While many of my family members cavorted in the pool at a rental house in Indio, I sat reading James Boswell’s Boswell in Holland, 1763-1764. I had had a vicious siege of blepharitis that lasted for the better part of a year, so I was not about to subject my eyes to pool chemicals.
As I was eating my sister-in-law’s excellent orzo salad with olives, orange bell peppers, and feta cheese, my niece Hilary’s son Oliver came and sat down next to me. He had matured considerably since the time when, while rough-housing, he kicked me in the head. (Fortunately he was barefoot at the time.) Since that time, I have resolved never to rough-house with children. I could get hurt. Or worse, I can turn into my father and deliver an angry swat.
When my brother proposed I look after three children while their parents went elsewhere, I answered “No effing way!” Some people are not meant to be parents: I am one of that number. But then he knew, and he was only jesting with me.
Crouching: Oliver Moorman and Hilary Paris Moorman Standing: Jennifer Duche, Me, Lori Paris, Ely Moorman, Dan Paris, Joseph Moorman
Just to get the relationships straight:
Dan Paris is my younger brother. He is married to Lori Paris.
Jennifer Duche is Lori’s daughter from an earlier marriage.
Dan’s daughter from an earlier marriage is Hilary Paris (and therefore my niece).
Hilary Paris is married to Joseph Moorman with two sons, Oliver and Ely.
I just happened to wander into the picture.
Ours is a widely diverse family, including anti-vaxxers, a Trump supporter, a Yoga instructor, a Seattle Parks & Recreation employee, two Hungarians, a Master Builder, a travel specialist, and me—perhaps the strangest one of all.
Joe and Hilary rented an Air B&B house in Indio, California, where most of the get-togethers were held.
In addition to family stuff, I saw the new James Bond film (No Time to Die) and liked it, and I visited the Living Desert Zoo in Palm Desert, where I took pictures (which you will sample in the coming days).
The weather was a bit on the cool side, with a wild and windy rain squall on my final evening in the desert.