It’s been a long time since we last went raspberry-picking so this morning, when I was supposed to hit the road and head back home, I called “DETOUR!”

Well, not a detour really. More of an extension of my trip to the sticks. I really do need to get home but raspberry-picking is so special and you can only do it during a few months of the year. As it was we were really too late. Last time we went during August and there were many many many more berries. This time they were pretty picked over. There were a lot of dried berries which kind of made me sad. If only we had come earlier, we could have eaten those berries.

I tried a dried berry. I was hoping it would taste like those dried berries you get in cereal boxes. It did not. It tasted like worm meal. Not that I would know what worm meal tastes like. It just tasted yucky. I spit it out like the dignified lady that I am not. I guess they pump those cereal berries full of sugar or something.

Bug sure is a lot bigger since the last time we were at Riley’s Farm. She liked raspberries then, she likes them now. She’s my raspberry girl. We checked a book out at the library a while back called Jamberry. It’s a silly book with a very catchy poem and great illustrations.

While we were picking raspberries, Bug was walking up and down the rows rattling off the poem, “Click berry, Clack berry, pick me a blackberry.” I forget the raspberry part but it has the same rhythm. Bug knows it by heart of course. She’s very good at memorizing. She constantly puts me to shame.

I love it when we love the same things. It happens a lot but she’s her own little person. You can’t force her to do things she doesn’t want to do. I mean, you can but it’s not enjoyable. So today was highly enjoyable. We ate as much as we picked and we were happy little campers scampering up and down the rows and rows of brambles and bugs. The sun was burning hard on our shoulders. The sky was blue. It was a beautiful day.

Not counting the pumpkins, it wasn’t very fall-like. I wanted to pick some apples too (and I should have) but the thought of making pie when it’s 80 degrees in my kitchen is so unappealing. Can’t it just get cold here already? I want to drink hot cocoa and wear scarves. I know soon I’ll be complaining about being cold. We stupid Californians never appreciate how good we have it, I know.

I guess I’ll take my sunny fall weather. It’s not that bad.

The funny thing is, every time I go to the Farmer’s Market in my neighborhood I’m always looking for apples. I find myself disgusted when there are just peaches again. Peaches! I want to bake a pie! But not peach pie. I want it to be fall! And then I kick myself because everywhere I go on the internet, I read how people are savoring the last days of summer or even fall.

I guess I’ll just have to eat my raspberries with my freezer door open.

I didn’t pack my swimsuit or Baby Bug’s swimsuit when I headed out to the sticks this weekend. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was foggy at the beach when I left and I was in the mood for fall I guess. I even packed long-pants pajamas because my mom often runs her air conditioner so cold that I get a little chilled at night.

My mom called me on my cell phone while I was driving out to the sticks to tell me that the swamp cooler at my Grandpa’s (her new house) was broken but I never got the call. I showed up ready to work and was welcomed with 104-degree heat—in the house. Good times! So we’ve been sweating away and pretty much going crazy.

After meeting (church) today I decided it was time for desperate measures. I headed over to the nearest drug store and bought a kiddie pool, a swimsuit for Baby Bug and some squirt bottles for each kid. I didn’t buy myself a swimsuit because the selection was poor. I’m not really into mongo-padded bras and giant palm-frond patterns yet. Thankfully, we can always use extra swimsuits for Baby Bug and everything was 75% off. Three cheers for summer blow-out sales!

Summer may be over in the rest of the world but it is not over here. It is soooo hot! I finally had enough and put on one of my mom’s super-big tank tops and plopped down with the kids in the kiddie pool. It was awesome. There really is nothing like immersing yourself in a bunch of water on a hot dry day in the desert.

I think we’ll make the most of it and pray that the swamp cooler gets fixed soon!

I’m out in the sticks for a few days and as usual there is something going on. Things are never boring around here. Let me qualify that: things are never boring around here for the adults. The kids have been bored out of their skulls but that’s another story. It’s not really drama that is going on, it’s just the typical chaos. Thus the name Camp Chaos which we changed to Camp Chaotic when we couldn’t get the URL for Camp Chaos.

How shall I explain this? How do I sum up my parents and brother in a quick paragraph?

Let’s just say that it is not uncommon for me to call my parents out of the blue and find out that situation A, that they spoke to me about last week in a desperate panic, has rapidly progressed all the way down the alphabet to situation Q. And usually the new situation (Q) is so much more of a panic than A, that they’ve already forgotten about the original panic from a week ago. Things just happen fast around here. The feeling of never knowing what is going on is probably the only constant.

I don’t know if you’ve kept up with the family drama of my brother moving out of my mom’s house and then back in and then back out and then back in. It’s not as bad as it sounds. My mom is often lonely with my Dad being gone a lot while he traverses the country as a trucker. Having my brother’s family live with her has its stresses but is also a great comfort.

Well, a few weeks back I called to chat about the regular stuff and I found out that my mom was moving out of her house and into my Grandpa’s small mobile home. My brother and his family are staying at her old house and paying the mortgage. Of course that’s the CliffsNotes version and there are a whole lot of other details but my big point of this post is to say that now my mom is moving into my Grandpa’s house. My Grandpa is moving into a rest home.

Have no fear. This post is not about my poor Grandpa getting weak and feeble and being forced to live in a home where they feed him mushy peas. Far from that. He moved into a place called “Camelot” that is not unlike what it sounds. Imagine Cinderella’s Castle at Disneyland crossed with cruise-ship living except it’s not pink and you don’t get seasick. He lives in a castle with grand staircases and turrets. There are even swords hung over a giant fireplace. He eats gourmet food prepared by a local chef and plays pool with the other grandpas that live there. The only thing missing are some princesses. Which of course we are happy to provide when we visit with the three great-granddaughters.

However, these places cost a pretty penny and my Grandpa is not a wealthy man. Getting him into this place has been a bit of a squeeze but with my Mom and Dad renting out his old house (mobile home on a decent lot) and some other relatives pitching in, it works.

So there we are. Did you follow that?

Today I am helping my mom and my sister-in-law move all my mom’s stuff into my Grandpa’s tiny mobile home. Nothing is fitting. It’s a big mess. My Grandpa didn’t really move his stuff out so it’s a jumble of old stuff and new stuff and pretty much stuff everywhere. (What’s new, right?) This is not good because when my Grandpa visits, he freaks out a little bit when he sees his family heirlooms stacked up willy-nilly along side my mom’s boxes and boxes of crap. I’m trying to help but it’s an uphill battle.

In the meantime, I’m finding all sorts of interesting things.

Perfume Nips anyone? No?

How about an eye bath?

Weird, weird stuff. I love going through old things for this very reason. I love looking at graphic design from yesteryear. But it’s also sort of sentimental because a lot of it reminds me of my Grandma who died several years ago.

It’s not that I’m feeling horribly sad about this. I’ve had many many years to think about how much I miss my Grandma. I love looking at her old things and remembering good times we had together. She was an amazing woman and I still feel very close to her. I know she is in Heaven. But at the same time every time we go through a change like this, I’m just reminded of how time does not stop.

Baby Bug is getting older. I’m getting older. My mom’s getting older. I think about these things a lot. Someday it will be me moving my mom into a rest home or maybe she will come live with me. I don’t know. I never know how these things are going to pan out. I guess the chaos runs in my blood too.

I think what’s got me down is my aunt. My great-aunt is also in the same retirement home my grandpa just moved into. He actually moved there so that he could take care of her. She was diagnosed with cancer a while back. Just yesterday she found out she has only six more months to live. This not a shock to anyone. She’s ninety-something years old and in a great deal of pain. We knew the cancer would take her sooner or later.

I guess I’m just sad about it because she is hopelessly depressed. She has holed herself up in her room and doesn’t want to see anyone. I don’t want to judge her. I don’t know what it is like to be nearly a hundred years old. I don’t know what it is like to have your body fall down around you and know that this latest pain is the pain that is going to kill you. Her memory is very bad. Her enjoyment of the day to day is probably next to nothing. But I’m sad for her. Even though I know she has her faith in God and her afterlife worked out…I would hope that she would want to live out every last minute. Why does she want to be alone?

I guess I can’t understand what she is going through until I get there. But I really do hope that I am surrounded by my family at the end and that I make the most of my last days. Is it wrong of me to be disappointed in her? Of course my family will honor her wishes to die alone. She deserves that. She’s almost a hundred after all. She can do whatever she wants to do. But it just doesn’t make sense. I hope when I am that old I will not feel that way.