Laura doesn’t talk anymore about her plans to be away since the time earlier this year that her home was busted into while she was away (after she’d mentioned her away trip on her blog).
But … not only do I have a guard cat, I have my guard Auntie K who makes sure that the raccoons (and less vicious miscreants) don’t DARE step foot inside the place while we’re gone.
And we will be gone.
Off next week (Thursday to be exact) to visit a third cousin and her husband and the third cousin’s mom (who is my second cousin once removed — is that right? I can never get it straight without checking the genealogy sites.) in Harrogate, N Yorks.
In clearer terms, without the second cousin once removed terminology, we’ll be visiting Jen, the granddaughter of the woman who was my grandfather’s cousin, and her family and her mum, who also lives in Harrogate these days.
After Harrogate, we’ll be off walking with the clan for a bit, then to London for a few days of respite before we head home. Three weeks in all.
I’m sure you’re sobbing in your microbrew beer just thinking of the upcoming lack of Sal.
I’ve been telling Auntie K to make sure that (if she’s having a huge sleepover) her guests know that the Bay Bridge will be closed Labor Day weekend.
I’ve also been telling her that there’s a huge blowout planned for Barry Bonds (baseball player — for the non-USAns — someone who’s alleged to have got his recent title record nefariously through use of steroids) at Justin Herman Plaza, just down the Hill and over thataway, at noon on Friday.
Sometimes I leave notes for Auntie K detailing in great and gory detail all the events that are happening while she’s here. We’ll see if I have the stamina to do so this time. Loads of stuff happening, but then, why the lists anyway? Auntie K has always been very sharp about finding her amusements while we’re gone.
The trip? Well, after we hang with the relations in Harrogate, we meet up with our walkers in Manchester, then off to hills of Conwy and the Conwy valley and over to the Isle of Anglesey and off to the sod of Dublin and walking to Tara and from Derry into the Inishowen peninsula and up the next day to the Giants’ Causeway. Well. You get the idea. We’re in a rigid inflatable recreating the journey of St Columba from Derry to Crinan, across the Irish Sea (Iona, I’ve always wanted to set foot on Iona) and then Loch Lomond.
The walkers drop us off in Glasgow and we take the train down to London to putter around where we’ve been and where we’ve never been and then home again home again riggetty jig.
Loads to happen between now and then, though. The wedding of a lovely girl, whom we’ve known since she was a sprout, on Sunday. The older younger one is coming over with his partner on Saturday to sort through the SFF that I’ve put in boxes as up for grabs. I need to check to see if they’re staying the night and make sure they know that we have a wedding celebration to get to Sunday afternoon up at Thomas Fogarty Winery & Vineyards in the Santa Cruz Mountains.
Keb Mo at the Fillmore on Monday. Lunch with school chums from forty years ago down in the south bay on Monday as well. Maybe I’ll stop by the ‘rents place and do some packing and boxing as long as I’m down there.
When am I going to pack for the trip? That’s the question, isn’t it?
Checked the tread on my walking shoes, so that’s good to go. Other than that? Oh. My. So much to do. So little done.