Three for the Road

Among my three sons, #2 has been away from home the most.

He was in medical school for five years, in hospital internship and review for the medical board exam for another two years, then two more for some medical requirement I can’t remember. Shortly after that, he flew to the US thrice for job interviews and such, then got married and moved with his wife to the US, where my only grandson was born, and where they have been residing for over a dozen years.

It was therefore a rare, if not delicious, treat for Tony and me to be with him for six days on a road trip to different cities of California, going through one route and coming through another.

In San Diego, he treated us to the Old Town, where we took in museums after museums, and a trolley tour around the city and another city, Coronado.

We paused for meals in exotic restaurants, one of which was the Taco Mafia for authentic Mexican food.

 

We also tried a French-Basque restaurant where his dad feasted on frog legs and I pigged out on beef tongue. Both of which, we found out later from his wife, almost nauseated him as they bore strong resemblance to the specimens dissected in his Anatomy classes in medical school. To his credit, he showed no hint of disgust.

San Miguel Arcangel mission, the last of our stop-overs was in a bad state of decay and could fall apart anytime. Unlike the other missions, it has no funding and relies only on volunteers to keep it open to he public.

Tony was grateful, however, that we walked on its grounds before it could have the money for reconstruction.

Nothing compares with seeing something of the past in its original state through the eyes of a hopeless history-hound of a husband, indulged by his second son.    

    

Our conversations were few and far between. Having been blessed with all-boys for children (I am not complaining), I do not expect conversations; I am used to one-word replies to my mile-long questions.

As a result, I have mastered the art of conversations in my own mind, which is not a bad thing, as writing requires that of an author.
  
Three for the road. No adjective could accurately describe our full six days together. But there is a noun that says it all: grace.