The only "prize" of our infamous mushroom hunting expedition stayed in the woods.

A rough sea-side picnic under the moonlight -- kids splashing in a puddle.

While October was filled with action and events, November turned out rather shapeless. Weather stopped cooperating; the switch from daylight saving time to standard time took away one hour of dusk in the evening, it's over with camping and road-tripping wherever our whim happens to lead us.

Right at the beginning of the month, we made an attempt to pick mushrooms near Fort Ross. Two years ago, regards to our children made us reserve a hotel room; this year we took a chance and went for a day-trip with lunch in Petaluma. We did not run into any trouble finding the proper woods, but apparently we found ourselves at the tail end of the list of other thousands of visitors there. Everything was completely searched, bushes had hundreds of little paths trampled through them, with shavings of mushroom stems strewn around -- but there was no a single one left, not counting toadstools. Our juniors did not mind -- rambling and roaming through the woods was just the right thing for Tom's exploring urges. Lisa zipped up and down, being generally silly and wreaking not even a single tantrum! She must have like the forest as well.

Shortly before sunset, we moved to the beach, where we granted our kids the promised "picnic". A huge tide was rising, waves beat impressively into the coastal cliffs, a dramatic, huge moon lit the scene, and were it not so cold, we would have stayed there forever. We could still not shake off the chill at an Italian restaurant later, before we embarked on our late trip back home. We played a movie in the car and gave the kids chocolate milk on the way, and they went straight to bed.

Carol in a basket is chasing another celestial body.

Sun is setting into the Pacific Ocean near a historic Fort Ross on the northern California coast.

Our next weekend was far more hectic. Somehow more than one thing came together on the same day, so on Saturday we got up by quarter to six, threw kids and self into the car and zoomed off to Morgan Hill to do balloons. It was a beautiful day, there even was room for me in the basket. And what's more important, our offspring (perhaps! finally!) stopped being afraid of balloons and large black dogs. Tom helped along with deflating the envelope and both of them packed the tarp from under the balloon. This had made us very happy -- it's such a progress since the times when juniors in the vicinity of a balloon, refused to leave the vehicle!
During the ensuing picnic, Tom played with the black female lab named Mariah. There's a black male lab named Tucker in our street, who has the misfortune to be locked up behind an electric fence and barks at everyone like mad; he had frightened our children many times. We try to explain why Tucker backs and that by far not every dog is so evil, but I feel that the playful and completely harmless Mariah has somewhat repaired reputation of all black dogs.

First we thought to drive back home from the ballooning, have a shower, eat lunch and (if it perhaps were possible) lie down for a moment, but Tommy begged so much that he wanted to see the "do muselum with little trains". Being soft-hearted parents and all, we agreed and eventually got to regret it. Tom naturally liked the trains, but was hungry and tired, and eventually caused an infernal scene, about not wanting to leave. Lisa, too, was hungry and tired, and caused scenes throughout our time there. Lesson learned; next time we must take common sense more into account than wishes of a cute little kid (who can in a heartbeat transform into a screaming little monster).

A historic moment: Tom had shaken his fear enough to help during balloon packing.

Lisa, being Tom's perfect sidekick, joins in and both help packing the tarp.

In the end, lunch had arrived and some rest, too -- but only for a moment, and we were up and going again, to get in the door of the Aquarium in Santa Cruz before they close. While I played some interpretive game with Tom there, a man stopped and dropped a comment in the general sense, how we were doing. I thought he was just being friendly, or that he perhaps intended to gently suggest we move on, until I noticed two somewhat familiar kids around him, and then I realized that it was Walther, the husband of my friend Simona. Well, there you have it -- maternal dementia in full strength.

We let all the kids run outside for a while, then Walther had to take his juniors back home for dinner, while we moved to our favorite Thai restaurant -- and then came the last point of our colorful day -- annual lighting of a historic lighthouse at Pigeon Point. It was not as foggy as it had been a year ago, and the lighthouse looked a bit more "common" than with last year's Baskerville aura. The children had probably not noticed any difference, as they mostly enjoyed running with flashlights; they also liked friendly policemen who gave away stickers. We were quite finished well before we reached home -- a hard day's night from beginning to the end.

On Sunday we almost stayed home all day -- we drove only (25 miles) to Felton. We watched Miss Dixiana (a historic steam engine) and walked in the redwoods, hoping to find some mushrooms. Our final bounty was just one puffball and some russula, but we added some (purchased) dried mushrooms, and made a soup.

This banana slug has attracted more children's attention than a passing train, which only made Lisa pluck her ears.

An elderly lighthouse at Pigeon Point gets lit up once year into the full beauty of rotating Fresnel lenses.

I don't get to go much out with the kids during the week these days. Tom spends his mornings in the pre-school, and on return must be immediately and thoroughly fed. We take a short siesta after lunch most of the time -- I do house chores or browse the 'net, kids watch a movie -- a series of experiments had shown that juniors are so tired there's simply no use trying to undergo something right after lunch. Then we drive out to shop or walk (it's too cold for outdoor playgrounds, and it gets dark rather early), or to visit. I had discovered a new friend Jana (not to be confused with Jana of the twins), who has three boys -- Kubík is Tom's age, Honzík is Lisa's age, plus a fifteen month old Míša. We have been taking turns in visiting each other on Wednesdays -- filling up a winter's afternoon for five kids, letting them play with someone else's toys every other week, and we adults enjoy our company.

My neighbors began to organize a "boot camp". Taken out of military context, it means about one hour of exercise for the purpose of re-establishing physical fitness (and shedding excessive pounds as well as kilos). In real life it means circling a children's playground, entertaining local Chinese grandmothers by our occasional uncoordinated interrupting our push-ups and crouches, running in to push the swing with a toddler, or sprinting to a slide where the children began slapping each other's heads with shovels. One may dispute whether such activity would have any influence on my shape, but Lisa has been clearly benefiting. Despite being able to command our entire household, our princess is awfully shy regarding any strange people (and kids). She has been behaved at home without Tommy, but also not entirely able to find something to play with on her own; it usually ends with begging for another movie. Thus being forced to spend some time at the playground, she gets out a lot and begins to find friends among kids from the neighborhood, even without Tom's presence.

A train model in H0 scale is moving through a connector of two main lines at a model train museum in Richmond.

Richmond's fanciers of model railroad realize their passions in a barn of approx. 10,000 square feet.

Lisa is a hard case, sometimes. Tom's terrible twos basically stopped at age three, while our daughter keeps ratcheting up her house terror. She brought it to a new height in a restaurant in Richmond, where she ended up missing her lunch, despite our repeated warnings. All the rest of us had managed to eat (and pay) -- our madam did not. When I grabbed her and carried out of the restaurant, she was rather (loudly) surprised. Sid secured the rear of our convoy, apologizing to other customers. I felt like a kidnapper; Lisa finally realized that the talking phase was over, and opposed her being removed from the place rather intensely. Still, I had run out of patience on that day and so had Sid; our Lisa really had to starve - until afternoon snack, that is.

I was a bit worried how we would -- equipped with a hysteric Lisa -- survive our visit to the model train museum, but the great Richmond exposition made even Lisa interested. At the entrance, I had grabbed a list of curious sceneries that can be seen in all three layouts (for example -- "a pig on a boat" or "occupied outhouse") -- and with approximately ten thousand square feet, I had plenty to do and even after an hour and half, I had by far not found everything. Although by carefully scrutinizing the exhibit, my eye caught a sign that read Caliente next to a turn-out. Caliente is the name of a town downhill from Tehachapi, and so by following the tracks in the model, I spotted our favorite loop, executed in H0 scale. Tom and I then talked one of the train operators to send a wayward train into this far corner, which turned into a high-point not only for us, but also for a sizable herd of gathered train-fancying geezers.

We had planned camping out and climbing in Alabama Hills near Lone Pine in eastern California, for Thanksgiving weekend. Forecast kept us worried; intermittently, it included snow showers and similar pleasantries. In the end it was Lisa who had decided two days before our intended departure. We had found her suddenly half collapsed, napping during her afternoon movie. A quick temperature check revealed 103 (°F). Given her morning complaint about an aching ear, which I had originally attributed to her general opposition to going to pre-school, we drove out to the doctor's. Having ingested some Tylenol, Lisa failed to produce any elevated temperature there; instead, she presented us with an elaborate tantrum about "won't open my mouth". The doctor eventually swayed her by promising her a lollipop, while remarking that our little missy has um..., quite a personality.

Lisa takes a walk in the dry creek bed in Cajon Pass.

A BNSF train is moving mostly empty containers towards San Bernardino and probably all the way to L.A.

Lizzy's temperatures held on throughout Wednesday, and improved in the evening. Still we remained at home on Thursday, roasting stuffed turkey breast and celebrating Thanksgiving by wallowing and relaxing in our home. On Friday, we drove at least to Tehachapi, for Tommy held an ancient promise of some trains. We caught last sunshine at Paso Robles, then we pushed on towards the Loop through an all-saints fog. Railroad traffic always thins out during holidays, and we managed to spot altogether one single train before dark. Our favorite Thai restaurant in Tehachapi was closed, but we found a Chinese buffet across the street, which perhaps our kids appreciated more -- especially since they had things there that their horrible parents keep away -- like pizza.

A night at the motel proceeded with Hippo's terrible snoring, interleaved with Tom's shouting, "Get up, Lisa, it's morning already!" at two o'clock. Then Hippo continued to snore, kids needed to go pee, and so on... I simply have no chance to sleep with my family in the same room. Tommy was all excited in the morning, ready for that restaurant with a model train in the Loop. What a disappointment, the little engine was all derailed and therefore not operational. We waited in vain for any real train to materialize on the tracks outside (apparently affected by the holiday as well). The weather was excellent, though -- I was almost sorry we had given up the camping idea.

We continued south to Cajon Pass -- a location recommended by several train fanciers. Cajon Pass allows crossing San Gabriel Mountains, and features two railroad lines on three separate tracks. The whole area has the status of a National Forest, and so you can wander through a beautiful desert around Mormon Rocks. Juniors dug in a dry creek bed, we walked among different cactuses and spotted several long freight trains. Tom was most impressed by a BNSF consist with only four engines in the front and none in the back. Tommy had concluded that it had to be some extremely strong locomotives, being able to pull such a long train (we did not count them, but there had to be nearly two hundred cars). And the driver waved at us and made the engine ring its bell -- what a beauty!

Cajon Pass: besides BNSF and Union Pacific trains, one can also admire natural formations named Mormon Rocks.

While on a walk, our kids study various natural details, like acorns under a large oak.

Alas, Lizzy began to whine about being cold (I felt quite hot in jeans and a long sleeve shirt; she was wearing a fleece jacket over that). She had no fever, but somehow she faded away -- and I stopped feeling sorry that we did not take a convalescent child camping. We tried to find another convenient spot to watch the trains, but there was no other combination of a free range and a concentration of tracks. Moreover, Lisa refused to leave her car seat, and demanded to go home.

And so we turned around and drove. It surprised us how well our kids lasted through this long ride (altogether some 800 miles = 1,280 km). I was enjoying views of my beloved desert and everything felt quite well. A great shock came in a pass near Fort Tejon -- we descended from a sunny high desert into a foggy winter-time California prairie. Weather and climate changed within several minutes of driving. We still made it home OK, with a strange feeling as if we had been traveling much longer than for mere 36 hours.

Understandably, we did not feel like going on any large trip on Sunday, and so we only hiked a nearby hill. There we had finally found some MUSHROOMS. My Hippo murmured with satisfaction; our catch later embellished our Sunday omelettes and Monday potato soup. Thus the last November day prove to be a success -- only my Hippo rumbled again that first he was to travel for mushrooms across half of California, only to find them by chance "in our back yard".