Diaries I Read:
We had a wonderful, fantastic weekend, and I think B had a really great birthday. It was just the weekend we needed � getting away from the world, from real life, to a place where we could laugh and relax and just be us together.
Everything went perfectly, except for the massages I�d scheduled for 1:15, shortly after our arrival in Santa Barbara. We got to the spa and were told that our appointments had been for 11:15. That�s bull; I suspect that they screwed with the schedule to accommodate a �large party� that she mentioned had taken all of the afternoon appointments. But I didn�t get upset, just rescheduled the appointments for Monday. This incident proved to me that I was correct to not try and schedule the whole weekend but to just go and let the vacation take us where it would.
So, as it was, the vacation first took us to a little grassy spot that overlooked the ocean, from which you could have seen the Channel Islands and the Santa Barbara pier had it not been gray and hazy. I had packed a picnic of cheese, crackers, and salami from a gift basket left over at work from a conference. I expected it to be good, but it really wasn�t. Still, I had my cute picnic basket and we sat on a cute blanket and drank white wine even though there were signs posted that said no alcohol allowed. We�re such rebels.
Then we took a walk on the beach, where they were holding some sort of dog festival. We both missed Dixie right then, as we passed giant dogs and tiny dogs and dogs dressed up in sunglasses and frilly collars. Then we walked up the pier and looked at cheesy souvenirs in cheesy gift shops.
By the time we checked into the hotel and got settled in, we were both pooped from the drive (in my convertible with the top down � woo!) and the picnicking and the walking, so we took a little nap. Then we headed down to the hotel bar, where I consumed the strongest apple martinis ever poured, B had equally strong gin and tonics, and we snacked on chicken skewers and chips and salsa. After that, we staggered back to our room and ended up ordering pizza for dinner while watching a �Reno 911� marathon. (Have you ever seen that? Totally stupid and totally funny.)
On Sunday we had breakfast right by the beach at a little restaurant called Sambo�s. I didn�t make the connection until I walked in and saw various pictures and paraphernalia from one of my all-time favorite books as a child, Little Black Sambo. If you haven�t read it, you should. But I don�t know if you can even get it in a bookstore or library anymore because several years ago people got upset about the title and the fact that it was about Little Black Sambo, a little boy who lived in India with his mother, Black Mumbo, and father, Black Jumbo. It�s not a racist book by any means. It�s good and it made me smile when I saw it. While we waited for our table, I read the story out loud to B. He didn�t appreciate it. I guess it�s a book you have to learn to love when you�re a child.
Oh my gosh, but we had the most sinful breakfast at Sambo�s. We decided to split two meals. One was the somewhat sensible Santa Barbara omelet, which had avocado, bacon, cheese, salsa, and sour cream. And the other was the banana pecan caramel pancakes! Wow. It�s amazing they can pass something like that off as breakfast. They were pancakes with bananas and pecans in the mix, and then you pour � oh no, not syrup � pure hot caramel over them. (Me drooling)
Then we headed out to Solvang, an old-fashioned Danish town, where we looked in lots of gift shops, watched an elementary school-aged band (not like an orchestra, a real band, a la �School of Rock") perform in the cutest town square ever, ate Danish pancake balls rolled in powdered sugar and covered in raspberry jam (no, we hadn�t had our fill of pancakes yet), tasted wine, and took pictures of windmills. It was very charming.
After that, we went down the road a bit to a winery, where we skipped the wine tasting and just took advantage of their beautiful picnic area. This time, we had good bread, cheese, meat, grapes, and chocolate in addition to a bottle of wine. We were basically there alone, and it was beautiful and quiet, surrounded by the vineyards and the mountains. B and I just sat there and talked about life � where we�re headed, what we dream about. He told me that the weekend had been perfect, that it was exactly what he needed, that I was wonderful for planning it. We talked about his accident and he told me how amazed he was at the way I stepped up and proved once again that he�d made the right choice when he married me. I think he was a little drunk, since I was driving and had let him drink most of the bottle of wine. But I know it was sincere. And it was nice.
Back at the hotel, we took a dip in the hot tub and then had some more very strong drinks from the bar. We headed back to our room, napped a little, and then set out for a very late dinner downtown. Because it was so late, we were directed to a restaurant called Roy, which B and I decided was much too trendy for the likes of us, with its navy blue walls and artwork that looked like it needed a good black light and the long-haired hippie owner Roy, who greeted us at the door and gave us menus that had been hand-written and photocopied on white printer paper. But the food was amazing. B even picked the leftover bits off my plate.
We walked through the deserted downtown area after dinner, and I gazed wistfully into the store windows, wishing they were open. We passed homeless people and drunk college kids.
On Monday morning we packed up and headed out for breakfast and our massages. The massages were great, but it was a sin to get all relaxed and loose and then get in the car for a three-hour drive. Oh well. We stopped and had a burrito the size of a football at Freebirds, which is a little restaurant in the middle of Isla Vista which they also have in College Station, Texas, where B�s heart truly resides.
We stopped to use the restroom at a Starbuck�s in the middle of college central, and as I waited for B, I entered a time machine. The place was packed with students studying for finals, and I looked around and saw every single person I went to college with. There were the awkward, unattractive nerds, the girl in her workout pants, the girl in her camouflage cargo pants and teeny-tiny tank top, the guy with a rolled-up bandana holding back his too-long, curly blond hair, the girl in her perfect outfit with her perfectly coifed, highlighted hair, the guy with too much gel in his hair, studded jeans, and black leather bracelets, the red-haired, petite hippie chick in her long, flowing skirt and hemp bag. All of a sudden, I felt old, like they were all wondering what these middle-aged people were doing in the middle of their very hip college town. All of a sudden, college seemed like a long, long time ago and yesterday all at the same time. I thought of the people I knew in college, those I had studied with, partied with, drank coffee with. I don�t know any of them anymore. I was envious of these kids with their final exam-induced stress and their whole lives ahead of them. But then I took B�s hand and we walked out of there and back into our world and I was relieved to be right where I am, right *when* I am.
During the drive home, we were quiet. There was a time in my life when such long moments of silence between myself and B would make me uncomfortable, nervous that I�d done something wrong, anxious to fill up the quietness. But not anymore. It�s nice to be able to just be quiet together, alone in our thoughts while sitting right next to each other. It�s reassuring.
Last night my parents and some neighbors came over for birthday presents and cake. Dixie and Hondo were glad to have their parents home.
B was thrilled and completely unsurprised with his new coffeemaker. After a perfect, long weekend, it was nice to be home.
Working at home - Wednesday, Nov. 17, 2004
Toronto - Tuesday, Nov. 16, 2004
On the way to Toronto... - Tuesday, Nov. 09, 2004
A Good Day - Monday, Nov. 08, 2004
Another letter - Thursday, Nov. 04, 2004