Their first day of school — eager Lisa and careful old hand Tom.

Our encounter with a cow did not turn out as bad.

We had returned from Canada in the middle of the week. I was telling myself that the extra days before the school starts would mean taking it easy. How mistaken I was! In the piled up mail that I went to pick up from the post office, was a letter from the school — announcing that Lisa will enter AFTERNOON classes, plus a stack of school forms to fill out: those that I had already carefully submitted on the day of registration. I tossed all my plans to the side and continued straight to the school office. An admin explained my question about the forms, reasoning that they sent them since I hadn't submitted them. I confess it left me speechless for a while — but only for A WHILE. Then, I think, was quite articulated and clear, so much that my original forms got soon found filed in the wrong folder.

I did not waste any time back at home and wrote a letter to Tom's first teacher that I am sorry for Lisa not being able to attend her class, and that while I understand they would not make any consideration in the case parents don't bother filling out their forms, in our case it was a clerical error. Fortunately it came to pass soon that somebody cancelled their attendance and Lisa was reassigned in their spot. We did not only gained the morning class slot, which I find much more merciful than afternoons (I won't repeat myself, see last year's journal), but mostly Lisa was looking forward to advance as a big girl to Tom's class, with Tom's teacher. Not to speak of how simpler it is for me to communicate with a teacher that I know, who's teaching style I know, and whom I simply like.

Roosevelt Lake

Hippo has donned his hood — it's cold even in the sun.

The next was still technically a vacation week, but it was all skewered through with school things. There was the orientation for parents of children entering kindergarten; that took one night. An open door day followed for Lisa's classroom, and Tom went to meet his new teacher. I was mostly curious who of the kids would be in Tom's class. Every year, children mix in their new classes here, and get a new teacher. First I found such concept weird, but after some pondering I find it much better than a person staying for first eight years in an unchanging team, with same teachers tracking for several years. Mixing can resolve issues like bullying — breaking apart bully gangs, separating kids that form explosive combinations, and I also thing that there's a greater chance that Annie won't be always labeled the weirdo girl who wet herself on the trip to the ZOO till she's fifteen, and Joe won't be forever the boy who brought lice to school.

The disadvantage is that reordering makes some pupils miss practically all their friends. This had happened to Tom, but fortunately it's something one can endure in the local system. All classes share recess (twenty minutes) and have a common lunch break (fifty minutes), and there's plenty of time for seeing friends and running around.

I am getting ahead a bit — on the weekend before the school started, a neighborhood party took place. In previous years, we organized it with neighbors as a celebration of Fourth of July. This year it got somehow disjointed and nobody kept up with it in June, and so we agreed to turn the whole thing into a farewell to vacations. We were hoping that just before beginning of the school year, more people would be in town and weather won't be as hot.

A bend.

Gaining elevation.

The plan succeeded very well in the end — many people came, we even had a parade. And then we sat around, chatted with old acquaintances and newcomers, and juniors jumped in a giant inflatable castle with a slide. Our neighbor Lisa pained kids' faces, a few table games got together bowling and such. We lasted deep into the afternoon, breaking our social record — still the tables continued to be busy with party folk (as I found out, having returned later to the crime scene for my utensils).

And then came the first day of school. Tommy tried to look like an old hand, giving mostly evasive answers to people's questions whether he looked forward to it. I think he was rather worried how his first grade would work out. After all, kindergarten is just a preparation phase, and all new first graders understand that they are advancing to a completely higher level. I was apprehensive about the schedule. When I recalled how exhausted Tom used to come home from kindergarten, after mere three hours and twenty minutes of school, somehow I could not picture him spending time there from 8:15 to 2:40 (Wednesdays only to 1:15). To my relief, it works out well, apparently thanks to all the long breaks and total physical outlet at noontime. A large playground lay adjacent to the school, where juniors can scream, run, chase each other, kick ball, hang off monkey bars, create and test paper airplanes, read, jump and altogether release steam and relax. Our Tom, who began to wait at the door like a dog twice a day ever since he learned to walk, demanding to be released out, now after coming back from school likes to crawl in a corner with his toys.

A problem arose eventually where I did not expect it. At the end of the first day it was Lisa who came back from school weeping. She did not get her Elmer. I know it reminds one of Betty MacDonald and the story of sausage books — but Lisa remembered one thing above all about Tom's kindergarten: his first homework about little elephant Elmer — and came to believe that Elmer must be her first-ever homework.

Walker Meadow

Hippo filters creek water.

Start of school was well behind us — we concluded that time came to take advantage of granny's presence and ride out just Hippo and I, without children. It was clear where we'd go since Fourth of July — horseriding at Leavitt Meadows. And so we packed ourselves into the wagon on Friday night and by eight drove out east. We played Cimrman's scleroticon Plum and savored a general relaxed feeling. In the context of taking it easy we dodged the Yosemite highway and sped over deserted local roads through Central Valley. It was dark like in a coal sack, Cimrman's Theatre scored laughs, and my brain spent several priceless seconds to process that a slightly darker shadow in the road was not just a shadow, but a giant deep black bull. I curled in my front seat and yelled "watch for the cow" and Hippo turned the wheel and I prayed for the cow, which was big — well, like a cow — to not land in my lap. When it already seemed we missed it, a loud bang came from the column on my side — the cattle apparently swung its tail and hit the rear-view mirror, which twisted in its joint flush with the door and cracked. It wasn't pretty, but I still think we came out quite well — the cow marched away to hell somewhere and we kept our heads.

Overnighting in the car at Herring Creek, we finished the rest of the way across Sonora Pass to Leavitt Meadows. Farnsworth (as usual) awaited Hippo, and Ethel for me. Plus Pat the cowboy. Plus local dogs and cats and Craig and Austin and some mules. Winter could be smelled in the air, but the sun has warmed up the friendly grass patch quite optimistically. I even peeled off one layer under my shirt after riding for a while. Ethel turned out to be a very nice horse. She followed my hints, compliant and with a soft, smooth stride, even trotting let me keep my balance — and I could learn something new again.

We ascended and passed tourists that were returning down home — forecast was getting worse, and the end of summer was upon us. At one moment I noticed the wind running some white fluff past us — before I realized it was actually SNOW. Fortunately it was just a small shower, but even so the warmed up grass patch by the pack station had irretrievably gone.

Don't let the blooming meadow fool you — it's crazy cold here.

Late afternoon at Walker Meadow was not warm at all. I was glad to change from my warmed-up saddle to my thermo-underwear and quickly put on a thin sweat shirt, a fleece, and a windbreaker. And wooly hat. We made the tent, started a campfire, I cooked dinner. I'm convinced that the rice with tuna WAS warm, but before one carried the spoon from the bowl to one's mouth, everything got wind-chilled icy.

One of Chains of Lakes.

We crawled into our tent at sunset — completely chilled, there was no point to build up any social expectation. As soon as we zipped-up the top, out of the wind, it got much warmer. Still there came a few showers at night and by the slippery hissing on the tent I dare to say that the precipitation really was not of liquid persuasion. Our gear still sufficed, and it was a good night.

We set out to our return journey completely packed — I admit that even a pair of oxen would not pull off me my thermal underwear — it's got extended sleeves with a hole for a thumb, and it doubled up as gloves (which I did not think to pack along at the end of August). The very idea of exposing even one extra square inch of my skin to the elements was unbearable. Similarly I kept my underpants in my saddle — it got severely more cold. Hippo was wearing ALL clothes he packed for the trip.

Pat took us through places we did not know before. Mountains got on their winter look and we did not see any more hikers this time, adding to the impression of a land completely deserted. This was fine: I did not realize how much I missed moments of quiet, and cleansing my mind of the merry-go-round of everyday chores. Mountains make things simple — not croaking from cold, hunger or thirst, becomes a priority — everything else is non-essential.

Weather does not look too promising.

We made it to Jeff's place in Walker and had a dinner in the evening, then it was back home across the Sonora. Our cracked (but otherwise practically functional) right rear-view mirror added an irrational twist to our world-view — I had not thought till then how much I use it while driving — and a fragmented, manifold, impressionist picture in it confused me. Still we came back alright and immersed ourselves in daily routines again.

I'm wearing practically all clothes that I packed along.

Most importantly, it became apparent that we would have to go to Czech Republic after all, to resolve inheritance issues after Hippo's mom. Then I learned that my sister should return from Spain with her daughter, Elsa, and reasons began to accumulate for all of us to go. We began to look for air fare tickets, organize Hippo's time off work (he was running low on vacation days left), and matching it all with plans among relatives and friends.

And since Tommy began to look on his sixteen-inch bicycle like a circus bear (a stooping figure with knees pumping to his ears), a decision was made to resolve Tommy's bike. We did not want to wait for his birthday, as end of October is often riddled with bad weather, which would not let him enjoy it much.

Our idea what to expect dates back to spring — poor selection, majority of bikes having a frame too high (or perhaps Tom having rather short legs?). Not that one could not purchase a nice children's bike for several (many) hundreds of dollars, but given the fact that this bike may last up to couple of years (maybe three), we did not invest that much again. Eventually we compromised on a bike from Target for about fifty dollars — a very plain bike, no gears, but it fit Tom — and he liked it a lot.

Clouds are gathering.

And he set out on Saturday, riding with Hippo. On Sunday the whole family went together to Shoreline Park. I took Tom riding with me and Hippo was to fly a kite with Lisa (alas, no wind would blow on that day, and they just carried the kite to and from). We made a nice round with Tommy, and then suddenly his chain fell off. It would be a trivial thing, if the chain cover was not completely in a way of setting the chain back on. I called Hippo to came rescue us with the car. Hippo rushed in with a wrench that came with the bike, resolving to remove the cover. To his surprise the wrench cut through a nut like through butter, leaving a deep groove behind. It began to dawn on us that we had saved money in the wrong place — if such a silly thing like a fallen chain cannot be fixed while components turn out made from soft compounds, what good is this bike at all?

Down from the mountain, skies at Leavitt Meadows look harmless again.

We loaded our very sad Tom and his sad bike, Hippo dropped me and Lisa off at home, embarking with Tom on an errand to return the dysfunctional bicycle to Target — and on another round of bike-shopping. They ultimately found a usable machine, which looks more robust and which did not fail during our several subsequent trips (so far).

In this moment we lost our patience with Lisa. Our neighbor Brian removed training wheels and pedals on her tiny twelve-inch bike, and we let her learn balancing it; now we gathered time had come to put the pedals back on and force her to ride properly, so that she could participate in our family bike rides. It's no fun spending a weekend with one parent riding with Tom and another tied up in an alternative program with Lisa.

She naturally knows how to pedal, and has learned over the weekend how to balance, but she's been incredibly pig-headed and scared. Her attempts to ride without training wheels usually ended in much shouting — first Lisa's hysteric one and subsequently mine (no less hysteric one). Thus I left Lisa's training up to granny; after all Lisa and I have too much in common and together we create and explosive mix. Granny fulfilled our expectations and eventually taught her. Now we can all ride.