Our granny snapped this shot from the lookout at Mt.Diablo towards the north

Lisa can still fit whole in a shelter from the strong wind atop Mt. Diablo

We would barely do our laundry and wash our wagon from our dusty expedition to Death Valley -- and I found myself packing for another trip. It was a long planned ballooning get-together, where we had promised our help to our pilots, Jeanne and Tom. Honestly -- we did not feel like going; we would have preferred to insert an "easy" weekend between adventures. Especially after I had carelessly arranged for a Friday trip to Mt. Diablo with our granny Lída, my friend Iva, and her parents. They had arrived on the same plane with Lída, and besides the same flight, they shared hassles with lost baggage.

Although the sun was shining, a wild wind howled atop this four thousand feet high mountain, and the visitors took advantage of my spare sweatshirt. Only then I discovered that I had taken it so easy as not to pack my windbreaker along in the bus; in the end, I put on my trekking shirt over my fleece. I was pleasantly surprised. The shirt isolated me quite well from the wind with only one downside: I looked a bit like an idiot.

Tommy was ecstatic that we went to a "hill with antennas and numbers" (cell towers and exhibits on the interpretive trail), Lizzy threw a few tantrums, but she walked all the way and granny got presented with a view that she had never seen during her previous visits -- which is not an easy feat, as our granny has been hiking around these parts a lot.

A deflated balloon is at its prettiest from inside

Sid and Jeanne are preparing for launch

Back at home, I sat down to a phone and armed with the information that Ivana's parents had already received all their missing bags, I raised my voice at British Airways. A snooty person on the other side of the wire objected to my shouting. So I explained that I had been patiently pleading for their delivery of the last missing luggage of granny's, despite their arrogant (and false) claims that they had done so already a week ago. And I would need to know what else is there for me to do to make them re-open the case and fix their screw-up. The whole discussion seemed very ineffective, but it led to my eventual writing of complaint letters (to baggage department of British Airways, and to their customer relations). Furthermore, granny and I had decided to consider the bag lost for good, and we presented the Brits with a bill for little over two thousand dollars.

I don't know, which one of the above mentioned acts had caused it, but the magic has happened -- on Saturday April 12, the bag showed up at our door. What's really aggravating: inside, I found a note from San Francisco customs that the contents was checked on FIFTH OF APRIL. This means that the luggage had laid around SFO for a WEEK without anybody bothering to tell us about it.

But I'm getting ahead of the story -- I shall return back to Friday: after this encounter with British Airways, I had barely managed to pack and my Hippo showed up from work. Lisa did not make our departure any easier, for she began crying that she'd be sad without mommy and that she also wanted to go on a trip and so on. I peeled her desperately clinging hands from me and reached for my magic box. Inside, I store small gifts and random buys that had missed by-gone birthdays and other celebrations. I pulled out two plastic "dinosaurs" and braced for a long explanation and comforting. No need -- Lisa grabbed one beast, she made sure that the rubber thing was tub-compatible, and ran off to pass the other lizard to Tom. The speed with which she transformed from a trembling heap of disaster into a completely happy and merry child, makes my head spin till today. It's true that she then continued to carry the dinosaur with her to bed and kept explaining at length to anybody willing to listen that she got it so that she would not be sad and weepy, when her mommy went without her on a trip, but still, it has surprised me how quickly she allowed me "buying" her emotions.

Launch area from several hundred feet altitude

Soda Lake with its a very alcalic water is the reason why there's no city built here today, but only scattered dwellings. Carrizo Plain prairie had been recently upgraded to National Monument status.

My Hippo drove all the way to ABRESCO (Annual Balloon Reunion and Earth-Shaking Campout) in California Valley. I took over for the last few miles around midnight, when we were looking for the ballooning campsite in the mesh of dirt roads among rolling hills. Eventually one of the shallow valleys contained a disarray of motor homes and tents. We drove past one more hill, so as to not disturb the campers with our shining lights, rummaging around and talking, and we quickly climbed into our sleeping bags. A moon was shining like crazy, the Hippo was snoring, but I must be getting used to these things, for I slept most of the night. My husband would sleep right through the beeping of his alarm watch at six a.m., but I did not let him.

Before the balloonists finished having a meeting, we were ready for actions. We unpacked the aerostat right next to their motor home and soon Sid and Jeanne were soaring up sky-high. Sid always asks to fly high and far, and his wish got fulfilled this time. I got my chance to fly in the second hop. Jeanne and I admired thousands of wild flowers in the prairie, licking the grass with the bottom of the basket. A quick brunch followed - a meal interlaced with beer or champagne, as well as mingling among other friendly aeronauts.

Tiredness gradually engulfed us -- alas, in the sun-burnt sea of grass, a siesta is hard to hold. Sid and I thus decided to drive out on a small trip and try to find some shade. I love deserts and half-deserts, but here, in a prairie, I was experiencing a certain desperation for the first time. Outside temperature held steady at 88°F, the car would turn into an infernal oven as soon as the engine (and air-conditioning) was off, and it did not seem like a good idea to just collapse down in the grass and lay at the mercy of the sun.

Caliente Ridge has welcomed us with a flood of prairie wild flowers

Carol named this rock, The Dragon.

Driving around Soda Lake, we crossed the Caliente Ridge. After having ascended some thousand feet, it got cooler a bit; a breeze was blowing up on the hills, and we enjoyed views full of spring wild flowers. Eventually we had found a few tattered bushes, in whose humble shade we parked our car -- I stretched out inside with all doors open; Sid dragged a mat farther under the bushes. I lost consciousness almost instantly -- after all, my lack of sleep had accumulated from previous weekend.

Then we let the view to the other side of the mountains lure us into the Cuyama River valley. Our electronic map insisted that many dirt roads would lead there, and we drove down the hill. When we were almost at hwy 166, suddenly our road was blocked by a locked gate and that was the end. We cursed the map and attempted to locate another of the alleged roads -- this one terminated in the middle of a slope. Eventually we had to admit defeat and track our own path back. There was some more partying with the balloonists in the evening, but we went to bed by nine. Jeanne wanted to fly dawn patrol, which meant getting up at four thirty.

Dawn patrol: our balloon lit up first

Dawn Patrol.

Dawn Patrol is an incredible show -- the nightly sky is suddenly lit up by a colorful balloon as the burners illuminate it from inside. This year we had missed actual dawn by a few minutes -- before the balloons got in the air, it was almost a day. Still the launch area was encircled by photographs and onlookers. Sid and I stayed on the ground -- I was quite glad of it, for I preferred to take pictures over hanging on in a basket. Thanks to an early start, our balloon has also finished relatively early. We helped to pack it all, finish whatever was left of our joined food supplies for breakfast, and by noon we found ourselves in Paso Robles again. We showed up at home by three thirty -- and I liked it so; it seemed that our children did not cope well, with both weekends without parents.

A huge change awaited our juniors on this week -- a new preschool. I was a bit worried, especially since a big misunderstanding has surfaced on the first day. Lisa had expected that only Tom would be going to the new school, and she would upgrade to his class with the very popular Ms. Carly at the old school. Thus Sid and I were leaving a crying Lisa in her new classroom, while Tom hugged and comforted her there. However, when I nervously came back for them later, the kids would hardly notice me, much less think of going home. Now, three weeks later, I dare to declare that the switch went very smoothly.

The new preschool class is one hour shorter than the old one. On one side it offers me less time, but on the other side I find it better for the children. Before, they would spend the last hour getting ready for lunch (washing hands etc.), heating up packed meals, and eating. Still, after coming back home we immediately had to fix a snack, for both Tom and Lisa were too busy at the school to eat well. Now I can save precious minutes in the morning by not having to prepare a take-along lunch, and I don't have to worry whether the food will stay fresh for several hours on. We come home earlier, I fix a regular lunch, and I know they eat right and without stress.

A balloon chase includes complications, such as power lines and herds of domestic animals.

Balloonists are mostly jolly and fun bunch.

We declared the following weekend a relaxing one -- on one day, we "just" went to Monterey, and the other one we did some small house maintenance. Then I got my itch again and arranged climbing in Pinnacles for the next Saturday. Naturally, right after that Jeanne wrote us asking for help with their balloon on Saturday morning. In the end, by involving our whole family, I had concocted a clever plan. We would get up by five fifteen, and converge on Morgan Hill by six fifteen. The balloon would launch, Michael and Daniella would pick me up at 7:30 by the freeway, on their way to Pinnacles, while Sid with granny and the kids would later continue to Point Lobos.

As it happens with clever plans, it developed a few little flaws. The first one was that Sid set the alarm clock for five fifteen, but he did not notice the little PM mark. I had noticed it when I woke spontaneously, at six o'clock. I think we have broken a record in getting the family ready -- fortunately I had more or less packed everything on the previous evening -- all we had to do was wake and dress up the kids, brush our teeth, put on some clothes and jump in the car. We arrived to the balloon launch twenty minutes late. Jeanne sported a damp blooded rag on her heard -- while dragging it out of their trailer, the basket had swung out and hit her head. Hence Tom, who also holds a pilot's license, was taking their clients up -- albeit only after the inflated, completely upright envelope had to be embarrassingly taken back down to earth, to straighten out cluttered vent lines. Indeed a morning full of trouble.

At last, the aeronauts flew away, the rest of the crew turned to chasing them, and I was left alone on the parking lot with my climbing bag. Michael and Daniella came on time, but a complication number four occurred in the moment we found ourselves so immersed in talk about tripping and climbing that we missed a turn-off from highway 25 to Pinnacles... and we noticed it some twenty miles later, hence it all became a sight-seeing journey through deserted valleys. Ultimately we had found our way again, reached the park and - believe it or not - found a parking place near the rocks. Perhaps all other potential tourists fancied a wine festival in Soledad. It was hot at the parking lot, and I reached for my shorts. I admit that I have been aesthetically traumatized whenever I wear short trousers (due to my scarred, thick knees), but this was not the time to play hero -- the sun burned like crazy and temperature kept climbing in a dizzying way.

China Cove at Point Lobos.

Sea lion baby and its mother.

I had climbed at Pinnacles National Monument once before, five years ago -- and it had been my only outdoors climbing in America in eight years. I keep going to the gym, but rock is simply a different deal. Michael led the routes, and Daniella and I rode at the other end of the rope. Not that I would like to avoid leading, but with this (for me) untested material, I was quite lost. One does not know what to look for, what is going to hold and what will not. By noon I was also half battered to death by heat -- I skipped one crack (for I don't quite care for them) and just watched Michael and Daniella. After noon, a partial shade slid over the wall, I perked up a bit, and was again willing to climb.

I might have contracted a mild heat stroke whilst on the rocks. Despite quaffing down lots of water throughout the day, I arrived at home with a headache and an unquenchable thirst. Apparently I have come out of shape in all possible ways. On the other hand -- it really was a very hot weekend. We had therefore spent Sunday in our pool -- swimming in April may be another pool record of ours. The water was not very warm, but little Luke managed to splash in it almost continuously for some three hours. Our children are a bit more spoiled and kept emerging out of the pool rather willingly. It appears that we were quite loud -- a concerned neighbor came to ask whether we were OK, for she mistook our kids' merry din for an extended crying (or perhaps she overheard my blood-curdling squeal when I finally resolved to jump into this icy water).

Carol climbs at Pinnacles... and Sid with kids frolic at Point Lobos

Lisa is captivated by elephant hunting (in the brook, using a twig).

On Monday it began to cool off again, yet Tom and Lisa insisted on going to the pool. The did not last long, for the water temperature went below seventy degrees. Then Tommy started to scream that he has noticed a little ant drowning in the pool, and he jumped in the water again with his foam "noodle" (he can do a few strokes, but he can't swim yet). By making waves and because the pump was on, the poor little ant continued to elude Tom's reach, until it got swallowed by the skimmer. I thought that would end the antsy affair, but Tom broke into a desperate wail that the poor creature got trapped in the drain and that we must save it. When I opened the cover, I found out that Tommy was not trying to save an ant, but a fat woodlouse, which was fortunately unsinkable and swirled in the drain. In the end, Tom had fished out countless woodlice and similar (probably dead) buggers with a sieve, and he selflessly deposited them near a rose bush, so that they'd have some leaves to eat.

I don't have many cute stories with Lisa. Her Snootiness has been having her defiant phase, and would respond with negatives to just about anything, which is somewhat tiresome. This "nice" phase lasted several months with Tom, and we get mentally prepared for a tough summer. Well, sometimes we have a laugh. When our neighbor tried to compliment her by saying how cute Lisa was, our girl snapped back, "I'm not Cute, I'm Lisa!" Similarly, she startled granny, who had said, "My goodness, you ate it all nicely." An offended Lisa replied,  I am not any goodness, I am Lisa!" It seems that at least self-awareness it very strong with our Lizzy -- on the other hand she's got no problem declaring self a little kitten, especially if we demand some unwelcome activity -- e.g. cleaning up her toys or finishing her meal -- from Lizzy.