Tales from California: A Rest in Sacramento

When Zach and I first started dating, I soon learned that some of our most enthusiastic supporters were going to be his Grandma Kathy and Grandpa Ray. They sent me a Christmas card glowing with of excitement, encouragement, and an invitation to visit them if ever I should happen to be in California. 

That’s why I was standing at the Sacramento Greyhound station, blinking in the sunlight as I scanned the parking lot for my new host. I felt fluttering in my stomach— I knew I had no right to be nervous, but I still felt a bit of tension. Then I heard a voice call across the lot, “Lisa!” I turned and saw Kathy for the first time, waving at me. I ran over, and we officially met for the first time.

She struck me as short and graceful, with long hair gently tied back and a voice that sounded mature but young in the best possible way. I plopped down in the front seat of her car and she began chatting with me as if I really was her grandchild, not just the girlfriend of one. 

From the beginning, Kathy treated me like an honored guest. Back at her house, I got to see her bold Southwest-influenced paintings, play her piano, and meet her two cats. Her husband Ray got home shortly after, tall, elegant in his own right, with a gentle spirit the showed in the way he smiled. We ate chicken enchiladas and then it was jammin’ time. Kathy brought out her ukulele, Ray began playing a stringed instrument similar to the slide guitar called a pedal steel, and they gave me— what else?— a mandolin. We played a few songs, and although I found it a bit hard to keep up, I had fun.

I spent most of my time there doing what I do on the road when I find a place to rest for a few days: work. 18 students papers were calling my name, and I wanted to get them done before heading to Portland. Kathy gave me the space I needed, interrupting my work only to cook three homemade meals a day. She also introduced me to two new movies. One night we watched Meet Me in St. Louis, which left me feeling ridiculously sentimental about my hometown. The next day, she treated me to a movie at the cinema, The Artist. Although this silent film left me straining to “hear” the words all too often, it was a bold attempt at a genre long laid to rest, which I appreciated. 

And this is Dixie.

Kathy drove me to the Sacramento airport, and we parted with a promise to see each other again. Once again, Sacramento was the last stop on my way out of California. Two years ago I had sat in the airport and felt great hope about my future. Now, I knew that the hope I’d felt then had not been disappointed.

Her ketty-kats were so cute! This is Carlie.

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