Multi-Generational Connections.

I made it to Penzance, in Cornwall, yesterday after the surreal experience of reinserting myself into a car with a manual transmission and the steering wheel in front of what I'm now used to calling, the passenger seat.
The nice young man at the airport car rental in Bristol, studiously reminded me that roundabouts are to be taken in an anti-clockwise direction. Huh? Luckily the first roundabout was small and quiet and the other incoming drivers were paying attention. Whoops! In this digital age, I will never again listen to a young person telling me which way is clockwise.
I was at my friend's house in Penzance by mid-afternoon. It's a multi-generational household with a myriad of connections between us. Lucie was a customer of my parents, her daughter and I were school and disco-mates and  now live close to one another in California.
There's a younger daughter with two kids who lives with Lucie now. She's a little older than my lovely girl and we've laughed in hindsight over the naughty things they got up to together, like staging a doll's tea party with talcum powder for tea, for instance.
Naughty-Girl and her ten year old daughter had dental check-ups scheduled for after school. The very dynamic two year old son was to be kept company in the waiting room by Lucie. She looked exhausted (at eighty years old) and I offered to run interference and let her take a break. We drove to St. Ives and spent a few minutes trying to interest the whirling dervish in a book or other peaceful pursuit, which obviously wasn't happening. I grabbed a hand and put my dog-leadership skills into play. Theo and I went out for a walk.
The steepest little lane was the most appealing and zigzagged down between quaint cottages, to the waterside. There was a huddle of spectators watching a seal basking in the shallow bay. Patches of turquoise showed where a few sun-rays connected with the sandy bottom and curls of brown seaweed rippled the surface in others. We pushed on and found a small puddle to give Theo's wellies a work-out.
Anyone who knows me, knows I am not a volunteer babysitter, ever. If kids leave me alone, I'm only too happy to reciprocate. I had one. I am happy I did. I feel no yearning to get close to one again.
It's unusual for a two year old to be content in the company of a stranger. I was a little worried about what I was getting into and I certainly would not have volunteered myself for anyone else. I suspect that this young man has profited from being raised in this most sociable of households. He held my hand and stomped gamely along beside me with a cheeky but charming grin.
My idea to loop around and back to the dental office went awry, due to winding streets and me not knowing where we were to start out with. There were a few blustery squalls of light rain coming on and I decided we must back-track the way we had come, although that made for quite a long walk
We were striding up that last incline when Theo's mum called to see where we were. She had called her mother, who had called her son in London, to get my cell number, that he'd recently acquired from his sister, my friend in California. He and his wife had accompanied me to see Warhorse whilst I was in London.
Reunited, we drove home and had an exuberant early dinner.
Tired children were soon being bathed and put to bed and I took another walk with Tess, the resident whippet. Other than a short discussion about how not to behave in the presence of cats, our stroll through the town and along the Promenade was uneventful.

Blue Sky and Blossoms

I am, usually, a vigorous and sturdy walker. The neighbors are used to me striding along, rain or shine, with or without canine accompaniment. This morning was my second foray outdoors since the doctors removed my appendix. I was overtaken by an older lady, who walks with a cane. I felt like so much flotsam, bobbing in the wake of her battleship-grey haired passage. In no time at all her rolling gait had carried her into the distance, She was off to have her coffee at the golf club and I know there are eighty-five steps down and then back up. Equivalent to a trip to the moon for me today. Luckily, I didn't have to go far to enjoy a little color in the world around me.

Rain - You want us to do what?

Yesterday was a day of lashing rain, exuberant wind whipped trees and frothy sorbet yellow, pollen rimmed puddles.
This being brash and media hungry California, it was impossible for us to slide into an autumn season of gentle precipitation. Hell No! We went from Heatwave and Wildfires to Typhoon, Flooding and Mudslides as quick as a blink. We had 6-8 inches (15-20 cms) of wet stuff from the sky in a twenty four hour period, with high winds to match. I loved every minute of it!
Itsy bitsy dribbly rain is annoying. You don't take it seriously; it's too much trouble to put a coat on; you get surreptitiously dampened; glasses useless, hair flattened, shoulders shivering in cold clothes for the remainder of the day. Bah Humbug.
Give me a rip roaring horizontal torrent and I'll show you my happy face. I have pink wellies with daisies on. I have Gore-TeX rain wear and a leather baseball cap from The Territory Ahead, ever so slightly accented with plaid. If I'm going to get wet anyway, I might as well enjoy being outside when I pretty much get the place to myself. Joggers, cyclists and even squirrels were noticeably absent from the landscape. Just me and some very wet dogs.
Number One Dog, Diva, was a puppy during our first go round with El Nino. I was in shock: When we moved to California from Europe we arrived at the beginning of a seven year drought. I thought it would always be like that. So, you weren't supposed to wash your car and lawns were considered antisocial; You could plan a barbecue or trip to the beach with the certitude of warm, dry surroundings. I didn't even own a raincoat.
I think the El Nino climate kicked in early in the spring one year, or maybe it came to my attention then, because we procured our First Canine, who was an adorable, teddy bear sized puppy with needle sharp teeth and a need for exercise. Diva grew up splishing along trying to catch the bubbles she and I kicked up in the gutters on our walks. As wet from below as from above, "What the Hell? I'm English-What do you Expect?" When it's time to go out, we go out. Weather? What's that?
Yesterday morning I leashed up The Foster Dogs for their usual 45 minute constitutional and opened the door, ready to set out. You should have seen their faces. "You want us to do what? In the Rain?" was expressed as clearly as if they had spoken. We went out anyway, of course, and after a block and a half of near paralysis
they must have reached down into their inner Collie-core of hardy Scottish herding dogs and they got with the program. Big fluffy Marks and Spencer's bath towels were used for doggie massages upon our return and I made good use of the hot shower for myself. It's not exactly roughing it; we were never in danger of hypothermia; we didn't have to hack down branches to build a temporary shelter. Between the morning and afternoon outings with separate sets of dogs, I filled a washing machine with clothes and towels. I had a smile on my face all day and from the look on the faces of the few car drivers who slowed to make clever comments to us, like "You're going to get wet, you know?", we amused some other people too.