that feels really, really good

yesterday: the voyage east
i got another wild hair and drove to wenatchee. i had never been. off the interstate, somewhere outside of cle elum, is a 20' sculpture of a human constructed from painted hubcaps. it is smiling. hwy 97 is twisty and leafy and dreamlike- i was blaring "your blue veins" and grinning at nothing. visited the tiny town of liberty, population 129, which consisted of one road bordered by ancient shanties, rusted tractors, and a yard full of partially constructed wooden outhouses. i got out of the car to watch a slew of goldfinches devour something in the gravel.
the topography of washington is very abruptly diverse. in a 5 mile span one can go from alpine splendor to mossy fernadelica to ponderosa-rife desert. i found the latter in cashmere, home of aplets & cotlets. i have always wanted to visit the fabled factory of these novelty treats (ever-present in my xmas stocking when i was growing up). and it was underwhelming, of course. the place is tiny. half of it is a gift shop of the namesake, mustards, honey, rinky-dink potholders, a shot glass with an apple on it. i took the tour. i felt like a collossal dork as soon as i did so. it was myself (unwashed, looking like i'd been sweating in a tent for days) and five tourists in their 50's, all of us reluctantly donning the mandatory hairnets at the request of our chirpy, high-school-aged guide. the workers had gone home already so everything was quiet and clean and fake-seeming. apparently every aplet and cotlet and fruit delight and whatnot is made in this room. urns at one end cook down the fruit, which is then mixed with pectin, sugar, nuts, and something else that i cannot recall. then the goo is chilled in trays, dusted with cornstarch, cut apart, shaken in a vat with more cornstarch, and coated with a shitload of powdered sugar. everything is wrapped and boxed by hand. at the end of the tour (which lasted all of 10 minutes) our guide said "omigod! i just realized i didn't put on my hairnet!" she giggled. "i never forget this far into the tour!" so the next time one is compelled to eat an aplet or a cotlet or whatever, think of an unfortunately-complected girl from podunk, washington, shedding into the cooking area.
the bathroom there was very nice. it smelled of apples.
and there is an "eels road" in cashmere. eels!
wenatchee is about 10 miles east, appearing to squat in a deeply beige valley. even the leafy trees look brown. there are a lot of pickup trucks, strip malls, car dealerships, and fast-food joints. apart from the gargantuan wal-mart and home depot et al, everything appears lodged in the '70's- as if the region shrugged and gave up. i stopped at the salvation army. same crap, different town. there was a very large assortment of novelty avon bottles. i read the test paper someone had left in an electric typewriter: 'now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their party' was across the top, of course. where the fuck does that phrase come from?
highway 2 going west: i drove through leavenworth, which always makes me smirk. the hotel where b was arrested is still there. even the 7-11 has been dirndled up. it is all very twee and 'ja!' and annoyingly picturesque. i seem to end up in leavenworth about once a year for no particular reason and never even slow down. (obviously i was never aware how close it was to the wonders of wenatchee.)
the scenery changes from simply lovely to fucking goddamn stunning as fuck. i coasted the entire way down the mountains, doing at least 70, arm hanging out the window, music too loud. it was cloudless and waterfally and i had one of those rare moments of flying and being invincible. i was still high when i reached gold bar. i pulled into a petrol station still smiling. "are you always this happy, or is it the sunshine?" said the old man in overalls at the next pump. "a little bit of both" i said.
today: the voyage south
my grandparents are doing poorly enough that my aunt liz has flown in from illinois to "save the day," as my mother sarcastically put it. i went to puyallup to see them. my grandfather kept nodding off, my grandmother exhibited blatant dementia, and liz and my mother and i shot the shit. among the gems: liz saying quite casually that my cousin no longer wants to live in atlanta because "it's too black", but "at least she isn't bulimic any more"; my mother giggling uncontrollably after my grandmother asks the same question (and is answered) three times in a row; opa's obsession with their cat, who just does the cutest, cleverest things; the rainstorm outside, the blown glass, the shell leis from kauai, my grandfather's rainbow suspenders, my grandmother's sea-green eyes rheumy yet kind.
every time i leave them i wonder if i will ever see them again. my grandmother will be 91 in three weeks. my grandfather, my mom suspects, won't live to his birthday in august. "he's ready to go" she said. "he has no will." and i am inclined to agree. this is horribly sad but weirdly calming as well- to know even before it happens that his death will not be a tragedy, but a relief to him.
after, at my request, my mother showed me all the places she lived in tacoma. my father proposed to her at a gas station on 6th avenue- a different one than where they first met, when she was a window-washer and he was a skinny-chested letch who liked her legs. everything in my family seems to begin and end in tacoma, washington. the UPS fieldhouse where my folks smoked grass with the members of sugarloaf. the parking lot at point defiance where i was conceived in the backseat of a dodge dart. the intersection where my other grandfather had his accident.
and around the corner from where my mother lived after high school: ted bundy's house.
"no fucking way!" i shouted. "did you know him?"
"no, he graduated before i did. but his parents still lived here."
the house is small and cute, 40's style, with a nice yard and a red door. i took a picture.
*
the sun had reemerged. there was, in fact, a double rainbow.