It is a jacket from his line - a beautiful knit and suede collared zip-front jacket in a lovely light shade of blue-lavender. The color "matches my eyes" and the size? He said "your size". I said, "You asked Pepper?" He said no, he remembered me.
OK. I can melt into a puddle now.
The jacket is snug - but I am dieting. It is also my absolutely favorite style. I have owned a few less-expensive versions in several dark colors in the past.
It is a lighter shade than my eyes and is, when I put it on later, fabulous. (You do not put it on in a mall parking lot in high heat. I live in Northern California - and came home to a storm, clouds and rain.) It is my size (XL at the moment, L normally).
Oh, I will be wearing this!
I even have knit slacks somewhere that are either a close match or a complementary hue.
Zing!
He ran off to his appointment and I hit 405.
And parked for the next 5 hours.
I reach my hotel at long last and find I had actually packed my missing glasses. I have forgotten my nightgown. I brought the good sneakers - not the painting ones. I forgot to pack a cup and spoon. I have diet sodas and ice and the flowers have ice and cold water.
I gave up on eating supper. A few Triskets (for the salt) and a Special K bar will do.
I need fluid.
I am exhausted. 11.5 hours of driving.
Record-breaking heat.
Perfect for painting. (Not!)
I do have a loose tank top I sleep in - the same color as the jacket (and now covered in white oil-based paint - the tank top not the jacket).
I called Pepper. I called Fabio's machine and left a thank you message.
Sweet, special guy.
Nice guys are hard to find.
This one is a role model.
"Wish I were a younger girl" (line from Cinderella).
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