Saturday afternoon, the mailman’s ringing the doorbell woke Carmen and David up from a nap not long after they had fallen asleep. Matt and I looked down at our groggy sourpusses and decided we needed out of the house ASAP. We did some figuring. If we were lucky, we would get as far as the Lance Rosier Unit of the BTNP before I felt carsick. If we didn’t, well, that would be okay, too. At least C&D would probably enjoy the drive (and quit yowling).

On the drive I tried hard not to look around too much. I tried not to read bumper stickers or billboards or see how the grass was growing or how many feet the San Jacinto had left until flood stage. I watched the horizon, and listened to C&D sing and tell jokes (“Trash truck . . . ha ha ha ha ha!” Vacuum cleaner . . . ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!”). But I needed out of the car, and I knew just where we could stop.

The visit to Maxine’s house, described by David to my mother the next Monday:

“We went Massine’s house. Ate rice, and tettup [Catalina dressing]!”

Then Carmen chimes in,

“And rocka rocka rocka!”

Other highlights included ants, bite-ants, animals (the curios in Maxine’s living room), eating lettuce, bread, jumping on a tree stump, flowers, and running in grass.

Rocka, rocka, rocka: