The trips to visit cousins in southern California are such special memories; Orange County, more specifically Anaheim, even more specific, Garden Grove, were glorious. The miles of endless, level, tree-lined streets, manicured lawns and smooth sidewalks gave us wings on wheels to peddle the afternoons away for hours.
Disneyland and Knott’s Berry Farm and go-cart tracks; 7-11 convenience stores with dime Slurpee’s on nearly every corner, they were all within minutes of leaving the driveway. The curbs collected fruits from the local orchards, spilling over the tops of the trucks, fresh and juicy and delicious.
Hippies and Bohemians, Vietnam vets and surfer dudes and babes, station wagons filled with families from the Midwest on vacation, heads poking out the open windows, looking and beaming with wonder at this living post card of happiness.
Five dollars for each child bought a ticket on the bus for the beach with enough left over for a couple of hotdogs and sodas. Age and safety were of little consequence; the cousins had us rookies covered. Grab a towel and a boogie board and “try to keep up,’ we were told; man they were so cool.
Our birth years were all very similar, as were our sizes and bravado. Any one individual feeling threatened or compromised by another was nonexistent. Our attitudes and temperaments, as well as the gap in our general knowledge about worldly things, however, were quite different. We were naïve. They had seen much much more, yet we were tight then and are still.
Time moves forward and circumstances change. The frequency of our westerly travels eventually diminished and then ceased; the newer responsibilities and activities and interests discovered in adolescence and then into adulthood does that. We’ve all slowed down now, most of us enjoying the harvest of our earlier labors.
Weddings and funerals and computers and Facetime have always kept us caught up on how everyone was doing: who needed prayers or a card or a call. And with each actual one-on-one chance to hug again, we laugh and tell stories just like we’d last seen the other only yesterday.
Their careers have taken them into finance and real estate and hospitality, their homes now closer to the ocean in seaside enclaves, their love of family and of God strengthens with every blessing or every obstacle. I am happy for them.
The lunacy of the Golden State and its native inhabitants bewilders me. The influx of people, legal or not, ethical or otherwise, moral or corrupt, is squeezing the air and the land. The seams of society are bulging from the weight and will one day burst. I’ve often wondered privately how long they’ll hold on to the sunshine and the surf before calling it quits and getting out. But they are fiercely proud and loyal creatures, believing that nothing is wrong.
They have an increasing amount of curiosity, however, about Nebraska, the people and the population; the cost of living and the recreational opportunities. We talk about the agricultural economy and the traffic or lack thereof and the amenities. The golf cart errands taken to gather essential supplies for the home and then return again in under 15 minutes; the quiet walks and peaceful days to read or write or nap.
I email photos of the countryside and tell tales of caring neighbors and farmers on tractors and the noon siren; church bells ringing and bus passengers singing. They say I’m embellishing, but they know I am not.
And then we talk politics and ideologies and other current cultural phenomena. We’re honest about our different views yet still remain polite. I scratch my head thinking about how they don’t see what’s plainly in front of them. I’m sure they scratch theirs too wondering what my problem is.
“How far are you from the airport in Omaha or Sioux City?” they ask. “We’d love to see you and Margaret and Osmond. It sounds almost perfect.”
“What have I done?” I ask myself. “Have I inadvertently created in them the urge to leave the dirty sands of Cali for the rich clean soil of the flat waters?" “That’s a great idea,” I say after I compose my thoughts, “but maybe we should just hook up in Salt Lake…maybe Denver, nothing too far east. It’s all pretty much the same after the mountains.”
I need to watch what I say.
