Been a while since I laid down a word here – but for good reason. Right after popping off the last piece about the end of the Tour (de France) weeks ago, I flew off to spend time with my dear ol’ mom in California for her 92nd birthday.

Mom’s always been one unique and fiercely independent woman. She was one of the first woman radiation oncologists and always a champion for compassionate care. For the past three years, she’d been living with her now 93 year old, very spry, and incredibly supportive best friend in Laguna Beach. But just before getting to California two weeks ago – a trip my girl and I had planned along with one my younger brothers months in advance – my mom ended up in the hospital and then rehab facility due to degrading physical strength.

We showed up at the rehab to see my mom in a wheelchair snuggly tucked next to her bed. Not a second after we exchanged a quick hello, my mom pointed to the closet, “There are my clothes. My bag’s packed. Let’s go.”

Fortunately, though we could’ve left on the spot, Mom stayed another night while we very happily found a comfortable place for her to move into when we got back from the road trip we’d planned to take up the coast to my younger brother’s place in Salinas.

The next day, though, the fuse was lit, and the week and a half that followed zipped by in a blur.

First, we busted Mom of the rehab, technically AMA (against medical advice) – “She’s too weak to make the trip.” No.

First stop: her good friend Twoof”s in Laguna to pick up a few clothes.

Second stop: a haircut with her favorite trimmer, Julio.

Then, foot on the gas straight up to Santa Paula to her dad’s former lemon ranch she hadn’t seen in decades – just beyond a landmark “hangman” sycamore tree we’d blown by left and right in crummy light the last two years we’d done this trip but this time found easily in bright sunshine.

A quick stay in Carpinteria and up in the morning all smiles. Smiles are what it’s all about when Mom’s got wheels rolling under her.

About the first thing we did when we got to my brother Mark’s place…

…was turn some gorgeously juicy Santa Paula lemons…

…into a briskly fresh whiskey sour. (You bet, click the picture below for a complete, very easy to follow step-by-step picture book recipe.)

Over the next few days: terrific Monterey/Carmel scenery,…

…some uniquely fantastic food…

…and a very fun and lively 92nd birthday!

Unfortunately, time takes no prisoners, and sooner than any of us wanted, we had to point the wheels back south. But what a way to roll – a good stretch of it down Highway 1 right along – and above – a nearly glass-smooth, brilliantly sapphire and turquoise Pacific Ocean that was punctuated with a breakfast the next day…

…right on the spectacular, pilot heaven flight line at Santa Paula Airport.

Independence: Mom, you’ve lived, loved, and made the very most of it. Cheers!