Thanksgiving California trip: from honks to hugs

Geese greeted me at the Rogue River rest stop, pecking at my car.

Once again, I saddled up the Honda and drove south to spend time with my dad in San Jose and Thanksgiving at my brother’s house in the bustling metropolis of Catheys Valley on the road to Yosemite. This year, the weather was cold but mostly dry and I got over the Siskyous both ways without snow or ice. The holidays were the usual overload of too much food, too many loved ones all at once, tons of hugs, and the sadness of having to say goodbye again. My dad is doing well, and the growing family is flourishing. All is well.

I’m writing this in a motel room in Medford, Oregon. By the time you read it, I’ll be back with Annie in South Beach missing all that sunshine and family love. Here are a few pictures. Feel free to comment or substitute your own captions. Happy holidays to you and your loved ones.

My cousin Rob and his Clarabelinda, whom I met for the first time.
My brother Mike showing off the lake near his house in the Sierras.
Isis the psycho dog staring at the reflection of her tags on the floor.
Rogue River again. Thanksgiving? I’m going fishing.

 A season worth of autumn leaves in one tree at Lake Shasta rest stop



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