Coming Up: To Middle Earth and beyond, the feting of a fabulous first-life lived and of erumpent fuzzy feet! Celebrations of incomparable opulence await our plucky heroes in the Southern Lands beyond the Sun. Beds cry out for bouncing and breakfasts emit their intoxicating aromas with promises of picnics, cakes and cavorting. But will the peripateticism prevail over the gales and gusts of a grumpy travel god, grumbling and chuffing at such merriments? Will Seattle traffic trumpery tyrannize the travels? Will a dollar-a-car be worth the wait? Is there any weak chink 'twixt Bay and Breakers for our heroes to make their daring escape or will they be consigned to eke out their final days one measly block from Embarcadero's promised freedoms?
Peril and pleasure lay south in equal measure as our little hobbit comes of age and takes his elfin maiden on an extraordinary quest through the Misty Mountains.
Airport Abbadon Let the Indignities Commence
At the end of a rainbow of glass shards and turbulence there shall be birthday feting and much merriment. We shall frolic in Elysium with in-laws and relatives over Oysters (or whatever vegetarian equivalent the Oyster Depot comes up with, knock on wood). Yes, the birthday weekend is at hand! My darling husband has decided to take the plunge into thirty-three just a tic after his daring mother tumbles herself to sixty. Inveterate party planner that she is, our supremely spry sexagenarian will be throwing a pretty grand destination birthday, and we're on our way to Inverness to celebrate with friends and family for the double-header birthday weekend. But first. Agony before ecstasy, my dear.
Sometimes I love short trips, because the condensed timeframe forces one to pack every fully alive second into a grand trip experience, one that is immune to inurement or desensitization of passing time. Other times, I chafe at the realization that I may be spending a good percentage of a "trip" in transit. Still other times, I actually find that that whole 'it's the road not the destination, duuuude" idea pretty compelling. To quote Robby P. Warren: "It is a vacation from being you. There is only the flow of the motor under you foot spinning that frail thread of sound out of its metal guy like a spider, that filament, that nexus, which isn't really there, between the you which you have just left in one place and the you which you will be where you get to the other place.”
I do enjoy being locked up somewhere with no distractions but my book (or thoughts, depending). Life simplifies. But there's the temporal transitory vacation from self and then there's the United Dehumanization Package that maybe takes it a step too far in that direction. I don't enjoy the inevitable hassle, the discomfort, the dehydration, and that general air of frenzied antagonism that one finds in airports.
And I do get a little weary of checking in to realize that my husband and I have been moved from our requested seats and assigned to opposing ends of the plane. I do also weary of the inevitable notification that our flight may be "overbooked" and would we like to opt for a travel voucher in exchange for getting set up on a later flight. I anticipate wearying of the increasingly eschatological announcements about carry on luggage and how there is NO ROOM for it so CHECK ALL YOUR BAGS (which nobody will do until the attendants start seizing bags). And there may be the usual irritations with security and whatnot.
But I hear that couples that do "exciting" things together report a higher level of satisfaction than those who do "pleasant" things. Trying to survive the airplane equivalent of Frogger is most concertedly "exciting".
God, we will be friggin' satisfied with each other by the end of this weekend!
Or maybe we'll let the satisfaction take a hit and have a more pleasant flight experience than I anticipate. I'm willing to make that sacrifice.
Either way, I guess there's luck involved.
California Caper Commences and Continues (short update from the southern lands of northern California)
We made it. Despite the predictably vicious Seattle snarl, turning a ninety minute drive into a two hour and forty minute drive.
We made it. Despite the hour long wait at Dollar Rental after our blessedly uneventful two hour flight. Dollar.The only rental agency of several thousand at our terminal that had any kind of line, of course. Remind me next time I pre book a car to go with an agency called Expensivo Express, as there is a direct correlation between degree of thriftiness implied in the name and the quotient of raging hoard of basely human inhumanity roiling in a service's lines. The attendants congratulated us on ordering a small car, as otherwise we would have been set for another interminable wait. As it was, we eventually found our little space capsule of a vehicle and escaped in search of food.
We made it. Despite the recondite roads and phantom dining options. Despite the siren call of a purgatorial IHOP that contained as many lost souls as the car rental line and nary an available server in sight. We made it despite getting moderately lost trying to find that Wendy's we'd seen on the way to IHOP after bolting from the No-HOP of desolation. Oh sweet reliable convenience store Wendy's and your straight forward baked potato and celerous service.You saved our tummies and our minds.
We made it despite GPS cutting in and out, dying cell batteries, and the inevitable traffic of San Francisco.
We made it despite landing on the evil twin of our intended street and some moments of thoroughly exhausted confusion.
Yes at 9:50 pm we finished the trip we began at 12:30.
Some part of me feels that our flight should have been longer to justify all the entanglement at either end. Or that maybe our final arrival should have required a canoe and or hang gliding.
On the bright side, I had plenty of time to finish my book.
Birthday Feting Accomplished
Andrew is now 33, which apparently means he's come of age as a hobbit. So far his feet look normal but I'll keep an eye out. Lisa, my mega-MIL, is sixty. Sixty had some special significance in Japan, where she recently started her early celebrations under the psuedonym Risa (really, that's how they wrote it on her cake, not any ethnic stereotyping jokes). I guess she has passed through the entire zodiac and it ready for a second spin. Knowing her, she'll live whatever it is to the hilt.
The celebrations involved people, picnics, a long walk past a lagoon to some beaches, more people (including a few preternaturally cute children), more food, and a two or three hour long dinner at an oyster depot. Lisa has excellent taste in friends, and I'm really happy to have had little bursts of interaction with every single guest at some point during the day.
We'd heard rumors that the service was off, but I didn't notice. Although the dinner moved at a zestily lugubrious pace, that seemed to be more about being a party of sixteen. The servers seemed more than accessibly attentive. I will raise only once that I'm not sure my five (admittedly fresh) leaves of lettuce with one quarter of a thinly sliced radish and two or three micro slices of onion really merited a twelve dollar price tag, no matter how elegantly stacked these components may have been. I believe we call that the "vegetarian tax" applicable in the majority of nicer restaurants. And, for the record, the "bunny plate" is actually a plate consisting of every part of an eviscerated bunny, and not rabbit food... lest any vegetarians let their hearts go pitter patter at the sight.
We brought our own cake, a no-bake chocolate darker than midnight and more bitter than the dregs of ocean brine. So, tasty.
Our party was seated at a long outdoor bench. It was lovely and fresh, although escaping once seated was a Chaplinesque affair as I can attest. I am pretty sure I only kicked Andrew and maybe my other abutting neighbor a few times trying to excuse myself for the bathroom. Despite a sunny day and outdoor heaters, the evening chilled just enough to leave the party huddling more and more tightly under the two outdoor heaters. I think it took me a few hours under a fortress of covers to regain full circulation in my tootsies.
And by miracle of luck and excellent planning, I manged to avoid any major introverting out midway through dinner. Yes, I did have my earplugs in for a decent portion of the festivities. I've found that it's easier to explain that I have sensitive hearing, which is sort of true, than that my brain insists on attempting to process and fully engage in every single conversation within earshot, and in a party of 16 or more that can really be a lot of imbricated overlapping and high volume conversations to juggle. I've noticed that at approximately similar decibel rates, my brain can more or less handle white noise of a certain loudness. But the roar of a crowd, familiar or no, will hasten my mind's demise. As always, another guest noticed the earplugs, because apparently I do not put foam earplugs in correctly (apparently if you do it correctly, they will not even be visible from a front-view, but no matter how much I roll them and how gently I open my ear canal, this has evaded me). He said he hadn't been sure if it was an accessory (they are brite orange right now). I have been considering getting some sparklies to stick on the ends of them to spruce them up a bit... I could totally start a trend!
The inn turns out to be just for us, as most of the guests left last night. Andrew and I will be leaving port soon, so Lisa and Tom will have plenty of time for new-life mischief. I'm not generally a bed and breakfast person. B&Bs seem crafted to give a specific sort of houseguest experience that generally doesn't appeal. I'm the kind of houseguest who prefers to show up at a buddy's home with her arms full of groceries, a commitment to put in for her part of the chores and expects free rein thereafter. I'm not hugely swayed by quaint and there's no breakfast or snacks so delicious that I wouldn't prefer to have my own kitchen access at any time of the day. Case in point, Andrew and I will be missing the 8:30 prix fixe breakfast this morning in order to return to the airport with some wiggle room. Since I don't do well without food in the morning and Andrew does *do* at all without coffee, I've spent much of yesterday pre-hoarding food so we can eat before our drive. Yeah, I'm the kinda gal who will sit down to her beautiful prix fixe fancy breakfast, slip half of her fancy eggs onto her husband's unsuspecting plate, pocket the homemade cornbread, dump most of her OJ for diluted water, and drain all the milk provided for coffee to mix with some protein powder she brought along... Note to all: I'm either an extremely easy houseguest, or an insanely difficult one depending on your expectations.
That said, it's an exquisite home and our hostess is pretty cool. She has a cat and a room full of rotating books left and taken by travellers. I could dig having her routine. Keeping a house in a little vacation Eden, making food in the morning, having new guests on a rotating basis.
Well be off in a bit over an hour for our long winding travels to recommence with hopefully get complications than on the way out. Knocking on wood.
Escape from (Pretty Far North of) L.A. Out of Inverness, into the Bay to Breakers Bacchanalia
This morning I'm questioning the wisdom of my inspired choice to see clients today. Not because I'm particularly nervous or needing preparation for any of my appointments. But, well, it was a bit of a Kurt-Russell-approved action packed weekend, and I was somewhat looking forward to the idea of holing up in my office cave and snarling at passers by today as I recharge.
Yesterday was Mr. (W)right's 33rd birthday. There were several minor celebrations, beyond the swank Saturday fete. There were also presents throughout yesterday, birthday cake oreos, birthday cake m&m's, a tiny bottle of champagne, and a thoroughly cobbled-together breakfast of picnic leftovers (grilled veggies and cheese bagel with fruit and oreos plus cold coffee from the evening before, thanks much).
And of course, I insisted on giving Andrew all 33 of his birthday bites (that's how the tradition goes, right??). But, truly, the biggest gift of all far dwarfed the sum total of any abutting celebrations: we escaped from San Francisco. Thank god we had the prescience to leave early that morning. Sure, we thought we could grab a proper brunch at the airport with plenty of time to spare. Sure it seemed like an hour and a half drive shouldn't require three to make it to the airport. But, somehow, lawyerly panic and memories of our Friday tumble into town prevailed. We employed an excess of caution that still was near-nigh insufficient against fortune's frolics.
Turns out that there was a major race/costume parade/event called the Bay to Breakers happening in downtown San Francisco that morning. Ordinarily a famous costume (or nekkid) race/walk event would sound "fun", but I'm pretty sure as of 9:45 a.m. yesterday morning I hate all races of any sort and anyone who is involved can go ahead and pull a hamstring or snap a wonder woman bra strap. I may revisit this opinion after the trauma fades.. maybe. That little race effectively cut off the vital cross streets on our trip from Inverness to airport. Turns out that google maps was kind of missing that minor detail for the first part of the morning and seemed unable to understand why we kept flouting its directions to crash through the guarded barricades of all suggested cross streets.
Google maps was just having troubles with us all together. It was strong opposed to the route that Andrew wanted to go on our departure from Inverness. It kept giving directions that essentially boiled down to "turn around and start over with the route we advised." Andrew did not care for this much and we barrelled forward into the heart of rainbow darkness, unaware of the doom that lay ahead. Google maps also continued to lose us, or give directions for two steps behind or afore our actual course in the sporadic compliance we demonstrated.
Eventually Google Maps and our little car reconciled, but only after we both had proven failures on our own. The streets were clogged. The path was uncertain. And we were beset by kids in funny costumes weaving between gridlock that made rush hour Seattle look breezy and rural. Google finally refreshed itself (before it wrecked itself) to include the closures. After this minor little change, the phone began giving instructions that were applicable for somebody at least roughly in our position (usually about a street off, but close enough to reference a map). And - after an emotionally grueling hour of slog and angst - we did actually find a crossing point, and return the car to speeds well above 3 miles an hour. As Andrew noted, we could have run through town much faster, and probably even could have done so in costume, dragging our luggage and/or the rental car.
We got to the airport garage about 40 minutes before the plane was scheduled to leave, and were blessed with some of the easiest rental returns and security lines I've ever encountered. By twist of a lemon-spritzed fortune, we actually managed to arrive in time to queue up for our boarding group.
Our arrival in Seattle mostly continued that zest of fortune. The Denny's we stopped at for lunch was a bit strange to find, louder than a rock concert, and required a few extra trips around the Airport Arrivals loop to come and go. But it was fast! Unlike the purgatorial IHOP, they sat us promptly and nearly flung our food at us before we could order. And traffic was acceptable in flow with only a minor sprinkling of wild Canadian renegades coming home early from their Victoria Day shopping sprees.
Strange, though, when the highlight of the travel portion of a vacation is unquestionably the plane flight. And we're not talking first class on a trendy fun airline with Hawaiian shirts and whacky attendant announcements/comedy routine. We flew on United (the collective shudder pervades). But either they are really trying to revamp their image, we were super lucky, or the contrast of all those driving woes bumped my expectations. It was comparatively comfortable. They stuck to schedule. The attendants were pleasant and attentive. They quickly honored our request to re-issue tickets for us to be together. We were autochecked in for our return and saved all kinds of time with our little mobile passes. And any memories of the rest of the flight involve the two books I read, which is pretty much the most one can ever expect from coach travel.
The loris and I returned to our beautiful home (and kissed the ground in tears, of course) around 4ish. Not a huge amount of time to play catch up for our usual weekend errands. Andrew mounted a sterling attack on his bills and training schedule. I chopped up a head of cabbage and started dinner. I even admitted it was a rare day in which I'd been looking forward to doing my PT after all that sitting! But that was enough for me, and a repose in drool and cuddle was required for the remainder of our brief evening.
We are, as a result, almost completely barren of edibles about the house. This post-travel aliments aridity is an admitted disadvantage of heading away from processed foods to preparation-intensive fresh foods, and the equally time consuming dehydrated type foods. We still have plenty of birthday cake oreos, so there's a good chance that Andrew's dinner this coming evening will be birthday cake oreo casserole. Crumble some up and throw them with rice in the cooker for an hour... top with birthday cake M&Ms, of course! I exaggerate. We've got plenty of nuts and seeds and things as well (I do bring roughly half a kitchen's worth of provisions on any trip, so there were those leftovers as well), but the provisions for certain staples are running sparse, and I'm not entirely sure when I'll be able to address this.
Today, I'm a touch spent. Between the joyful (but introvert-zapping) jubilee of Saturday and the book-ending cortisol crankers of Friday and Sunday's to-and-fro, I'd really enjoy a bit of time to be surly, avoid all schedules, and give myself sufficient time to decide upon my next literary adventure. Instead, I'm back waiting for some documents from a client for an emergency action this afternoon, watching my clock for a consult and a status meeting, and counting down the hours until pilates, before rushing home to start dinner before the hubbah-hubbah-hubby returns from his slog through Monday.
Yawn. But I knew that May was going to be a no-holds-barred kind of a rush and I'm ready to power through with some gatorade. So I'll sleep when it's fall. Bring on the office.
Incidentally, the self published "Slow Loris Wants to Run Fast" (link not available, as I may have bought the only extant copy in my quest for owning every loris-themed children's book in the universe) is not necessarily a book I'd recommend for your children. Its main message seemed to be that you should change who you are entirely for the sake of making friends. Kind of a disappointing moral. I was hoping slow loris would realize that slow lorises are awesome, he can beat anyone in a go-as-slow-as-you-can-race (which was a thing when I was a kid, so I"m not strictly being whimsical), and plenty of cool creatures are nocturnal. Ah well.
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