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!

About

On Turning Three: A Letter to Gigi

Dear Gigi,

Last Friday, your turned three years old.

This morning, you took off your sneakers in the church narthex and threw them at me shouting, "I don't want to wear these today!" Last week, I put you in time out; I don't remember why. You snarked, "You go 'way, you ole' woman!" Your feelings are bigger than the ruffles on your skirts and bloomers, and I fear that your attitude now is merely warming me up for your teenage years.

Every evening around 6:30, you melt.  You try to slap me as I carry you upstairs and undress your exhausted, still baby fat little body.  Then, you wrap your arms around my neck and press your cheek to mine for snuggles, and in an instant, all is forgiven.

You are a force of nature, and to be honest, you scare me a little bit. I believe with my whole heart that you're smarter than me, and you'll do amazing things someday

--if only I can discipline you meaningfully and kindly without breaking your spirit.

You love "My Little Ponies" and Dora the Explorer, and you desperately want to fill my shoes--the higher the heel the better. When you grow up, you want to be a princess with a long pony tail, just like mine. No lipstick is too red, and no job too tough. You think I can handle anything, and even though I know it's not true,

I hope that I'm setting an example for you of the kind of woman you'd like to be.

Your brother knows you're a handful (and he's a bucketful, or so he says). You're at the crossroads of toddlerhood and preschooler--where Cheerios give way to Goldfish Crackers, and diapers give way to potties, even the auto-flushers.

Each day will present its own challenges, and I have no doubt you'll tackle them with gusto. Today, I watched you carefully cover an auto-flusher sensor with toilet paper (or as you call them, "paper towels"), just so that you could handle your business in peace.

Remember this: for me, watching you graduate from college will give me with the same sense of pride and bittersweet gladness that watching you manage your nemesis, the auto-flusher, gave me.

For real.

Someday, you'll trade your frills and tiara for a cap and gown, for a business suit and heels, or scrubs and sensible shoes. I hold not a single doubt that you'll channel all of your three-year old exuberance into becoming an incredible person with your own special spin on whatever you choose to replace your frills: 

You've always know how to work an outfit. 

For now, be three. Throw the fits. Grow into your feelings, and every now and then, let them be bigger than your tiny frame--good or bad. 

Hold close to your friends. You never know which one will be your friend for life. 

Hold closer to your brother. He knows you better than anyone 

(and he totally gets your crazy parents too).

Play with dolls as long as you want. Junior high boys probably won't want to dance anyway--even if you do know all the steps to the Cha Cha Slide. 

Eat the cake. Always. 

Always remember that pretty is as pretty does. 

And you, you are beautiful. 

Because I'm Happy...And Other Little Bits & Pieces

I used to work on big cases for big clients, small cases for enormous clients, and gigantic cases for downright small town clients. I researched and strategized. I made outlines that were chapters long. The issues were complex, and life was even more complicated than that. (I'd love to tell you I don't miss it, but truth be told, I guess I do--in some respects). Today,  I spent most of my day folding used clothing and drinking in the bargain hunter's Mecca--the church garage sale pre-sale. I'm not a hoarder, but darn those hoarding tendencies! Today, my adoptees included a cast-iron dutch oven, harvest gold and avocado green Tupperware tumblers, a princess tent, some yard ornaments, a punch bowl (to be fair, I traded in the one that I already owned--not a hoarder), a cashmere sweater (!), and two country aprons. I dug through boxes of cables, used panties & socks (ew, really people?), and sorted water bottles from coffee mugs until late in the afternoon.

And throughout the day, I constantly caught myself singing: "I love you. You love me. We're a happy family. With a great big hug and a kiss from me to you, won't you say you love me too?" Credit to the big purple dinosaur, Barney. Gigi has never seen his show, but she does enjoy his literature; every night she sings herself to sleep by reading Barney's book of nursery rhymes. And, this week, when I interviewed her as "Star of the Week" for pre-K, she told me that her favorite book is the I Love You book. There was a smile on my face.

Happy.

It also makes me happy that Gigi's favorite foods are Honey Nuts, Cheetos, and Fruit Loops. Second child syndrome. Her brother's favorites at that age were sloppy joe sandwiches and guacamole. Happy. Not necessarily proud.

What else makes me happy?

These two:

She loves her big brother. And sugar cereals. 

He's going through a serious phase peppered with childish curiosity: "Mom, how are you feeling today? Are you feeling okay? Do seals eat people?" Yes, this was all asked in sequence. In the car. On a Monday morning. For the record, he also would like to know if cats have kittens like moms have babies, and if so, well, then how do the babies get out of the cats tummy? Or better yet, how do babies get out of a mommy's tummy? If anyone has a six-year old appropriate answer, I'm all ears (glowing red with embarrassment). 

The first soccer game of the year makes me happy too:

Cutest cheerleader on the field. I'm going to make them re-take this picture when she's 14, and he's 17. 

This makes me pretty happy too. Dad's an awfully good coach. 

Those faces! A game well played. 

Some days, she looks so much like her daddy.

Fancy footwork makes me happy too. 

Not this happy. You know what makes me this happy? Running--when it's 60 degrees outside. 

Hello fall!

Every season, we ask him, "But did you have fun?"  The picture is a bit blurry, but I think the answer is still resoundingly "Yes!"

Little boy jokes make me happy too. "Hey mom," he told me today, "Did you know Bartlesville is a funny word? It sounds like you're burping!"

Of course, little girl dreams make me happy too: "I wish we had a fountain in our house. A princess fountain. A princess water fountain that we could drink from." 

Lately, I've devoted more time to volunteer service than to my computer. I'm behind on my shows, my blog, my books, and my house keeping. But, I've met (and I hope I've helped) people with problems far bigger than the ring around my bathtub. I have the opportunity of a lifetime to teach at a law school that not only places high value on service but that is also my alma mater. I learned to do a headstand this week in yoga class, and I can still run 5 miles at the drop of a hat. I picked up my violin for the first time in months and managed to eek out enough of a tune for Gigi to "Let It Go." 

It's almost November, and soon enough, I'm sure I'll join the minions in giving daily thanks for everything from fluffy towels to the great state I live in, earthquakes, tornadoes, monsoons and all. No doubt before then, I'll feel the pressure of a great thought just waiting to be expanded and expounded onto paper. 

But, for tonight, my thoughts are simple and happy. And, for now, that's who I prefer to be. 

With a Little Help from My Friends

In the 9th grade, I went to a school dance. I'd been to only two dances before that one; I wasn't a particularly popular girl in junior high. But, I had my friends. We stuck together. We sat outside after lunch, or in the bleachers in the gym. We took speech class together and dramatically interpreted Steel Magnolias (I was a killer Shelby--those judges were wrong). We passed countless notes in the halls and giggled away late Friday nights watching Shag. My friends were the ones who convinced me to go to that one last 9th grade dance.

It was a fancy dance, held at the local country club--high living in our small town. My mom made me a polished cotton pastel floral Laura Ashley knock-off; she hot rolled my hair; and she helped me put on mascara and lipstick. I felt beautiful, and terrified. Would I get asked to dance? By a boy? What would I say? What would I do with my hands? 

In an attempt to ease the adolescent angst, the dance organizers revived a late nineteenth century: dance cards. Each young lady was issued a small, half-fold card with numbered lines one through ten. The card was charmingly attached to a silk cord, on the other end of which was a teeny, tiny little pencil. In theory, the boys would simply approach a girl and ask to see her dance card. He would sign up for a dance. Simple. Effortless. A mere registration process. Also in theory, a girl's dance card would be full, and she would have a lovely evening chatting and dancing with ten fine young gentlemen.

Theory rarely translates to reality, particularly when dealing with junior high romance.

My dance card wasn't full. Not even close. I had one dance. Maybe two. They were so awkward. The best part of each dance was when the song ended. Then, I was free to scamper back to my small herd of girlfriends to giggle, squeal, and wonder if I would get to repeat the experience at least one more time that night.

In life, we don't have dance cards.  We do have text messages, and Facebook. Sometimes, we even talk to friends on the phone or manage to grab lunch. We meet each other at work, on soccer fields, at kindergarten fundraisers.

Last week, I had a realization: my dance card is full. I have more friends than days in the week. If I were to have a party at my house, I wouldn't have enough chairs to seat everyone I wanted to invite. (Note: Need to buy more chairs.).

My mom always tells me that we have different friends for different times in our lives. Campfire girls taught me, "Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver, and the other gold."

For the first time in forever, I have new friends, and old friends, silver friends, and gold friends--all very much treasured.

I have my old friends--the ones who giggled with me at junior high dances and introduced me to V.C. Andrews books. I have my older friends--the ones who knew me before I had permanent teeth and who loved me even when those permanent teeth grew in crooked.

I have my ladies--the ones with whom I share the commonality of law school and law firm experience. When I left private practice, I was afraid I would lose that close knit network of truly brilliant women. Friendship survives firms, and I'm so grateful that it does.

I have mom friends who I know will be lifelong friends, sharing birthday parties, graduations, soccer games, and the occasional (or not so occasional) margarita.

Tonight, I went to Parents' Night at our little Lutheran school. Gigi is technically in two different preschool classes, MWF, and TT. When I mentioned that we would probably attend only one field trip day, her teacher responded, "I would try to go with the Monday/Wednesday/Friday section. Her best friends are in that class, and she'll have so much more fun." (Gigi's bestie isn't in class with her this year, and saying goodbye to him very nearly breaks her heart most mornings).

Gigi is two. Already, she has made friends--the ones who knew her before she had permanent teeth and who will love her when they come in crooked (we've already started the fund for her orthodontic work).

My hope for my little woman is that when she is 37, she'll have the realization that her dance card is full. Friends have made the difference for me. And, to each of them, thank you, I'll call you for lunch (or margaritas) soon.