A week later, I'm back from the adventure in Los Angeles. The only time it stopped raining, on my way down, was when it snowed. It was raining/snowing too heavily to allow me to see Mt. Shasta, even. I can't remember the last time I've seen Mt. Shasta; the last several times I've driven by it, it has been hidden by rain/snow/fog.

The agricultural areas south of there, however, were spectacular. No wonder I haven't seen blossoms when I've driven by; the bloom on the 5 is in February. For hundreds of miles, there were sheets and clouds of white and pink.

I arrived in LA Wednesday morning. After visiting with my housesitter for a few minutes, I went to the back yard for some basic clean-up. In so doing, I twanged my back. That's not the best way to celebrate an outing. Note to self: take half a day to rest up after an 1,100 mile drive.

Thursday and Friday I alternated packing the car and visiting friends. Saturday early I took off again, this time taking the 101, as the weather had deteriorated further. There was snow on the coast range as far south as Ventura. From my perspective, however, the weather was fine. My parameters for defining "good weather" have become very broad. In this case, I was sufficiently pleased that the storm in progress had not washed the seal pups at Piedras Blancas to watery graves, and that the snow that fell on the Coast Range while I was traversing it melted as soon as it hit the road.

The dogs are glad to have me home. Nikki gave me People Dance, and Sarah wasn't satisfied until she had licked every bit of my face that I would allow.