...where the old get older, and the infirm more so. Here they are having a week of warmer than normal weather. Mom and I go visit S. in a convalescent facility, and sit out in the sunny courtyard. My landlady was jealous to hear about the trip, and M. is still snowed in, but I just wish I were home. I tour the web cams obsessively, including the one at the PA airport parking lot, where my car visibly sits waiting for me.
The flights down were variously entertaining. Port Angeles was completely popsicle-ized when I left, car streets plane runway all encased in ice. Considerable delay before the tiny plane (smaller than usual, only six passengers) was entirely de-iced and the runway ready for us to rev up the engine ferociously and fling ourselves into the sky.
Consequent on the usual incompetent job of travel booking, the route was Port Angeles, Seattle, Oakland, LA, Tucson. Taking off from Oakland, had a perfect view of San Francisco: the bridges, Golden Gate Park rolling out to Ocean Beach. I was just that moment sitting there deciding never to do any discretionary travel ever again (Tucson obligatory), and there was the old home place laid out like a map... OK, so maybe I will after all go down to the City next month, for purpose of seeing very old friends*.
*Um, actually, former communal spouses. But I'm not gonna explain...