I drive backwards in time...

I called my in-laws to see about driving out for a visit. I was going to wait until later in the week but I figured what the heck. I felt bad about bailing on Uncle Harold and Aunt Lorraine and Jeannie on the very first day, but dad is 85 so...well...expedience is important!
My Uncle Harold very kindly lent me one of his cars. Sadly, it wasn't the Lexus, but still a beautiful Buick LeSabre that makes me green with envy. I realized as I pulled out of the the driveway, I wasn't even sure I remembered how to get to Wasco, but I had a vague recollection. I knew for sure that it was about 30 miles and it was north. After that it got a little fuzzy.

I found highway 99 with only one wrong turn. As I merged onto the highway my first thought was how ugly it was and my second thought was how familiar it was. I cranked up the music and as I drove past countless big rigs and farm trucks, 30 years slipped away and I was a 19 year old girl again, driving out to Wasco to see my boyfriend (only in a much better car than my powder blue '78 Chevette had been). I still wondered whether I'd remember the way. How far was Kimberlina Road again? As a few miles passed, I realized that what my brain thought it had forgotten, my muscle memory apparently knew as my hands took each turn without error. This is not the first time I have driven to Wasco in all these years, but visits are usually several years apart and Derek is usually driving. I drove past miles of almond orchards and vast fields of roses as each visit back merged together like the cars and trucks merging onto the highway. As I took the turn onto Palm Avenue just outside Wasco's city limits my pulse began to race as though when I arrived on Cypress Street, a 19 year old Derek would be waiting there for me. Then my grown up brain reminded me that Derek was back in Nebraska keeping the home fires burning and I was a little disappointed.

I pulled up in front of Mom and Dad's house. The front yard is as perfect and pristine as always. Derek's cousins, Darrel and carol were in town to drive their 1930 Chevy in the Wasco Rose festival parade. Did I mention that Wasco is one of the largest growers of roses in the world? Every year they hold the Wasco Rose Festival and it is quite a spectacle. It is an unforgettable sight driving through thousands of acres of roses, all blooming at the same time. Much prettier than Bakersfield.

As an added bonus, Derek's brother Kent and his family were also in town for the day. Kent's wife is this terrific woman named Virginia. She is Filipino and even after living in the Philippines ourselves, and Virginia living in the states for 20 years, when she gets excited, I can't understand a word she says. She's like the Mario Andretti of speed talkers. Sorry, I don't know any current Nascar names to use as a comparison, so I'll just have to date myself. Anyway, she's adorable. They have three sweet boys who I'm certain should be just slightly older than preschool, but as it turns out, are actually 17, 14 and 12! This does not seem possible.

I settled in to an almost perfect afternoon. I have sat in mom and dad's living room so many times in the past thirty years. I think there is something about a death in the family that makes us nostalgic and a little more aware of the past because as I sat there I pictured the room over and over again with different furniture, different flooring and the same people, but changed over the years; Chi at six months old the first time we brought him to California. Chi with his wife and his own kids. Christmas's spread out over the years; spouses added; each of us aged a little more from gathering to gathering. There was a reassuring sense of familiarity and belonging. The last time I was here was when my mother died and we came out for the funeral. It had helped to be here with them.

I lingered longer than I had planned to. Kent and Virginia packed up their crew and left for Canyon Country, about an hour and a half away. By 8:30 my internal; clock was reminding me that in Nebraska it was 10:30. I dragged myself off the couch, hugged mom and dad and headed for the Buick. As I headed out of town, I opted to roll down the windows instead of turning on the air conditioning. As the evening air rushed in and swirled around the interior, so did a blast of olfactory triggered memories. These weren't really memories of events; more of just living in this place. The air smelled like dust and almond trees and roses and oil refineries and occasionally cattle. I was overwhelmed by how intense my feelings were. Snippets of memories floated around the car on the evening breeze. This was the scent of late night drives with Derek and visits to grandparents with the kids. It also smelled like elementary school and my teenage years. It smelled like old boyfriends and visits to relatives and everything else about my life prior to my marriage. It surrounded me like a warm embrace.

When Derek and I married, we split to the four winds. Leaving Bakersfield behind in the dust and never looking back. I don't like Bakersfield; I never really have. It does have it's moments though. For about two weeks in the spring it's actually kind of pretty, but it's not a place that I love. However, as I drove, I realized that no matter how far across the globe I travel, no matter how many times I do or don't come back, I will always be from Bakersfield and it will always be home.