Not Quite Halfway Through Week One (oy...)

Two days into the new academic year, and so far I have to say things have progressed pretty smoothly. (Whoo hoo! Only a hundred-seventy-eight more of these to go!) Let's see...no one's missed a bus. Everyone's remembered their lunch. Important papers have been signed and sent back in a timely fashion. Yep, we've got this whole "school thing" handled. (Okay, okay...at least for right this minute...)

When asked to report on their impressions so far, the boys were fairly blase in their narration. Riley's remarks were limited to things like "I need a bigger backpack, because it took me FIVE MINUTES to stuff my binder in!" (Delivered in an emphatically aggrieved tone, of course...) Then there was: "I might have to report someone on the bus for singing Jay-Z." In further discussing this, I learned that the potential troublemaking student in question was in fact "bleeping out the bad words...but you could still tell what they are!" which seemed to offend Riley's tender sensibilities. (We decided that although the boy's choice might be in questionable taste, since he wasn't actually cursing, Riley didn't have to feel obligated to turn him in. Whew, first crisis of his Patrol career, solved! Or avoided....whatever...)

Derek voiced several complaints in the early going as well, the first being "my bus is so crowded you have to sit three to a seat...so I'll definitely be walking home all year." Next he lamented the fact that evidently he doesn't have classes with any of his close friends. Hoping to help him find the proverbial silver lining, I asked if he shared any classes with GF, and he replied that in fact they had four out of seven periods together. Well, that's something, right? (You can already hear the "but" coming, yeah?) So today after he arrived home and had a chance to eat his snack, I casually asked if anything "noteworthy" had occurred during his day. I snuck this in quickly, offhandedly, as he literally had one foot out the door at the time to go play basketball with a neighbor. He half-turned back, shot me a grin and sheepishly replied, "Yeah. (slight pause) I got dumped!" I just stood there, staring at him incredulously for a moment, before gathering my wits and offering, "Oh. I'm so sorry!" And I'm not kidding, he shrugged and resumed leaving the house without any further comment. "Whoa, whoa, WHOA!" I called to his retreating back, "Are you gonna tell me about it later?" "Sure," he threw over his shoulder as he disappeared, leaving me to contemplate this unexpected turn of events in stunned silence.

In truth, I had been wondering what would happen when school started up again, as GF had been away all Summer and they hadn't been able to see each other...or even converse by text. So...I guess that answered the question pretty definitively, huh? But now I confronted a new dilemma: what's a mother to do, to support her son whose very first girlfriend just broke up with him? I mean, he appeared perfectly fine--but who knows, he could be shredded on the inside. So did he need a session of hugging and crying and remembering the good times? (Um, yeah, he's NOT a girl...) Or an opportunity to vent his feelings? (See previous...) Okay, then--were we talking about an Emergency Ben & Jerry's Situation, here? I really was clueless as to what might be required...after all, I'm only familiar with what works for female-kind. And of course this being the inaugural Breakup Event, if you will, I was flying blind, I tell ya.

When he came back inside and had cleaned up, I approached him gingerly for a nice little Mother/Son exploratory inquisition--I mean "chat". And you know what? He told me that he'd spread the news to his posse at school about how he was "back in the Single Club"...and they laughed at him...which he apparently found acceptable and even entertaining. (Comforting, I suppose, belongs to the Girl Realm. Noted...) From which I can only conclude that's one way teenage boys "deal with their stuff", because Derek seemed more bemused than actually hurt (although he did admit that now the prospect of seeing her in most of his classes would be...awkward at best). And...that was all there was to it. I suppose we can chalk it up to one of those mild traumas of growing up...and of course a life lesson...and move on. However, if the beginning is any indication, 5th grade and 8th grade could hold some pretty...interesting...times in store. We'll have to wait and see--and stock up on the Ben & Jerry's, you know, just in case!

Eleven Months and Counting...

Well, we finally got around to sitting down as a family and having The Big Talk. (No, not the one where "two mature people in a committed relationship love each other very much and wish super hard and then...the Magic Stork brings them a baby." But can you tell I practiced that one? It's my story, and I'm stickin' to it...) Anyway, this was the OTHER discussion that we vowed to have when we returned from vacation, the one where each person would be given the opportunity to express all of their thoughts and feelings on the subject, and then ultimately weigh in on whether or not they wanted to move to California.

Now, somewhere along the line Riley decided it would be fun to do a Secret Ballot. (Incidentally, he also demanded that his Toad stuffed animal--you know, the creature with the big round head from Mario Brothers?--be allowed a vote, since he'd made the trip with us. Yeah, that motion was vetoed in a hurry....) We humored him, since it's not like we wouldn't immediately know which little piece of paper belonged to each person anyway...after all, there are only four of us...and I've seen everyone's handwriting once or twice. (or a thousand-and-one-times...whatever...) And obviously, everyone already had heard plenty of my opinion and knew (crystal clearly) where I stood.

What the kiddos didn't know was that Husband had approached me one night after they went to bed to initiate a For Adult Ears Only chat. (No, not that kind...jeesh, what's wrong with you people? Kidding!) Although the actual "meeting" lasted about two hours (good grief, when that man really gets going, he sure can ramble), this was the takeaway as I understood it: 1) "I'm in" (pause....yaaaayyyyy!!! resume...) 2) B-U-T (dang it, I knew there had to be one of those)..."Only if we can get a nice house; I don't want to have to settle for a two-room shack, just to move to California." (He delivered this with the utmost mixture of earnestness and animation. I swear, for someone who ranks waaayyy low on the Drama Scale, he can bring it when he's motivated about something...) Once I assured him that I understood his concerns and would totally keep it under advisement when we undertook the actual real-estate-hunt-process, the Parental Duo was unified.

However, formal parliamentary procedures had been requested, and would be honored. So we gathered in the Halls of Democracy (aka: Mom and Dad's bedroom) for the session. Each representative recorded his (or her) vote, folded it the prescribed number of times (that would be: 3. Why? Because that's the number I called out impulsively when asked...) then placed it in the Ballot Box (the extremely official Penn State tin we brought back filled with potato chips from the Utz Factory tour). After I shook the container with great ceremony--to mix the four scraps as thoroughly as possible--I began removing them to read aloud. And the tally revealed (duh duh duh DAH): the kids loved California but still are reluctant about relocating. While that came as a bit of a disappointment to me, it was not entirely unexpected. A lengthy, in-depth conversation followed, during which we all stated our reservations and addressed them one-by-one as best we could (potential for missing family and friends topping the list, closely followed by nervousness about traipsing all-the-blessed-way across the continent and plopping down in an unfamiliar environment).

In the end, the determination was made that indeed, we're going through with it. While the boys aren't exactly jumping for joy at this stage, at least they don't have to wonder and worry about the "what ifs" any more. Instead, they can move on to the Planning and Execution phase...like selling a house...buying another one 3,000 miles away...packing all of our worldly possessions...figuring out how to transport 4 people and 2 cars to the West Coast...all while working and schooling and soccering and...all the other "ings" we need to stay on top of...ooh, it's gonna be a busy year...I'd better take a nap and get started!

(Early) Back-to-the-Books Blues

For some of my friends--and their kids--the 2013/14 school year kicks into gear in just a few short hours. Let me just say right now with utmost sincerity: my condolences! (Ahem...also throw in an equal measure of "WHEW! Glad that's not us!") In my district, we will enjoy a brief...stay-of-execution--I mean "academia"--until the following Monday. While at this very moment the date still seems quite comfortably distant, I am flabbergasted to find it even that close. You see, this is the first Summer since the boys began their scholarly careers that I feel the weeks have rocketed by us at an unprecedented pace. From the final dismissal bell in mid-June, which teasingly promised a looooong calendar stretch of empty, free hours...to the wistful late-August countdown of a paltry handful of available unscheduled days...the time has seemingly evaporated right before our eyes, like a post-thunderstorm puddle in the steamy afternoon sun. Where did it go? I suppose there was the male posse's South Carolina trip...a camp session for the boys...guys' weekend in Pittsburgh...of course the California adventures...and poof! Here we are staring down a return to routine in seven short days.

Derek asked me thoughtfully the other day, "Mom, will you be glad when we go back to school...and leave you alone?" I laughed, but the true answer is "Yes...and no..." True, I do cherish my solo-time, as we all know. However...this is also the first Summer that I haven't felt worn out from refereeing brotherly squabbles for Ten. Endless. Weeks. I think this stems from a combination of two things: 1) they're getting along a bit better as they (dare I say it?) mature, and 2) they're also much more savvy about working things out without intervention from Mom...or at least separating themselves without complaining to (supremely unsympathetic about their trivial disagreements) me. So unlike in previous years, I'm not feeling like we're showing signs of being 100% fed up with each others' company. Also, I've honestly been appreciating the unstructured time--not being required to get ready and get the heck-out-of-the-house at a prescribed hour--as much as my sons have. It's been a welcome respite from the duties and responsibilities of the academic year...the daily preparation (aka: paperwork and packing) and the homework and the soccer practices and the other extra-curriculars. I've actually been able to...relax (gasp!) without the jammed agenda that defines all of our lives from September to June.

Alas, soon we will each return to our "jobs" and all the related activities thereof. For once, the thought makes me a little more...melancholy...than lighthearted. It was a wonderful Summer...and this time, I really wish there were more of it!

Friendly Skies, ha!

Well. That was just the biggest dang…snafoozle… (I love making up words…) of a travel day I’ve ever had the displeasure of muddling through. Here’s the play-by-play:

--The ridiculous chain of events began when I received an email shortly after waking up at the hotel, informing me that Southwest had pushed our flight back…by 2-1/2 hours. Huh. No rush to check out, then.

--Next, we headed to the airport to turn in our rental car and print our boarding passes. However, the self-serve kiosk refused to comply with my simple request to GIVE US OUR STUPID LITTLE PIECES OF PAPER THAT WILL LET US ON THE PLANE… PREFERABLY RIGHT NOW!. (I was hungry and tired and already getting a little stressed, can you tell?) Although it recognized all four of us and acknowledged that yes, we should be flying today, it Just. Wouldn’t Freakin’. Cooperate.

--Turns out that Southwest had changed not only the departure time, but the flight number…and the connecting city. Reaaaalllllly? Was all of that strictly necessary? But the nice employee handed us those golden entry slips, so we merrily (or at least…without smacking anyone…) continued on our way.

--At Security, our bag was flagged for some reason, and a TSA official politely decided it would require a manual inspection. “Must be a large tube of toothpaste,” he assured me as he rifled through my toiletries. “Um, that would be quite a surprise to me,” I replied, “since we don’t carry any of those…” (the—fortunately unspoken--subtext being: “Because I’ve done this before and know how to pack, DUH!” My attitude, sad to say, was not improving noticeably…) He shrugged and chose to examine the exactly-3-ounce-sunscreens I purposefully purchased for our trip, in order to comply with regulations. Sigh.

--Now we had 2-hours until our delayed flight. As we waited, I got several more pieces of electronic correspondence from Southwest, changing our gate of departure. (These turned out to be completely erroneous, so we ignored them.)

--While sitting around watching the chaos that is Southwest territory, we noticed the exact moment when our plane pulled up…at nearly the time we were supposed to be taking off. So they hurriedly herded the arriving passengers out, did whatever they needed to do to get ready for a lightning-fast turnaround, then shuffled us on. What a disaster.

--Of course, this postponed our departure time once more, impacting those of us who needed to complete yet another delightful leg of our journey by catching a plane in Chicago. I’m not kidding, when we landed, the flight crew advised us to “hustle” to our next gate. When we checked the local time, we had 10 minutes to travel about a half-mile at a…shall we say “brisk pace”…while dragging our luggage. Husband and I actually laughed at the absurdity of the situation, but the kids were a little freaked. Oh, and this precluded any thoughts of getting dinner in between, so our evening repast consisted of Chex Mix for the boys, and the complimentary peanut-packs for me. Yummmm.

--At long, loooooong last, we touched down safely at BWI…almost 2 hours past our original scheduled arrival time, at 11:45 p.m. We still had to take the Shuttle to Long Term Parking and retrieve our car, then drive home. Yep, bed at 1 a.m., just the way to end a trip, right?

As unpleasant as the whole messed up day was, I learned several valuable lessons from the experience. First, of course, is the incontrovertible fact: One should never EVER fly Southwest (and trust me, Team WestEnders will NOT do so again.) Secondly, it seemed abundantly clear—to me, at least—that California reaallllly wanted me to stay. It pains me to have defied the Universe’s decree, but I can only say in my defense that I hope the next time we go back….will be for good…and on a different airline, to be sure!

Peace Out, West Coasters...

After a wildly successful and deeply satisfying California expedition, our time on the Pacific Coast wound down with one last San Francisco day. It afforded an opportunity to accomplish the sightseeing-musts we hadn't yet managed to check off the first time through...although who could've foreseen that on the whole entire trip, our only touristy failures would occur in the otherwise lovely City by the Bay? You see, we didn't realize that one must apparently book a ferry ride to Alcatraz several WEEKS in advance (oops--Vacation Planning Error...eh, who needs a creepy old prison anyway, right? Okay, next time...) Then the cable car experience eluded us as well, since by the time we actually figured out where to catch it and how to pay for a ride...we'd used up all of our on-hand-cash and couldn't fund the venture. (That is, without first locating an out-of-network-ATM, and getting slapped with exorbitant fees, and who needs that nonsense?)

Instead, we ambled partway across the Golden Gate Bridge (with the rest of the visiting population, on foot and on bikes--it was a bob-and-weave kind of activity) to admire the landscape views of the harbor and the city stretched out before us. We didn't linger too long, as the whipping wind prohibited much standing around. In between shivers, though, we did catch sight of a few seals frolicking in the water near the shoreline, and several majestic sailboats--participants in the Louis Vuitton Cup, taking place in San Francisco as we speak--skimming over the tops of the waves. Not exactly tranquil, what with the teeming masses…but quite picturesque nonetheless.

Next we continued on into town, and set out on foot to discover...a very overdue lunch. (Or early dinner, whatever, we were famished) We ended up at a little cafe called: Toast. (Thankfully, there was much more than that on the menu.) Having filled up the tanks, as it were, we were ready to take on the next big thing: AT&T Park for a Giants vs. Orioles baseball game. Since we had so much time (it being only about 5:00 by now), we chose to drive toward the stadium and search for reasonable parking. Now, I realize I'm totally spoiled by Camden Yards, and our secret, off-site, cheap lot...but the Giants wanted (ready for this?) $35! What. The. HECK? Well, I'm faaaarrrr too cheap to accept that as a viable option, so we proceeded to navigate away from the field...further...and further....where, as it happens, absolutely nothing exists. In the end, we had to resign ourselves to finding...yes, you guessed it, a bank-machine (dang it!)...so we could subsidize the price-gouging entrepreneurs to watch our car for a few hours. At least we compromised by choosing a less-expensive ($30...hey, it counts...for some popcorn at the game, maybe…) garage a few blocks away since we didn't mind walking a bit. (Who, us? Ha! "Walking" should be our—collective--middle name!)

Even with those unexpected deviations from the agenda, we still had time to wander around the outside of the park, taking in the sights from the famous McCovey Cove and Willie Mays Plaza before heading inside. And let me just say, as far as location, the Giants' field cannot be beat. Bay, bridge, boats...beautiful. I have to admit, though, at this point something that had been weighing on my mind all week, ever since we arrived in this breezy, chilly town, made itself a priority. It was a potentially painful personal problem...namely: I didn't bring any PANTS on this trip. How was I going to survive several hours sitting in the stands on a 60-degree, windy evening? And what the heck was I thinking when I packed? (Actually, I know the answer to that one: I was hampered by the fact that it's always hot and muggy at home in August...so who could even imagine wearing fleece jackets and jeans? Or maybe my brain had just melted by that time in the Summer...or something...) Let me just tell you that the four of us were among the only (crazy) fans with bare knees showing. But somehow we toughed it out--albeit with some goosebumps and huddling together for warmth. (With Ghirardelli hot chocolate, which is sold everywhere you turn, but without purchasing extra apparel--W-I-N...W-I-N!)

The park itself has an old-timey feel, with lots of brick facade construction, and decoration consisting of sepia-toned photos and inspirational baseball quotes scattered throughout. Even the concessions are designed to blend into the antique look (while selling a dizzying array of cuisine, from your standard hotdog, pizza, and pretzel, to the gourmet bacon-wrapped-dog, ravioli (Huh? Don't ask me, I'm just the reporter...), and the famous (evidently) Gilroy's garlic fries. As we strolled around, we spotted lots of fellow Os supporters, although you have to look closely to differentiate, as the hometown team wears the same colors! And I’ve gotta hand it to the loyal locals—they cheer like it’s Game 7 of the World Series…for every routine fly ball, strike called, or grounder to first base. As for the action between the foul lines, it went the way of a classic pitcher’s duel, with the Os leading 2-1 on a J.J. Hardy homerun (one moment: yaaayyyyyyy!) going into the bottom of the 9^th inning.

There was entertainment unique to AT&T Park, of course, to liven things up along the way. My favorite diversions were the paddleboard race, in which the Orange Man (literally a man adorned head-to-toe in a neon tangerine jumpsuit…apparently those who live there “get it”, ‘cuz it made no sense whatsoever to me), someone dressed in a shark costume, and a…panda-suit-clad-person…competed to be the first around a buoy in McCovey Cove. Inspired silliness, and good for a chuckle, to be sure. Then, during the 8^th, there was (wait for it) Journey. Karoaoke. Oh yeah, baby, 40,000 people singing along at the top of their lungs to Don’t Stop Believin’ (embarrassing the bejeebers out of their beloved children in the meantime: BONUS), it was a hoot! Finally, when the organ plays the rhythmic tune that’s supposed to get everyone clapping in an encouraging rah-rah sort of way, and at the end you yell (typically), “Let’s go, Giants” (or whomever)….the fans instead cry out “Dodgers Suck!” (Not very sporting, but amusing, regardless…)

When the game had almost concluded, when there was nothing left but for the Orioles’ closer to record 3 measly outs and preserve the victory…he instead allowed the tying run to score and forced extra innings. Unacceptable! We were freezing! And D-O-N-E!  And utterly disgusted with his performance! However, we grudgingly committed ourselves to remaining for One. More. Inning. And in that time, fortunately, the Os at last put some more runs on the board (3, to be exact) and sewed up the win. So we were still very, very frigid…but content.

And that, folks, wrapped our California R&R (Research and Recreation) Vacation. We return to the East Coast with copious notes to provide fodder for some upcoming Major Family Discussions…that is, once we re-acclimate to our own Time Zone. Stay tuned…we’d be more than happy to share stories, show pictures, and answer questions…just give us a couple of nice, long sleeps before you ask anything too demanding, please!

*Here are the totals for August 1st-10th, according to my pedometer: Steps 177,590 (!); Miles 77.98 (!!) No. Wonder. We're. Exhausted!

Sonoma County Finale

It's kind of hard to believe, but we've been out here on the West Coast for a week...and hadn't yet even glimpsed the Pacific (or, as we Easterners like to call it, that "other ocean"). Today we set out to remedy this egregious oversight. The locale we chose was Bodega Bay--and yes, I am aware that it was the setting for Hitchcock's iconic film The Birds...because every time I mentioned it when our cross-country venture was in the planning stages, people felt compelled to tell me. The drive took us on Highway 1, more famously called the Pacific Coast Highway (naturally). Leaving Santa Rosa, it meanders its way through several cute little towns, before settling in to a winding, rolling route through forest-and-farm country. (With this combination, we felt extremely lucky that the fresh air held a strong scent of pine, and not the, ahem "alternative"...)

The sea itself, when it finally slides into view, is well worth the roller-coaster ride. The ubiquitous fog had not yet dissipated for the day, so tendrils of it still skimmed the rocky hillsides, lending the whole scene an almost spooky aura. Vigorous waves and sheets of foamy surf pounded the huge rock formations with thunderous roars. Craggy cliffs loomed forbiddingly over the narrow beaches. We braved the 65 degrees and the stiff breeze to wander around for a while, and were amply rewarded for our fortitude when we spotted anemones and starfish in some shallow tide pools near the shore. Higher up, hawks glided overhead on the updrafts (probably searching for their next seafood buffet). One thing that amused us was the abundance of stern warning signs, educating visitors about just how dangerous--and sneaky, apparently--the Pacific can be. The Park Service caution you about "sleeper waves" that have been known to quickly swoop up onto the sand, catching beachcombers unawares and whisking them out into the water. They also admonish you to never turn your back to the ocean...or play tag with the waves (absolutely NOT making this up...) Finally, they advise you not to tread too close to the edges of the cliffs...which could crumble and plunge you to your doom. I'm not kidding, this is the phrase that appeared repeatedly on the signs: "Few survive." (That should totally be accompanied by ominous music, right? I thought so...)

But we did manage to come through the experience unscathed--without falling, or being dragged out into the tide...or becoming kibble for a rogue...seagull, or something. So after tempting fate in such reckless fashion for the bulk of our day, we decided on a safer course of action for the evening. Since we have recently joined the Petaluma Fan Club (membership...four), we found a restaurant/brewpub in town, to test out some local cuisine for our dinner. I can happily report that both the food and the ale were outstanding. And that, my friends, concludes our stay here in delightful Santa Rosa. It's difficult to fathom that our vacation is almost over, but tomorrow we pack it up again and had back south to San Francisco for one last day-and-night-'o-fun. It's been a blast...Hasta luego, Condado de Sonoma!

Day Eight of our California Tutorial...

Hmmm, here we are, spending another fine day in California, so that must mean it's time for...one more park...one more hike...and yes, one more lake. Yawwwwnnnn. We're becoming soooo saturated with all this...natural splendor...and whatnot...that we hardly even notice it any more...JUST KIDDING! We live for this stuff, dude! (Did you like that? I'm practicing my West Coast Surf Lingo--not that I don't use the term "dude" at home, but it has much more, I don't know, "authenticity", out here...or some such nonsense...) After yesterday's long uphill climb, we scaled back a whole lot for this morning's excursion. Even as fit as we are, I think we all felt the after-shocks of Hood Mountain in our fatigued leg muscles. So we unanimously voted for a "gentle walk" in Annadel State Park, the entrance to which lies within spitting distance of our condo. With many options open to us in the park's vast wide-open spaces, we chose a relatively simple path that would take us through the forest and around Lake Ilsanjo.

The terrain proved so comfortable that I even had energy to construct my own little rating system that I intend to apply to all future Family Hikes. What's the scale, you ask? Well, there's E for "easy", M for "moderate", C for "challenging", S for "strenuous", and K for "kick a--butt". As an example, I'd call the Hood Mountain Trail an S/K and today's ramble an E/M. (Patent Pending.) Anyway, we still managed to rack up a 4-mile roundtrip through the hushed, serene woodlands. Yeah, just one more day enjoying the Great Outdoors and the bounty of nature...

In the afternoon, however, we had quite a different agenda: an appointment with a Real Estate Agent (the very same one who helped Husband's colleague and her husband find their home) to explore the area and start getting a feel for some pertinent relocation details...like which neighborhoods are most desirable, where the best quality schools are...what's a decent local coffee joint...or how to avoid gridlock on Highway 101 at all costs--you know, critical stuff like that. Josh drove us around for several hours, providing a running color commentary of both factual information based on statistics and news reports, and informed advice fueled by his experience living and working in Sonoma County. At the end of the extraordinarily productive and helpful day, what we came away with actually turned out to be a reversal of opinion for Team WestEnders. When we arrived in Northern California, armed with all of my research accumulated during the Mid-Atlantic Wintertime, I thought we wanted to move to Santa Rosa. The seeds of change were planted, though, when we spent the day in Petaluma with Husband's friend and were charmed by that town's character and atmosphere. Then Josh reinforced the "pro" column for Petaluma by extolling its virtues and enumerating a veritable laundry list of reasons why it would be a better choice for our family.

And I'm totally willing to accept that...EXCEPT...I have pages and pages of notes on every aspect of Santa Rosa, from education to shopping to recreation to, you name it, I've got it...and now I'll need to START OVER? Ay yi yi. Looks like I'll have my work cut out for me this next year--that is, after I overcome the last remnants of opposition from the male contingent and get everyone reconciled with the WestEnders Transcontinental Migration. Something tells me I'd better rest up for this...

Are we there yet?

After nearly a week in Sonoma County, I'd have to say we're pretty used to the weather patterns, and know what to expect. However, last night when I climbed into bed, I realized my feet so closely resembled...blocks of ice...that I couldn't fall asleep until they warmed up. In August. If that wasn't weird enough, this morning we nonchalantly glanced out the kitchen window while puttering around at breakfast time and witnessed...what looked suspiciously like a light sprinkle falling from the sky. But, but...that doesn't happen here--we have the solemn vow of some very trustworthy natives! I tell ya, we were so stunned and outraged, you'd think it was, I don't know, locusts raining down on us. I even felt compelled to step outside and examine the phenomenon, just to be sure my eyes weren't deceiving me. Nope, that's moisture, all right. So I promptly did what any 21st century, plugged-in, intellectually-curious individual would do: I logged on to the NOAA website...in case this was such a breaking meteorological story that they were on top of it at that very moment. Nothin'. The forecast cheerfully called for sunny skies and 71*. Since we evidently were either in abject denial...or ignoring the entire situation, I could only conclude that these misty conditions were A) a by-product of the everyday early-a.m. fog; B) so commonplace as to be unremarkable; and (most importantly) C) a temporary hiccup in what would become yet another glorious day (fingers crossed).

Having alleviated our climate concerns, we turned our attention to the day's agenda: an assault on the summit of nearby Hood Mountain. We didn't really have all that much information, despite my attempts to find online trail maps prior to our visit. So we arbitrarily chose the park entrance that lay on the same road as our condo development, and set off to figure it all out on the fly. One thing we quickly discovered is that the access road was steep, narrow, and winding...making for a picturesque--if slightly harrowing--ascent. Once we arrived (the lone car in the parking lot), we fortunately happened upon two employees, who courteously provided us with the intel we lacked. As it turned out, from the side we'd chosen to approach, the mountaintop would be...an eleven-mile roundtrip hike. Yikes. Obviously, this would call for a Plan B, then...

Therefore, we opted for a trail that would lead us on a steady upward march...as far as we wanted to go before calling it quits and turning around. And I have to say, even though we didn't technically reach the apex, the walk was satisfyingly challenging and impressively panoramic. As we trudged up and up, on the sharply-sloped dirt-and-gravel path, we couldn't help but be pleased with ourselves as we first came level with, then surpassed, the pine-covered peaks of some of the adjacent mountains. We also noted that the soaring, swooping hawks we'd been admiring from afar since we set foot on the trail...were now much, much closer...as in "practically right above our heads". At about 3-1/2 miles (and keeping in mind that was only halfway), we made the Family Decision that we'd had enough natural splendor...and screaming quadriceps...for one day. So we performed an about-face, and skidded and shimmied our way back down to the car once more.

Although we came up shy of planting our metaphorical flag in the summit...this time...it still felt like we accomplished something worthwhile in our 7-mile, 4-hour jaunt. Besides, we MORE than earned the pizza we have planned for dinner this evening...and for the adults, at long last, W-I-N-E! Yep, on this vacation the rewards just keep on coming...

Entertainment Under the Sun...

Whew, what a relief to report that we made it through the hottest day of our weeklong stay here on the West Coast. When I woke up this morning to a brisk 53* (and donned my San Francisco fleece--that's right, "new favorite article of clothing"), who could have predicted the mercury would climb all the way up to...75? Soooo glad we survived that scorcher! (Sorry, I'm done with the weather sarcasm...for now...) Seriously, as we have come to learn from those who make this area their home, the daily pattern repeats itself in an extremely reliable fashion: cloudy sky until 10 a.m. or so, before brilliant sunshine breaks through and sticks around the rest of the day. Cool in the morning, heating up a bit by noon, chilling rapidly again as the sun lowers in the evening. In a word: dee-light-ful.

Today we elected to explore some local green spaces. (You know, 'cuz we NEVER spend enough time outside, or get sufficient exercise...on vacation) First up: Howarth Memorial Park, with the promise of hiking trails, a scenic lake, and playground areas. Before we could enjoy this recreational opportunity, though, we had to complete a very important errand...the boys requested that we purchase a foam football for them to throw around in a grassy spot somewhere. So, once again acting like we live here, we located the nearest Target--aaannnd, mission accomplished. Thus we considered ourselves fully equipped...to romp in nature, which we certainly proceeded to do. I would have to say the undisputed highlight had to be the leisurely stroll around the lovely Lake Ralphine, punctuated by stops to pick (and munch) the abundant wild blackberries that encroach on the path at practically every turn.

After a couple hours of downtime at the condo, we aimed for our next goal of the day, Spring Lake Regional Park. This one offered a paved loop for traveling around the lake (on foot, on 2 wheels, or on horseback), and a lagoon for swimming. To soak up the last of the warm afternoon rays, we tackled the circle first, sharing the trail with numerous other walkers (many escorting their canine companions), as well as joggers, pedalers, and stroller-pushers. (No equestrians, though.) We had to take it easy, (after all, this was our second workout session of the day...) mostly because we kept stopping, turning our gazes upward, and exclaiming in wonder at the surrounding vistas--shimmering water, stately pines, rugged hills...spectacular. Also contributing to the overall satisfaction: with no humidity to speak of, the breeze blew crisp and refreshing against your skin. And since we weren't running, it wasn't nearly hot enough to break a sweat. But the most amazing thing we've noticed while passing significant amounts of time in the California Great Outdoors? No. Bugs. I mean it, none of the freakin' irritating flies that buzz your ears when you're in the woods at home, none of the obnoxious gnats that swarm around your head on sticky days...it's absolutely fantastic. When we returned to our starting point, those brave enough to test the waters went for a very short dip in the lake. (I really think Derek turned blue...)

All of this counted as a Training Day for the big mountain hike we have planned for tomorrow...so for now I'd better spend some crucial quality time...curled up in bed under a nice toasty blanket...um, visualizing the summit (yeah, that's it...zzzz)

A Day of Rest...sort of...

So, after spending much of yesterday on our feet and on the move, today we experienced a relaxing change of pace. It was time to "visit with the locals" and pick their brains (gently, of course) about all things North-Bay-Area...ish. The Californians in our sights were a colleague of Husband's, and her spouse, who reside in a city called Petaluma, a few miles south of Santa Rosa. In the interest of showing off their little hamlet, they took us downtown for a (delectable) lunch, then strolled us around for a while so we could soak in the atmosphere. While window-gazing at all of the unique and interesting little boutiques and coffee venues we passed, (memo to me: Golden State denizens appear to L-O-V-E their java...my people!) we also learned from our friendly tour guides that Petaluma was founded in the 1850s, and used to be known as..."The Egg Capital of the World" (Trust me, I couldn't even begin to make this stuff up...) due to the preponderance of (you guessed it) chicken farms back in the day. While it undoubtedly seems to be a thoroughly modern suburb nowadays (they have a Target, for goodness sake, it MUST be hip and happening), it definitely has retained its rustic charm and small-town feel. Absolutely adorable.

Then our fabulous hosts led us back to their abode for an afternoon of chatting, sampling their selection of local beers, swimming in their backyard pool (and by that I mean "the children", because I still wore my fleece jacket...yeah, I don't see myself EVER stepping into any kind of water--other than a hot shower--in Northern California...), and of course the Quiz Portion of our stay. During the course of a very pleasant several hours, Husband and I asked all kinds of questions about climate, traffic, outdoor activities, places of interest...etc. (All of this information will be duly stored away and utilized in the engineering and implementation of my Master Relocation Plan, not to worry...) By the time we took our leave, we had absorbed quite a lot of enthusiastic description of the region...more food for thought, that much is certain.

Finally, it was the moment we'd all (okay, maybe just me) been waiting for: checking into our Home Away From Home for the rest of the week, a condo in Santa Rosa. At last, we'd have luxurious accommodations--well, for us this isn't really all that complicated...give us a little bit of space to spread out, so the boys can stop rampaging in a tiny hotel room, and we're utterly ecstatic. (And if you think I'm exaggerating about the rambunctious behavior, let me just tell you, this morning they were so wired that they created a game that evidently consisted of throwing a stuffed animal across the room, and tackling the receiver onto one of the beds. Oh yeah, it was time to get the heck outta Dodge...) In our new digs, we are spoiled by two bedrooms, kitchen, dining room, bathroom, living room, and not one, but TWO patios. (I swear, it's like we died and went to...the Ritz, or something...) In the interest of immediately acting like this is our actual house, we spent the rest of our exhilarating evening laundering all of our accumulated dirty clothing...and grocery shopping. (Um, it might not sound particularly exciting, but trust me, we smell better, and we're not grumpy from skipping dinner...)

Most importantly, everyone should sleep well, in our separate adult/kid rooms, with the nice big comfy beds. And in the morning, we already have breakfast items at the ready, so that after our relatively lazy Sunday, we can hit the ground running once more. Day 4 of Operation Sonoma, here we come!

City Morning, Wilderness Afternoon

Today we discovered the definitive answer to the burning question "How long does it take Team WestEnders to adjust to a 3,000 mile, 3-hour Time Zone trek?" Since we emerged from sleep under our own power this morning, at a rational and acceptable local time (that would be 7:30, for the curious), I would have to conclude that the magical number is: 36 hours. Not too bad...although I can't say I was so perky that I turned my nose up at the free hotel coffee. ('Cuz that would just be crazy talk...) Also of note, it came as quite a shivery shock this morning when I opened the door to wander down to the breakfast bar and got hit with a blast of 50-degree air, presumably fueled by the layer of clouds clinging to the hilltops. (Yep, that desperation-fleece I bought yesterday is looking more and more like a prudent purchase...yay, me!)

Today's get-out-and-explore agenda first took us to the historical area of downtown Santa Rosa. Called Railroad Square, it boasts shops, eateries...and adorable statuary tributes to Charles Schulz--who drew his beloved Peanuts comics while living in Santa Rosa for about 40 years-- scattered throughout the sidewalks, cheerful surprises to encounter on your meandering path. We wound our way up and down the quiet, pleasant streets for a while, even stumbling upon a well-disguised mall (believe it or not), cleverly nestled in middle of the district...at exactly the time when we were craving a thirst-quenching cold drink. (W-I-N!) As we walked and walked (and walked), one thing we couldn't get over was how, even in the bright sunlight (yes, the early a.m. fog does always burn off, apparently) it never seemed hot or uncomfortable, thanks to the extremely low level of humidity. (In fact, I kept my jacket on most of the day, because even when the temps hit their highest point--around 78*--it still felt cool in the shade or when the breeze kicked up.) After several miles of city-sightseeing on foot, we deemed it the Official Hour of Lunch and ate at a cute cafe (A'roma--kitschy-but-cute, yeah?) before heading out of town for our next engagement.

From the (relative) bustle of Santa Rosa, we moved out into the sprawling vistas of northern California wine country, in search of Armstrong Woods and its reaaaallllyyy BIG trees. Although we'd read about this phenomenon in the guidebooks, we were still astonished at the sheer number of wineries--and the acres upon acres of grapevines--we passed along the way. We were also climbing a bit as we drove, and we began noticing absolutely gigantic pine trees sprouting out of the landscape as well. Add to that the rocky hillsides and the Russian River winding below us in a shallow valley, and you have an altogether spectacular drive. And then, of course, there were the redwoods...towering, majestic, placid guardians of the forest. As you hike through their domain, I swear absolute silence reigns (apart from the human chatter, I mean). No wind, no animal sounds, no rushing water, just...serenity. True to form, we chose a 2-ish mile loop that promised to be "somewhat strenuous...and steep". It involved a 500-foot elevation change on a loose-gravel-and-dirt trail with sheer side-drops and numerous switchbacks. (Uh-huh, this actually IS our idea of a "nice Saturday jaunt in the park"...or perhaps we all collectively exhibit a teensy bit of the "glutton for punishment" gene, whatever...) Anyway, we spent some quality time marveling at the Beauty of Nature before calling it a day and returning to home base.

My pedometer-thingie assured me that we had walked over 24,000 steps/10 miles in the course of our active day, so we rewarded ourselves with a dinner of Mexican fare at a recommended local restaurant (Su Casa--turned out to be casual and delicioso) then settled in for the rest of the evening. Given the status of everyone's legs (in a word: weary), tomorrow will be a more restful day...naturally it shall begin with caffeine (that kind of goes without saying, right?)...and then include a visit to a co-worker of Husband's who lives out here (quizzing her about everything you need to know to become a Sonoma County Transplant...) For now, I will take some of that peaceful atmosphere I so appreciated from the redwood preserve, and apply it to meditating...while gazing at the insides of my eyelids...I feel it working alreadyzzzzzz......

Busy Day by the Bay

The first full day of our Cali-cation kicked off waaaayyyy too early, as the boys' circadian rhythms were all out of whack from the time-zone-hopping, and somehow signaled them to wake up at the charming hour of (duh duh duh DAH) 6 a.m. Ughhhhhh. That's a good (or very, very BAD, as it were) hour-and-a-half before I normally get up, so picture my joy at being roused at this gosh-darn-awful-uncivilized time. I mean, c'mon, the free hotel breakfast wasn't even set up yet, so you know it was too soon for rational human beings to be functioning! But, intrepid travelers that we are, we soldiered on (by counting the precious minutes until the coffee would be available...tick tick tick...ding! Yessss!)

However, as it turned out, this whole situation actually worked to our significant advantage. You see, we were able to hit the highway toward San Francisco earlier than anticipated, thereby securing a parking spot--in a high-tourist area that would fill to capacity later in the day--with no fuss whatsoever. (Okay, except the 20 bucks it cost to leave our car with the nice men minding the lot...) We then had Pier 39 almost entirely to ourselves for quite a while, allowing us to wander freely, pop into souvenir stores, laugh at the antics of the sea lions, admire Alcatraz from a distance, scout promising lunchtime locations...and in the meantime, obtain a nice, toasty drink to warm our hands... (In contrast, just a few hours further into the day, the entire neighborhood would be clogged with teeming humanity, making sightseeing a much more challenging endeavor. So in hindsight, yay us for getting such a jump on things? Yeah, that's it, we totally planned it that way...) And incidentally, speaking of those memento-stores, guess what I picked out, to remember the City by the Bay? A fleece jacket, yes sirree. Somehow, when reading the weather forecasts and packing for this trip, I still didn't really believe the temperature could possibly be brisk enough...in August...to require a wintery layer. (I know: silly, silly me. But on the bright side, I'll obviously wear my new apparel a lot at home in the upcoming nippy months, and it will always remind me of Summertime...when I was chilly...in California...oh, whatever...)

Next we kept up our brisk pace (increasing circulation to maintain body heat) and made a beeline for Ghirardelli Square. Strangely enough, we didn't actually end up purchasing chocolate there (GASP!), but we did take the opportunity to gape and gawk at the ridiculous San Francisco hills as we trudged up and down them. Suddenly, all that trotting around caught up with us, however, and we found ourselves needing to heed the call of the stomach. Funny enough, a place known as Fisherman's Wharf proved extraordinarily stingy on the...vegetarian options. (Hmmm, go figure...) Luckily, the Boudin Bakery--home of sourdough loaves aplenty--rescued us. We were able to take a load off the weary feet (aaahhhh) and savor some delectable bread, (of course) soup, and sandwich fare. Mmmmm....

Thus fortified...and realizing just how tired we were feeling all of a sudden...we made the group decision to save the rest of our S.F. To-Do List for when we return on the tail end of our journey. The moment had come to retrieve our ride and set our sight north, to Sonoma County and our base of operations for the next week: Santa Rosa. And let me just say that I can sum up the remainder of our evening in a succinct (and somewhat pithy, I apologize in advance) fashion: Highway 101...from H-A-D-E-S. Traffic, construction--all-around sucky, sucky, sucky. Therefore after we puttered into our hotel, we voted for a simple evening consisting of a dip in the pool (well, for the boys, anyway. I chose to decompress by viewing some mindless TV in the room)...and food acquired from the local Whole Foods market.

Tomorrow, Navigation Gods willing, we shall meander our way to the downtown historic section and be all touristy and whatnot once more. I've already let it be known in no uncertain terms--free cups 'o joe or not--that there will be absolutely no disturbing of Mom's sacred slumber until a reasonable hour...denoted in PACIFIC time. Speaking of which, the clock tells me it's my bedtime...in California...so off I go to dreamland...regardless of which coast, goodnight, all!

A Short Account of a Looooong Day...

Day One of Team WestEnders' West Coast Adventure proved quite successful, if thoroughly exhausting. Because I can barely formulate a sentence at this point...and even though I'm willing to suspend my weariness and at least try to pretend I'm already acclimated to Pacific Time, my computer stubbornly continues to remind me that it's 12:25 Eastern, rather than getting on board with the delusion and resetting itself already, for heaven's sake...where was I? California? Oh yeah, Today's Events, in abbreviated (and hopefully intelligible, although I make no promises) form:

7:45--Everyone gets up and begins preparing to vacate the premises. Mainly, this means throwing on a travel outfit and choosing a makeshift breakfast from what remains in the kitchen. (Frozen waffles...um...cheese and crackers? Whatever, I know there's a Dunkin' Donuts at the airport and I'm holding out for the java goodness, baby!)

9:30--arrive at BWI, park, take shuttle, blah blah blah, the usual routine.

11:00--board first flight, bound for Chicago Midway. Due to Southwest Airlines's Cattle Call Policy, we are forced to split into pairs, separated by several rows. As we take our seats, we wave gaily to one another one last time before taking off.

Okay, here's the first time it gets confusing: 1:00 Eastern, which has magically become 12 noon, Central, we touch down in The Windy City. Attempt to process the complicated math (which in algebraic terms would look something like this: ETD Central - A(rrival, converted) = number of minutes allowed to use facilities, purchase food, and re-plane. Rounded answers will not be accepted. Show your work. See, I'm LOOPY...) Anyway, because of a glitch that shall be called The Sad Sandwich Snafu (I ordered a veggie panini at a small cafe, waited ten minutes for it to be prepared, then was handed what turned out to be...turkey...for a vegetarian...which I discovered only after we were flying again. Aargh!) we had to hustle in late-ish fashion onto the aircraft and ended up with Husband and Riley together, but Derek and I on our own, surrounded by strangers. This was not actually a problem, as it was a 4-1/2 hour haul, and we ended up doing a combination of napping, reading, playing games...and staring dazedly out the windows.

4:00 Pacific--We arrive in the Golden State, baby! And honestly, the first thing I notice is that after finally getting used to 80/90 degrees...68 feels downright chilly! Oh, and that strong breeze can be sort of...piercing, through a cotton sweater. It became hilariously obvious who actually lives here and who's a tourist--the natives all sported jackets and jeans. Oopsie. On the major Plus Side, we're looking at palm trees and the wide, gorgeous expanse of the San Francisco Bay, and California sunshine...so it's all G-O-O-D.

After obtaining our rental car and journeying the couple of miles to our hotel, we quickly regrouped and headed toward the city in search of dinner...since we'd been cross-country without a real meal to sustain us and were all a bit woozy and tired. (Also it was now 6 p.m. here, which Husband kept helpfully translating into Maryland time for us, in case we weren't fatigued enough.) (Foolishly) braving the evening traffic to commute our way into Chinatown for some authentic cuisine, we (delightfully) were not disappointed. It was delicious, it was filling...it's time to hit the sack and rest and recuperate for tomorrow.

Because then, my friends, we storm the City by the Bay, for real. (After the free morning buffet, of course. And perhaps I'll buy a warmer jacket first...) Good night, East and West Coasts!