The Mission Inn

Spending the day with my sister has been cathartic. First we took care of the important things, like getting our toenails painted. Relaxed in our vibrating salon chairs, feet soaking in bubbling hot water, we’d peer out the window to watch our not so relaxed entourage sitting on a bench outside. Like monkeys on a log, her husband, her son, my son, all subdued and waiting for the polish to dry. I don’t know why we brought them, but we wanted to be together.

They were happy to go home. So we took them there, and we, my sister and I, continued our adventure to grocery stores and shopping malls as there was still more to buy.

In the parking lot before entering the huge conglomerate store, we did that which I have been putting off to do. I called my dad. This time we connected, with his wife at least since Dad was sleeping, and we were told of the time and place that we would meet--Monday between his intravenous feedings. This would cause us to clear our otherwise filled schedule, but it could be done and so we do, leave things open to be changed.

We picked up a plant, because what can you bring to someone who has everything and can eat nothing. Something, at least, in hand for the entry. It’s a pretty plant that looks like the tiniest white roses in a red shiny pot.

“Sometimes I feel like I don’t fit in. So much is changing and I don’t know what I’m going to do next.”

My sister replied, “It’s the same thing that’s happening to all of us. It is just where we are at, reevaluating, refiguring it out, things change and we change and we are always trying to adjust. Isn’t that where we should be in our lives, always trying to figure out what we want to do next?”
We went that night, leaving the teenage ranged boys at home so that we could enjoy the beautiful lights of downtown Mission Inn without the weight of their resistance. If they want to stay home to eat pizza and play video games then let them. They missed the best part.

Oh my God! This was prettier than Disneyland.

In the midst of the downtown Christmas party we stopped to have dinner at a wonderful unique eatery. It looked like, to us, an old bank that had been renovated. The food was unique and interestingly served, but best of all was the musician who sat high in the balcony, hardly seen but definitely heard. Solo in a Marc Cohn style, his guitar and his voice took us through the most beautiful renditions of many favorite songs. With every new song he broke into my sister and I would look at each other and awe.

I took an ink pen from my sister and wrote a message on a napkin. She chided me at first, but I told her, I would appreciate knowing so I wanted to tell him how much his music meant to our experience. I had the waiter take it to him.

“What are you doing?” Asked my sister.

“I’m following your advise,” I said. “I’m getting ready for whatever I am going to do next, and whatever that is, I am not going to be afraid to say how I feel.”

Every day matters.