Over the river and through the woods. . .
It is predicted to be 85 degrees on Sunday at my grandmother's house. Hell ya. I will be there, soaking up every wave of sunlight I can get.

We will also be taking grandma with us down to Carmel and Monterey so my father can get his birthday present: a round of golf on one of those fancy courses overlooking the ocean. While I'm sure my father will be as giddy as a stoic New England businessman can get, I find the whole thing fairly obscene. At least he won't be playing Pebble Beach. A round of golf there is $500 and you can only play if you stay at least 2 nights at their lodge where the cheapest room is $675.

My father hasn't been longing to play one of these courses. His sense of self-worth isn't tied up in a swanky loop around the links, but there are people out there who depend on this stuff. So much of our culture admires this kind of excessive wealth. There seems to be no way to diminish the allure.

I look forward to seeing my grandmother and parents, but I'd be just as happy seeing them here in my slanty shanty with my common law and my cats. These are my riches and they are plenty.