Pretty soon I was on my way to the Millers in Mountain Home Village; if ever there was a homey, Norman Rockwell sounding name, this is it. It actually IS a Norman Rockwell sort of place. A very small enclave set among the high green (most of the time) foothills of the San Bernadino Mountains.
I decided to give Garmin another chance. I plugged him in (he let out a little squeek) and put in the address and was on my way. I followed his directions and got myself onto the 261 toll freeway. As is usually the case, my mind started wandering and I took the wrong exit and found myself heading south on another toll freeway (an anomaly, as a freeway by definition should be free). Pretty soon both garmin and I were getting confused as I took more wrong turns. I finally had to pull to the side and look at a map. I had almost come full circle (a usually positive Indian thing). But in this case I was pissed. If you don’t give garmin all of your attention, if you don’t worship garmin, he can be a tyrant and lead you into the wilderness. So I took garmin and threw him out the window (just kidding Chuck). But I did do it metaphorically and returned to an old technology and skill of mine: map reading. I had spent 45 minutes and $3.50 to get back to where I had started, so I plotted a route avoiding the toll “freeways”.
I was in need of gas so I took the Van Buren street exit in Riverside, my mind thinking of the Van Buren Street gang in an old Seinfeld episode. I pulled up to a thrifty gas station (being a thrifty sort of guy). There were a lot of cars but I found a spot and looked at the pump, no credit card slot. I knew from a previous experience that this means they only take cash or debit cards. What is America coming to? NO PLASTIC? I looked around and saw several skinny guys with bandanas and scars waiting and had visions of a new era Van Buren Street gang so I decided to make my escape. I drove to the other side of the freeway (an actual free one) and found a nice clean Minnesota style station. I pumped gas and went inside to do an evacuation. I also picked up a Pepsi and went to the counter to pay for it, a guy in a Brooklyn sounding accent asked how I was, I said “wonderful”, he said “you can’t be wonderful I’m mister wonderful” I said “I was given the name mister wonderful a long time ago” he said “well I was born in ’55 how about you”? I said “I was born in ‘48” and he said “well I guess you ARE mister wonderful”, we laughed and I headed down the road. I arrived at the Millers at about 1pm and visited with Laurel and her four lovely grandchildren until Tim arrived. He changed and within minutes we were walking the rock strewn wash near their home already deep in philosophical musings. The afternoon passed in a blink and we had to finally climb out of the hole we had dug, Laurel reminding us that it was time to go to “moms”. This is Auntie Anne to me, one of my favorites. We visited for awhile at her home, she reminds me so much of my mom (her sister) that I am again reminded that the Loegering women all look the same as they age and seem to fulfill the Lake Wobegon ideal of strength. They have created the fabric that has allowed the men of my generation to do the things we have done. Then we were off to the Mill Creek Cattle Company for dinner. I was the recipient of so much love, hugs and kisses from the Miller women that I was thinking ‘I’ve got to do this again very soon’. I love you all so much and you are enriching my life at a time when I am in need of enrichment. Jon