The Club

I wasn't a country club kid. I never played golf or tennis, and I spent my summer afternoons at the free public pool.  But, like most kids, I always wanted to be part of a club. When I was about six, my dad built a cottage playhouse in our backyard. Mom painted the inside sky blue and trimmed the windows with Care Bear curtains. It was (and still is) adorable. We called it a playhouse, but deep down, I knew what it really was: a clubhouse. A secret meeting place. A place where I could stash penny candy and costume jewelry from the dress-up collection. I had a key on a real keychain that signified to the world, "This is my place." I spent hours in that little house playing grown-ups with my besties. One summer, we spent days digging a pool outside the window, carefully lining it with black trash bags and filling it with water. A five-star lounging experience it was not, but it was my place.

Years later, I joined a sorority where I learned a lot about myself. Mostly, I learned that I don't do well with committee work, and I abhor sitting by candlelight talking about my feelings. Even then, I found the idea of the club comforting.

In law school, I found my stride. I not only joined clubs, I presided over clubs. People knew my name, and I knew theirs. I had an office that was half mine for the year, along with a crusty microwave and a few tattered reference guides.  It was my place.

I lost my mojo for a few years and didn't really have a place. Sure, I joined the ranks of both working moms and stay-at-home moms (leaving me in a strange limbo where I couldn't quite sign a membership card for either club); but, I still felt that something was missing.

Until now. It's Thanksgiving Eve, and as I made one last grocery run, I realized that I've once again found my club--a place where they know my name, and I know theirs, a place that offers endless entertainment, a place that requires a special key for entry:

Sam's Club.

I spend more time there than I could possibly spend at a country club, and it's so much better.  I've been there 5 times in 24 hours. I know the greeters by name (Hi James!), and they know me. I don't even have to show my special key(card) for entry anymore--even during the early morning "Plus" hours.  My kids think it's their country club, and why shouldn't they? We eat supper there; in the mornings, we're greeted with fresh fruit and snacks; and when we've all reached our boiling points, we often head to the club just for the accountability of public space. If there was a pool out back, we'd never go home. RJ has developed a fondness for the scent of bulk laundry detergent. Yesterday, we had to go to another grocery store (because who really needs 60 ounces of black olives?), and RJ sniffed as we passed the cleaning aisle, "Mom! It smells really good in here, just like Sam's!"

I envy those women who make one neatly outlined, categorized, legible shopping list for holidays. They know where they'll find cracked wheat, fresh cranberries, and those little tiny sweet pickles. They've started cooking before I've remembered that I forgot butter.

This year, I visited the club an average of once every 5 hours leading up to the holiday. I also visited its satellite location a/k/a Wal-Mart twice, Sprouts, Target, and Crest. My list is written on the backs of two receipts and an old sod farm notepad, and I just discovered that I'm out of paper towels.  Still, I'm grateful for the club and the ability to pop around the corner for fresh fruits, vegetables, prescriptions, and laundry soap. I'm thankful that I'm able to celebrate another year with my family. I'm grateful that I've finally found my place and settled into a routine once more--even when that routine puts me at the club one more time.

Here's wishing that you find your place this year. May your cupboards be full, your laundry April fresh,    your turkeys golden brown, and your families happy, healthy, and satisfied. Cheers! Happy Thanksgiving!

30 Days of Hallows, Hellos, and Haunting (Shameless Family Photo Catch-Up)

Today, we celebrated All Saints Day in our Lutheran church.  We remembered those who have passed from this life, and we celebrated that we knew them while they were here. All Saints Day marks the end of our 30 days of Halloween. 

When I was at my little Lutheran school, Halloween meant red punch, games, and costumes--on Halloween. No more, no less (until someone got spooked and decided we should celebrate a fall festival instead--'twas the beginning of the age of over protection I fear).  

Nowadays, we start early. RJ was asking to decorate pumpkins before the patches were even selling.  But, pester me once, and I'll say no. Pester me 37 times, and eventually, I'll find a pumpkin to decorate: 

And so it begins…a month of Halloween celebrations. 

We finally made it to the pumpkin patch, and RJ got the courage to feed the animals.

And, he was pretty proud of himself.

Someday, he'll be too big for the ponies; this year is not that year. 

These kids. 

Remember those giant slides at county fairs? This was that; and it was awesome. 

Of course, the beat goes on, and so does the homework. 

Mom and dad got the chance to play too. I was supposed to be a NASCAR wife (you can't see the Willie Nelson jeans--yes, that's a thing). I think I was more Dolly, but I'm okay with that. 'Cause Dolly is awesome. Those of you who knew me in high school--does the jacket look familiar? I totally wore it all the time. I had my senior picture taken in it! The nineties were a weird time in fashion. 

This is Gigi the pumpkin surgeon. I'm not sure I'd trust her, yet. Someday, she's going to do amazing things. 

Of course, dad was the real pumpkin surgeon. 

This one was a little bit excited. 

Big helpers. 

Be afraid. Be very afraid. 

She has so many things to say these days. 

And so begins the final push in our month of celebration. Party number one. 

This is her buddy. Every morning they do the lollipop shuffle into the church office. 

She's supposed to be praying. Then again, so was I. 

Tasty treats. 

We trick or treated dad's office. 

This one is going to make a killer litigator. 

Mom got into the spirit too (this is costume number 2 for Little Miss; I fear for the dress changes that are sure to come on her wedding day). 

Even Wolverine has to do his schoolwork. 

More trick or treats. 

This one knows how we say a blessing. 

Two of my favorite people. 

This is the best picture I could get of the two of them. 

She had some very pressing questions for Ironman . 

Even Prince Hans got into the spirit. 

And finally, finally, we made it to the end, celebrating the passing of a decade since my law school graduation. 

Whew. I think I'm caught up. And soon, I'll find an hour to put together a coherent thought. Until then…Happy November Ya'll!

Rowing and Bailing: Celebrating Ten Years (Our Trip to Monterey and Carmel Valley)

About ten years (and a few months ago), I got married. It was a fairy princess affair, and yes, yes I did wear a gigantic bow on my bottom. 

I'd wear it tomorrow if I could. 

There were tiny bows on my wrists too. 

When asked, I'd tell you it wasn't a big dress. I may have been delusional.

My new husband looked pretty good in a uniform. 

And we celebrated the right way: lots of bubbly. 

In ten years, I've learned a lot about marriage. I've learned to make a killer lasagna and a pretty tasty tortilla soup. I've developed a taste for wine, and I've learned how to best fold laundry (hence the developed taste in wine--a glass along with a good TV show goes a long way toward making laundry night one of my favorites). 

We finally got around to celebrating last week and traveled to Carmel Valley, Monterey, and Pebble Beach. It was amazing. Simply beautiful. And, along the way, I had time to think. 

One evening, we enjoyed dinner on the harbor in Monterey. You can't see them in the picture, but a couple was touring the harbor by rowboat. He was rowing, and if you paid careful attention, you'd see that she was bailing the boat. A rower and a bailer. One moved the vessel forward; the other simply kept it from sinking. It reminded me of marriage. In our relationship, we joke that we're in the weeds most days. Our kids are young; soccer games, swim lessons, and school obligations take up much of our days. Some days, I spend more time in the Swagger Wagon than I do on solid ground. Those days, I'm simply bailing--keeping us afloat for one more day. All the while, my husband is doing the work, keeping this family on a forward trajectory, making sure we have food, a roof, and a few cash dollars for fun.  Other days, I'm the one rowing; he's dropping the kids off from school and getting supper started. And, while most days I'm the bailer, it's nice to know that the ship won't sink on my rowing days. It takes two to pilot this marriage vessel. And so far, we're doing a pretty darn good job. 

We ate well. This was the Old Fisherman's Grotto on the wharf in Monterey. It claims to be the best seafood restaurant in the region, and I'm inclined to believe it. The shrimp was amazing, and oh my goodness, have you ever tried a fried artichoke? You should. The wine was delightful too: 

A half bottle--cute and tasty!

We stayed at the Carmel Valley Ranch, self proclaimed as the world's largest playground.

From the furnishings….

To my little pal just off the balcony (which the deer wandered under each night to feed)….

…the resort was simply amazing. 

Have you seen that old Chevy Chase movie, Funny Farm? Remember the scene where the couple was desperately trying to sell the house by creating the perfect picturesque scene calling, "Release the deer!" as they opened kennel doors in perfectly timed sequence? The resort was like that. The deer wandered about, and turkeys too--and always just as we were driving by. 

Really, quite unbelievable for this Oklahoma girl. 

Each night, the resort provided a trolley filled with marshmallows, graham crackers, and Hershey bars along side a roaring bonfire. What you did next was entirely up to you. (Spoiler alert: I gained about three pounds in five days.). The guests gathered with their dogs (it's pet friendly); children got along; and parents relished the silence that siblings chewing can bring. Our little darlings were home with the grandmas (hurray for grandmas!). 

Each morning, more wildlife gathered. The Gators convened early in the day to take notes on what glorious trail they'd be running. 

Bambi's Path was our trail. It led to the Bluff Sweets. 

No really. The Bluff Sweets. I just love a good play on words. 

Of course, I'm a child, so I found many, many signs that amused me on this trip: 

These Californians are serious about conservation (except when watering the golf course). They have special flushers: up for pee and down for poo. Tee Hee. 

And they're pretty cautious about the weather conditions too. "Bridge Ices Before Road." Not here. It gets "frosty." It was 95 when we were there; the only thing frosty was the iced tea served each afternoon at the resort. 

And the champagne they gifted to us since were celebrating 10 years. We celebrated right at the wedding, and we did it up just right this time too. There's a Whole Foods just 15 minutes up the road with a well-stocked hot food bar. We ate like kings for half the price of a restaurant and got to enjoy the views while we were at it: 

Our first day out, we visited the harbor sea lions. Just look at this guy. Talk about living the dream: warm sun, lots of fish, and hoards of adoring fans. 

We also went whale watching. "Oh my gosh! It's a flipper! It's a flipper!" our on-board naturalist, Frank, couldn't control his excitement over this. It must be a big deal. He's been studying whales for 27 years. 

You wouldn't believe how excited Frank got about this. It really was incredible. Four or five humpback whales fed for over an hour. Each time they surfaced, anchovies rose to the surface sparkling like a thousand silver dollars. It was something to see. 

So was this. Dolphins raced our boat for about 15 minutes. They really played, skimming along so that they could make eye contact with the passengers. 

 Don't let the smile fool you; this was days after our whale watching adventure. You know what you need to whale watch? Dramamine. The big dose. Poor guy was sea sick for half of the three-our tour. A time-lapse video would reveal 31 passengers graciously racing from one side of the boat to the other in the hopes of getting the best picture of their lives. (They really were a polite, courteous bunch those whale watchers--very at peace with themselves and nature.) Meanwhile, one lone passenger sat stoic on a center bench, wishing death upon all those who dared to scuttle about and rock the ship. 

Me? I was one of the 31 hoping for the picture of my life. I think I may have gotten it. Monterey Bay Whale Watch Center. Ask for Frank; you won't be disappointed. 

We drove historic Highway 1 and the famous 17-mile drive along Pebble Beach. 

Guess what we drove? Eeeeek! 

Gah! How I've missed a convertible! The wind! The sunshine! That freedom!

This guy even enjoyed it; and he prefers climate control most of the time. 

But with a view like this, who could complain? 

We stopped on Huckleberry Hill. 

And a few more points along the way. 

It just doesn't get better than this. 

(RJ saw this picture and said, "Damn!" I quickly turned and asked, "What did you say?!" He's quick on his feet, that one: "I said, 'Dam! Like a water dam!'" 

Truly, truly an amazing ride. Sure, it's crowded with tourists, but clearly, there's room for everyone. The Grill at Pebble Beach serves food that matches its price tag--delightful, if expensive. It's a once in a lifetime experience that I hope to repeat again. 

We spent quite a lot of time near the Monterey Harbor.

We ditched the jackets shortly thereafter. Really, there was a heatwave. 

Jaws! They have Jaws in an aquarium in Monterey. Well, maybe not. But the aquarium is still pretty amazing once you get over the sticker shock. Set in an old sardine cannery, the aquarium boasts a unique collection of sea creatures and gigantic fish along with a real live sea turtle (who refused to show his face the whole time we were there). The otters are pretty cute too (so says naturalist Frank, who squealed like a school girl when we came across one in the harbor). 

The setting for the aquarium? Yes, it's pretty amazing too. 

We did the best we could with the self-timer feature on the camera. 

We spent an awful lot of time walking the trails around the harbor. 

It's charming. 

And beautiful. 

The landscaping is unique. 

And at certain times, it doesn't even feel like you're in the same country. 

We worked the self-timer. 

And I fell a little bit in love with a tree. If that's wrong, I don't want to be right. 

This rock was pretty nice too. I'm glad you can't see me trying to climb up there. It's a visual that no one needs. 

The last day, we wandered the ranch just a few hours more. This is the view from the 11th tee. 

Even I want to play golf here. 

And this is the pat to the vineyard and the lavender fields.

Because, of course, the ranch grows its own lavender (complete with a complex bee eco-system) and makes its own wine. Try the spa lavender massage. You'll never think about lavender the same way again. 

At night, the stars shone brightly, despite the ranch being just minutes away from real civilization. 

Besides the scenery, my other most favorite thing about California? The cars. The cars! You should see the cars! There's a Tesla charging station at the ranch (because what ranch is complete without one?); and, our last morning, these beauties rolled in.

As they said hello to a new day at the ranch….

I took in my view…

…and we headed north to San Francisco once again. 

This trip, we weren't rowing. We weren't bailing. We were, for once, simply sailing. 

Ten years has been kind to us (as was the Ranch). Here's to 10 more!

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