This past December's issue of the Slo Coast Journal introduced my friend of fifty-seven years, Ron Pellet. The article provided Dear Readers the backdrop of how we met, plus provided some autobiographical stuff to round out the intro. The reader knew that my friend had shoulder and leg problems that, at the time, required him to seek placement in an assisted living facility. He chose a Lutheran medical home in Colorado where a lady friend of many years resided. I drove him to that facility this past October.
However, this April his shoulder had significantly recovered from the rotator cuff surgery, and his right leg had been refitted with a plastic bracing, allowing his using a walker. Moreover, his lady friend had serious memory lapses following their conversations. Ron therefore wanted to return to his Over-55 Community in Paso Robles. To accomplish that goal, he arranged the logistics of having his Colorado furnishings moved, plus encouraged a niece, Cheryl, in Oregon to drive to the Paso Robles home to meet the movers and set up the furnishings. Cheryl agreed to the plan and assured Ron that she'd have a roast beef dinner prepared when he arrived. And finally, he asked me to drive him back, willing to underwrite all expenses.
Ron's been physically tested for over a week (as of this writing, July 4th), and there are a few minor gaps requiring closure. Still, with a walker or with his power chair, he can reach the pool and spa of the Traditions community. More importantly, he can travel outside of the Over-55 complex. For example, we have resumed having Sunday breakfasts with my son in San Luis Obispo.
During the months that he dwelled in Colorado, we telephoned one another daily, taking turns on who made the call. We further communicated via e-mail, exchanging jokes and playing comedic word games. Rarely did such communiqués — either verbal or electronic — fail to elicit laughter.
Remember, we both hold to the motto Ya Gotta Laugh!
On my recent eastward drive, I lost a set of old glasses that I had carried to help read small print — a circumstance leading to laughter in that the incident reinforces the notion that old folks continually put something somewhere, and then have to look everywhere in the hope of finding the object in question. I looked everywhere, including the Glenwood Springs motel where I had spent the night before reaching Arvada, north of Denver. Plus, I inquired at the café close by where I had eaten dinner.
On the first leg of our journey home, I highly praised this one Mom & Pop café in Richfield, UT where we planned to spend the first night. I had eaten at the place when I returned home last year after delivering Ron to the assisted living facility. It sat on the NW corner of a main street in the downtown area. I could hardly wait to take Ron there and prove the eatery's virtues. With lodging secured, I then drove to the place and parked. We approached the front door and stepped inside. They had just closed. The waitress and cook were sympathetic, but. . . .
At least the cook recommended a BBQ restaurant, where I got two sammiches to go. Better'n nuthin'. Even so, as Ron often comments, "Something else that didn't work."
It's a quirk of mine to try and find a locally owned and run diner when on the road. I have a bias against major food franchises. Therefore, after we left Richfield the next morning and headed for I-15, we took the turn south to Las Vegas, heading for Cedar City where we decided to stop for a late breakfast.
I pulled off on the first ramp north of town, and headed west for a spell with the expectation of finding a local restaurant. Nothing but block after block of rural residences. Nothing else. A woman had stopped her car at a stop sign, and I had a chance to ask her for a place where ". . . town folks went to eat." She started to explain how to get to this one kitchen, but then said, "I'm going that way; follow me."
Five minutes later we sat in a booth where we enjoyed down home cooking with local color. Ron and I were the only identifiable tourists. Surprisingly, the southern on-ramp to the freeway awaited but two blocks away. If only I had taken the second off ramp to Cedar City rather than the first.
After a smooth and easy passage through the scenic canyon south of St. George, we broke free just shy of Mesquite to continue comfortably cruising to Las Vegas. We had discussed spending the night at Primm (last Nevada casinos before the California stateline). However, even by Whiskey Pete's I had no sense of road fatigue. Therefore I proposed, depending on vehicle congestion and possible weariness, that we might spend the night in Barstow.
Reaching Barstow, the clock showed many hours of sunshine lay ahead; so we thought we might spend the night at Tehachapi.
Not to be. The unabated traffic compelled no delay. I continued motoring past Tehachapi while allowing the possibility we might thence spend the night in Lost Hills after taking Hwy 99 North at Bakersfield to hit Hwy 46 West.
With regular telephone contact with Ron's niece waiting at his Traditions Loop quarters and knowing that she had dinner waiting, we pressed on, reaching Paso Robles with daylight to spare and my feeling unstressed from continuous driving most of the day. (As an aside, let me suggest here that my dropping a few pounds increased my energy level.)
Stepping into his old quarters, and soon greeting neighbors, Ron knew that returning to San Luis Obispo County had been the correct choice. And, it hasn't taken long for him to return to the pool for light swims followed by a spa soaking.
Welcome Home, Ron. Welcome back to the place you moved into five years ago and enjoyed. May you live long and prosper.
(Weight loss report: Dec. 2011: 214 lb; Mar 2012: 199 lb; July 2012: 185 lb)
