Our Wagon Hits the Road

Our Wagon Hits the Road
November 20 - December 5, 2006
Farewell to our trusty road trip companion; a historic phonograph in a historic house; Lisa's early attempt for a Darwin Award



	Lisa riding a metallic hippo



	The kids were not interested in the historic house -- they preferred to run in the garden.

After our trip to Fort Ross we all lied down with a wicked preschool virus. Meanwhile, important things were happening, and since they regarded practically a member of our family, I would like to mention them here. As you may have noticed, with Sid I married into a relationship with a Wagon. Our white station wagon had been with us to many places -- to the oldest trees on Earth, to the lowest dry place on Earth, on the shore of the deepest lake in the United States; it drove us on the highest located road in California. It took us through hot blasting deserts and through blizzards, over asphalt pavement and over dirt roads, and once, unplanned and somewhat hastily, off the road.

The poor wagon got pushed out of the garage this year by our new bus, and became driven sporadically and out of old sentiment, rather than need. We are naturally rational people and so we had agreed that it would be a good idea to sell the Wagon. We can hardly try to keep fixing it ourselves and with the labor cost here in the Valley, every little fix of a used car doubles its price (but not its value). Nevertheless we kept on hesitating and had put off this unpleasant step. Then we took our bus to an oil change to Tony's, had mentioned our extra car, and had received a phone call from an interested party on the same day.

Soon the deal was closed and I found myself comforting Sid that the Wagon was going into Jirka's "good hands". That not being enough, I had to reach for a heavy weapon -- the car would now be riding in the midst of a beautiful southern Oregon forest. And we even got invited to visit, and we can check it out, how it looks with Oregon plates and if it is doing well. Do we have a happy Wagon, or what?



	Historic house of Henry Rengstorff.



	Interesting things can happen even during a dull hike - like throwing rocks into a mouse hole.

With the sale of the old Wagon, we began to play musical chairs with our plates. Our newer Wagon had inherited HROCH after our old car, and for the bus we had ordered WT HIPPO. The rest of the transaction proceeded without a hiccup -- the boys signed some papers during a family lunch in a Thai restaurant.

The whole affair took place sometime around Thanksgiving. This year we celebrated it, like for several years now, by being collectively ill. Thus we skipped the party, staying within reach of our beds, videos, and big mugs of hot tea. The day after Thanksgiving is proudly labeled "Black Friday" here in America. Most pre-Christmas sales begin on this day and many eager shoppers don't hesitate to stand in a line overnight or since three a.m., hoping that the store doors would open by five, and they can conquer the shopping paradise. Understandably, we try to stay far away from the consumption stampede. This time, actually, we meant to just drop into one of the stores for some little thing, not really needing it that much. Right the first pass through a parking lot made it clear: for this we really had no patience, no endurance, no time, and so we just continued to our usual Vietnamese soup lunch.

We continued letting the crowds go mad on Saturday, and we went to the San Francisco ZOO instead. It was a beautiful, sunny day and the garden was pleasantly empty. We keep gathering more and more evidence that places like this demand to be visited earlier in the morning -- procrastinating crowds usually start pouring in by noon. Even so, a mild line developed to the children's train. Tommy enjoyed the animals this time, besides his favorite storm drains and curbs. Perhaps he responded to our educational attempts during previous visits, for he easily recognized all major animal species. Lisa performed more of a circus act -- she fell head first out of her stroller. It was one of those situations where you stand right there, next to the toddler, and you're never fast enough to intercept it. I normally strap her down, who knows why I did not do so this time. Luckily, our stunt girl is quite bouncy, and except for a small bruise she did not inflict any injury on herself, and she had forgotten everything in a few moments.



	A view from Fremont Peak towards Monterey



	A view from Fremont Peak to the east

We had planned a trip to Fremont Peak for Sunday, but then we found it drizzling outside. We thus opted for a different interpretive excursion. Our favorite Shoreline Park contains a historic Rengstorff House. I had noticed this interesting house long ago, but it's been open to public only on Tuesdays and Sundays, which prevented us from ever seeing it from inside so far. This time, we succeeded. A lady docent in a costume was glad to have some clientele, and patiently endured our children. They, however, did not find the display interesting and I had to eventually take them outdoors again. The lady finished her lecture for Sid and then kindly repeated just for me, whatever I missed due to the kids.

Henry Rengstorff was born in Germany, and came to California in search for gold. He did not cross the continent; instead, he took a long voyage on a ship, around the whole South America and Cape Horn, which delayed him a whole year. He had arrived to San Francisco in 1850, with only four dollars in his pocket -- and so he got hired on a steamboat which crisscrossed the Bay between San Francisco and Alviso. Later he took a job on a farm and eventually saved money to buy 290 acres of land in San Jose. Later he extended his business -- his farm in Milpitas produced grain and hay, while cattle was raised near San Mateo, and his fruit trees bloomed in Los Altos.

In 1864 he had bought land in the area of today's Shoreline Business Park, and had built a house there. He married Christina Hassler, also of German origin, and had seven children with her. Docks were founded in the place of the house's current location -- an important transfer point of merchandise for the whole Mountain View area. In 1959, Henry's grand-son Perry Askam had sold the family residence to a development company. For next twenty years, the house lay waste, until in 1979 the City of Mountain View purchased it for a whole one dollar -- and moved the entire building into an unused location of the original docks. The house got to move once more, yet only a little bit -- in 1986, to its today's parcel. The moves were certainly complicated -- original beams run through the ceiling of the whole ground floor, the house is very compact and has to be moved as a whole.



	Tom enjoying a view from Fremont Peak.



	I had collected the title Mother of the Year during our hike.

Interiors are furnished according to ancient photographs. What caught my attention again, was the dark green wallpaper and overall dark and gloomy style. Perhaps a hundred years ago, people had found things cozy for a completely different reason than today (or am I the one who's weird?). The ground floor of the house consists of libraries and sitting rooms, with a kitchen attached to a dining room -- but already belonging to the servants' wing. Only the ground floor is equipped with fireplaces; upstairs, which used to contain bedrooms, was not actively heated. Either the warm air from below was enough, together with lukewarm chimneys -- or people then used to be much less sensitive to cold weather. An original phonograph is on exhibit in one of the rooms - and the docent will gladly and without hesitation demonstrate its function. Sid admired its setup in the corner -- he said that aiming the sound funnel onto the wall improves base. The embarrassed docent admitted that they actually turn it this way for another, more down-to-earth reason -- to protect their visitor's hearing. There's a turntable there as well -- one with a crank -- and instead of a VOLUME knob it has a little door, and by opening and closing, one can regulate how loud it plays. It's impressive to watch in this digital age how ingenious the inventors were, being limited to mechanical solutions.

Fremont Peak's turn finally came on the following weekend. Although Tommy kept insisting since the early morning that he wanted to go to an airport, and that "we cannot go to a hill for it was demolished". It seems that his age of rebellion has reached a stage when side by side with a crass psychological pressure, Tom begins to use logic much finer and refined. Alas, he had chosen the wrong parents for this -- in spite of his insisting, we drove out according to plan. Tom had soon put his protests aside and merrily hiked up the slope. Lizzy, who must do everything just like her brother, trotted bravely along. The kids amused themselves for a while by throwing small rocks into mouse holes (after we had to forbid them throwing medium size rocks down the hill, and potentially onto heads of hapless bikers who were amassing there). Tom then balanced on beams reinforcing the trail side. We were afraid that he might roll down, but he mustered it perfectly. Lisa, of course, demanded to step step as well -- and in her case, I did not let go of her little hand. When she had safely reached the regular trail, I let go. In that moment she had lost her balance, stumbled a couple steps backwards and tumbled back first over the edge. She made about six somersaults before she came to a halt against a tree; blood in my veins had frozen. Fortunately she relaxed like a rag doll - all she got were a few surface bruises on her face. In a few minutes she wanted to crawl up boulders again. Sid carried her, against her loud protests, across the last stretch of the trail, where one really climbs on rocks. Tommy, however, quite enjoyed this rock-climbing number -- I think that our little son grows up to be a mighty hiker.



	Mountain climber Tom, on top



	Lisa did not let a fall from the slope spoil her fun with hiking.

Overall it would seem that our kids grow up well and prosper. We have declared Lisa to be a big girl, and she had received a regular bed. We tensely watched by, how she would react. The result is incredible -- she sleeps now almost till eight thirty in the morning -- which is a whole half hour longer than with a crib. She still sometimes wakes up crying, but sometimes she just quietly goes to play, and we extract her out of the kids' room just so that she does not wake Tom, too.

Lisa has been advancing quite a bit lately. I started to count, how many distinct words she uses, and gave up at the count of fifty. Sometimes she forms simple sentences, like "huf huf bum" ("woof woof boom") -- my dog has fallen down. I often hear her favorite "mama íst" ("mama 'ead") -- when she scrambles up to my lap with a book. She accepts no compromise -- she must sit on my lap, and we have to go through the whole book an comment on everything that's in it. One book often does not suffice, and we scan through half of her bookcase. To her benefit I must add, that she can also read on her own. Those are the moments, when I run with my heart racing, to check what had happened that our girl is so very quiet -- and I find her sitting in a corner, the bookcase contents pulled out and scattered, and her being captivated so much that she did not even register me. It seems that since her lower canines had teethed through, her attachment to me (mother) had quieted down. Lisa lets other people pick her up, and responds to strangers' goo-gooing with a merry "hi!" and a smile, as opposed to a hysterical squeal. She simply loves her swimming lessons; as soon as she recognizes our morning preparations, Lisa runs for her bathing suit and yells, "plava, plava" (&swi', swi'"). In the water, though, she makes quite sure not to be splashed in her face. She also does not intend to jump from the edge -- such silly thing, when every normal person can turn on her belly and safely first drop in one leg and then the other. In this, she follows Tom -- he's also being such a dame.

Tommy has lately grown very self-reliant, and strangely enough, nice to Lisa. The fact that his sister had learned to walk, turned her into his real buddy. They provoke each other into chases, mimic one another; and bystanders' sentiments grow thick, when each pushes own respective truck or a toy stroller. Tom, naturally prefers to push an empty one, or at most filled with leaves or rocks. Lady Lisa pushes her doll. Her mothering instincts cannot be overlooked -- Lizzy approaches every baby in sight and loudly admires it. Surprisingly many parents tolerate her enthusiasm with a proud smile.

Tom began to make things up. Besides fictive reasons why he won't do this or that, whatever his parents had planned, he invents new words and "songs". For example, while going through his favorite book about ocean creatures, he passionately defended a claim that there was not a sea horse, but a "yeesh". He also tried his tutura on us once again.

Cars, the movie, have been a great hit in our home. Perhaps that's the reason St. Nicolas (A Czech tradition on December 6) brought the kids little toy cars from this film. He came at night, unseen by anyone, and delivered into a metal can. He was wise to also give one car to Lisa, which prevented serious fighting. With approaching holidays we had taken to lighting up our electric house decoration. The children like to monitor similar lights on houses in our neighborhood, and we could not stay behind. I must say that this year, I truly look forward to Christmas. With my Tom, to whom I can explain many things, and with my alert Lisa, it will be something completely different than last years.

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