The Prep

I arrived at my parent's house at noon to find them still in their jammies, not packed, fully in the throes of denial. It took only an hour to get them somewhat ready. I had to promise that I would rent a van to drive all of my Dad’s tools to Seattle when/if he moved out. We are still negotiating about the thousands of vacation slides he has taken over the past 60 years (does anyone want them?)

My folks were really excited about getting their hair cut – since the loss of Dad’s driver's license (which he only brought up every 10 minutes) they have both become hairy hermits, emerging only to go to doctors appointments. So – blinking in the California sun, we troop off to get shorn. Somehow my father has found a re-creation of a dingy barber shop from the lower east side of NY, in a Santee shopping center. He sat in the chair like a king, ordering the young cutter “take more off!” take more off!” The poor guy, I had to sneak in afterwards to give him a big tip. Meanwhile, my mother sat in the ladies version down the street, getting her eyebrows trimmed and demanding that they honor 2-month old coupons (which they did).

Driving here was uneventful; I had upgraded the car rental to get one with 4 doors so everyone could get in without chiropractic adjustment. Fortunately I brought an emergency supply of bagels for snacking. We arrived at the facility on time – amazing! – and I noticed with relief that there is a beer brewery conveniently located down the street.