This will be the last of my on the road reportage style posts, and tomorrow I'll be back to my usual, scattered self. So we're at the end of our little trip. Yesterday we drove to Solvang, as planned. As some of you guys said and/or inferred, the place is not what it's cracked up to be in the imagination. Take away the faux Danish facades and a few scaled down windmills, and it could be any beach town in the US, sans the ocean and with shops selling Scandanavian seeming trinkets instead of dolphin shaped candles and sea shell necklaces. My mom has this slow moving, motorized scooter she gets around on, so we walked/drove around town looking in windows, and had lunch at Paula's Pancake House. I guess it was charming. These days one takes charm where one can get it. Then we drove back down to Santa Barbara and lazed around, had Mexican food and talked and watched the Winter Olympics and crashed. Thanks to those of you showing sympathy and support for this mom and son togetherness time, and it is important while at the same time feeling as though it can't live up to the pressure put upon it by the gravity of its circumstances. My mom's and my relationship is what it is, and more time together is very good, but the dynamic is set in stone by our long mutual history. For instance, she has never really been interested to know much about me and my life and my life as an artist. True to form, she hasn't asked me even once about my life in Paris, my relationship with Yury, my writing, my books, my theater pieces, etc. I think she's afraid that my responses to her queries would be too foreign and wild to her conservative, Republican values, so he doesn't ask. Naturally, I thought maybe this trip would be different, but it isn't, and there is a disappointment in that, but bonding is specific to each situation, and in our case, bonding means having a warmer time talking about what we've always talked about -- the past, the family, etc. So it's okay. This morning we'll have the free continental breakfast here at the hotel and then head back to LA. At the near end of it, I'm feeling sad, and I think she is too. The trip isn't what it was supposed to be, or was it? What could it have been? Would something profound and cathartic have been better? I don't think so, but I don't know. Okay, I'll hit the road now, and I'll be back and back in gear with you tomorrow. Take care, and enjoy shit.