Rain does not fall everywhere at once

As I sift through memorabilia, things are slowly coming back:

Dear Mago,
It’s July 1957 and we have been traveling for over a week from Topeka (Remember: “We don’t live in Kansas anymore, do we Toto? From the Wizard of Oz) to visit you in San Francisco on our way to Tokyo. I am sure this summer will be memorable.
I remember, for example, exactly when I discovered that rain does not fall on everyone at the same time. As I looked straight ahead – to keep from becoming carsick – I could see the rain pouring cats and dogs down on the road ahead, though it was not hitting the windshield of our Pontiac. A warm glow filled me as I prepared for the spattering and blur, and the monotony of the windshield wipers, that I knew was soon to come. Still, I felt nauseated when it did.
We have been to Carlsbad Caverns, the Grand Canyon, and a Pueblo Indian reservation on the way. I first learned about stalactites and stalagmites from our tour of the Caverns, though I must admit I have never been able to remember which grow from the floor and which from the ceiling. Mom was terribly upset when the energy we had pent up after hours in the car was released at the Grand Canyon, fearing that we would fall off the rim. I thought she was hysterical, though I’m not sure I know what that means. My strongest memory from the Pueblo Indian reservation was not the from the buildings (we have been building clay pueblos in school last year), but from the embarrassment and shame I felt when an old Indian woman waved her arms in front of her face to avoid being photographed by my new Brownie camera. We talked about it later, but I was still sad.

I can’t wait to get to San Francisco. No one can make tuna sandwiches like you. And since mom doesn’t let us drink Coke, Fanta, and 7up, I look forward Uncle Bert’s soda stash in the garage (not to mention his collection of organ music). Dad says he’ll be to have a (about to turn) 10-year-old girl around so he can put on a record and teach me to waltz.

Two weeks later…
I liked it when you said I looked so freckly and cute, that I’d just swallowed a dollar that had broken out in pennies. Since your house is full we’re staying at the Pink Flamingo motel on Lombard Street, between the Presidio and Fort Mason.

You know that the night before we were supposed to leave Steve got very sick and dad had to rush him off to Letterman Army Hospital where he was operated on for acute appendicitis. Since we have to stay on for at least another week, we will be moving to a motel along Ocean Beach, so that the rest of us can visit the zoo and go to the beach. We are enjoying our days here, visiting Steve at the ward at the Fort Mason Dispensary where we can race wheelchairs, go swimming everyday despite mom’s fear of our crossing the Upper Great Highway and of the undertow. Hopefully we can also see more of you and Jon and Chris [our cousins]!.

Your loving ganddaughter