I’m in northern California where the bedrock of the economy used to be lumber and fishing but now it’s pot. I’m in a Redwood forest surrounded by blue sky and crisp sunshine. The air is fresher and cleaner than anywhere, even SF. Humboldt is where the ocean and redwoods rendezvous. It's lush.

I’m here to enjoy the luxury of turkey and to visit with family members I don’t ordinarily spend time with. Now that my Mom has passed away, visiting Humboldt is bittersweet. My  focus is not so much on the loss of her, but on the men in my family and deepening my relationships with them and other family members.

But as you know, where there is family there is family drama. Tell me yours.

In my family there are pill poppers and bible thumpers,Vietnam Vets and progressives. My brother is usually homeless or in prison, my Dad's is Rush Limbaugh's wing man, my step brother's a Hesher.

My Dad is convinced we are headed to an apocalyptic socialist nation and that Obama is basically Hitler.

I don’t know where my felon brother is and I lost his most recent phone number. He’s an addict who sometimes lives in a van with his 3-year old daughter. He has a talent for having lots of kids and then abandoning them.The last time I saw him was in an apartment he shared with a woman who ran to buy drugs with the twenty-dollar bill I gave him. Next time, I'll take him to the store for milk instead.

This September, I was under investigation by the state of Virginia to possibly foster both of his daughters who were removed by the State of Virginia and put into a group home there, due to the neglect and abuse that happens when a parent is addicted to Meth. One is a fourteen-year old cutter and both suffer from emotional problems and learning disabilities.  I wanted to take one of them, because I want kids. But, I live in a one-bedroom apartment in Los Angeles and I’m a stripper. The teenager would need her own room and I can’t provide the constant supervision and room that she needs. It was a hard decision to close my file for now.

 My step dad,Chuck, picked me up from the Arcata airport, which is comparable to a greyhound bus station: basically a parking lot with some sliding doors.

He’s getting his hip replaced on December 10^th.We walked in old town Eureka by the bay where boats are docked for winter. We strolled into art galleries and used bookstores.  He’s addicted to his pain meds. He pops Oxy’s like popcorn. He’s concerned about the process of detoxing and he’s scared to get the hip surgery.

Old Town Eureka caters to tourism, but we just don’t get the foot traffic other places do, which adds to the sleepy quality of old town Eureka with its shabby Victorians and empty stores. I wondered how small businesses were surviving. Many of the storefronts that were landmarks when I was a kid are now gone, replaced with other earnest restaurants and clothing stores, trying their luck at survival. The biggest export that Humboldt County is it’s youth, according to my Dad, a staunch conservative. We agree on very little but I agree with that statement. Unless you’re a nurse or an attorney, I can’t see how people survive here.   

Then I went to my Dad’s law office later that evening, to meet him and my step-mom, who has CMT so she walks on leg braces that are very futuristic and barbaric and the same time. She’ll be in a wheelchair eventually, loosing her muscle strength to the degenerative nature of the type of muscular dystrophy that she has.

In the spirit of gratitude, I’m happy to have the freedom of good health and sobriety and to live in a city where there’s work. And I’m happy to be able to see the sun shine through the redwood trees from my Dad’s office.