Going out of town with your family makes you forget you ever had any problems. You can literally drive away and leave all your troubles behind, just like Joel Grey says in Cabaret.
It didn't happen on the road, because it was new to have moose in the car and what if she died in the car, she never is in the car except last year at this time going to this same place. So I felt a little bit dubious looking at her because she's my whole cup of tea, nobody else's, and I feel that responsibility, especially if she croaks while on the desert road to Palm Springs.
But I figure lots of people die in Palm Springs, it's the Florida of LA. It's really the BEST place to die. It's warm, there's probably lots of oxygen machines we could rent if she needed it, it's a good send off, especially if going to hell where it's almost as hot I think. Less of a transition.
But she didn't die, and we got there, and I think we just left all the problems in the pool. That's why it was so cloudy. All of us shed our many layers of crap, and my niece put an umbrella straw into a cup of ice and then magically there were people just floating around and way too many meals made by not me. Where I just showed up. I could even eat a smore BEFORE I got to the table.
Then back in the pool. Forget what time it is. Who cares if the sun or moon is out. There's nowhere to be and time cripples you. Throw out time. I brought 47 games and we never cracked one game, we never got bored. We floated, burned our bare feet, threw a tennis ball for the dogs, floated, read a little, visited with whoever floated by, peed on the grass, went to a thrift store eventually, but really never went anywhere or did anything.
At one point at night all three kids and I walked out front and down the driveway 2 minutes down into the wilderness and there was nothing but desert around and stars and we laid on the hot road in the empty dark desert and looked up at the stars and it was so quiet.
Then later we were on couches in the area that had carpet, playing a game called Werewolf where it helps if you're a good liar and the kid cousins were very good actors, and later Bess and another little cousin made drinks out of fruit juice in the bar area and another cousin played the sound of Bar Noises so it sounded authentic like a bar and this was the favorite game, drinking shots of grape juice and tipping your waiter.
Best part was waking up and getting tea and getting back into this cushy millionaire's bed not my bed, and reading my book while having hot tea. And then a cousin or two would come in and burrow under the covers and play a game on their phone and there was nothing to do except be comfortable and quiet.
Somehow it's the last night and the kids fold a piece of paper into a hard pointy star and turn off all the lights and they play ninja star which is basically you have to hide in a bunch of places silently in the pitch dark but you can't stay in hiding long, you have to keep moving and finding new spots and the person with the ninja star looks for you and then whales the ninja star at you to tag you. One cousin crammed himself under a desk which later turned out to pop something in his back so when we left the next day we had to take our family photo in his bed because he couldn't move his back.
Then the scurrying of packing the too much food and cleaning all the dishes and trash and straightening and cars are crammed and old people are loaded in with dogs and suitcases and then we're leaving the quiet desert and I'm in the car with no gossiping so I am bummed but I look out the window and think I can't go back to my life everything is different now my life is vacation life real life is too hard and then I get home and my life falls back around me like a silent snow scarf and I am okay, there is peace also in structure.
The Extreme Family noise though, that takes awhile to not miss. I like their sounds, people cooking and talking and floating, just over there. Where no one needs me, but I can help if I want to, when I'm ready. For a writer, just the right amount of space to daydream.
