California Dreamin': Part 2

Some things should not be ignored. Ever. Regardless of temperature, illness, or age. They should be sought out, appreciated, engaged head on. When born and raised in a landlocked state, the ocean is one of those things. It should be smelled, heard, and touched (sat in, even, if you're four and immune to freezing water). It should be beheld, and possessed in any way possible (through deep salty breaths or rubbing the smooth stones that the waves cough up on shore between your forefinger and thumb), in any way it allows. You should stay a while, long enough to collect some sand in the folds of your clothes and a handful of rocks in your empty shoes (I'm not sure what we're going to do with that little collection yet). When it's time to go, it may be best to linger a few minutes more, to guide your eyes to the textures of sand and seaweed, bird feather and wave ripple, before you lift your toes from the chilly foam and return to the cracked pavement you know. You can always tell the tourists, can't you?

California Dreamin'

It wasn't all sickness and lying low during our vacation. We took advantage of the times we could, those days when we weren't feeling as under the weather as the rest. Our first full day of vacation (before we actually realized Audrey was sick and hadn't just eaten something bad the day before) we made a trip to Disneyland, (thanks for the tickets, Kristen!) - the first for all of us, big and small. Audrey, of course, chose to dress the part wearing her ballerina/princess skirt minus the tights. While Disney World holds the tag line "the most magical place on earth" (Disneyland is known as "the happiest place on earth"), it definitely seemed as if some pixie dust had been reserved for Disneyland as well. After all, that much happiness is a bit magical. We saw adults standing in line in the hot sun, serving as coat racks or junk drawers for their children, not minding a bit. We were among them. I think the happiness (and the magic) lies in the fact that it's not a self-serving day for a parent. You enter the park knowing your role. You will stand in line. You will serve as a coat rack. You will ride the same ride ten times if your child asks. You will not complain. Today is a scavenger hunt and you are not the leader. If you can relinquish your desire to be in charge (or continually peek at the scavenger list) there are treasures to behold. The magical part is, the park turns out to be a bit of a wonder for the adults, too (especially if you let it, and your smaller companions, take you where it will). At some point during our day, each of the adults in our party commented on the artistry of the rides, the attention to detail, the amazing craftsmanship. Not to mention the magical transformation that overcame our once-lackluster girl when she saw Mickey Mouse's house and got to meet him. Audrey talked about Disney for days (still is). But, perhaps, the best part was after we arrived home and Audrey told me that she couldn't wait to tell her friends she had been to Disneyland. Why? "Because not everyone gets to go to Disneyland." As a member of a generation often known for our sense of entitlement, and as a parent who spends a lot of time discussing with her spouse how to guarantee that our children won't grow up feeling entitled, that little phrase felt like a gift - sprinkled with fairy dust. Yes, we're in a happy place.

*Sorry for the lack of pictures. My camera stayed holstered much of the day while I busied myself with taking it all in.

So, I Lied...

Or, maybe I didn't. Technically, this isn't another post about Florida. It's a post about a sweet little stop in Clanton, Alabama - just off the 205 exit of I-65 - a place called Durbin Farms.


We discovered this roadside store (and so much more) on our Florida trip last year, and made a mental note to remember to make several future detours there on our drives home. Durbin Farms is a farmers market of sorts with juicy peaches, canned jams and other goods, and farm fresh vegetables. But, around every corner they tuck a little more. You can find trinkets and baby socks. Inside is a restaurant and outside, a few tables and chairs under tall shade trees. We've used the grassy area behind the tables to walk our dog and stretch the legs of a restless child.

This year, I did a little grocery shopping before heading back onto the highway, piling a couple sacks of beans, potatoes, and peaches on top of our luggage.

Did I mention the homemade ice cream (or bakery display case of other desserts)? It's just the thing to get you through that first long section of road that separates you from home.

A Little Florida Foliage

Each time we make the drive to Florida, I find myself in awe of the settlers who came before the roads. And, each time, Jason remarks about the changes in the trees as we pass through the states: from full, leafy specimens in the Midwest to their lanky, long-limbed southern cousins whose bare trunks seem to stretch to the roof lines before their leaves catch up, until we graduate to the palms, magnolias, and fruit trees blossoming in the Florida sun. So, before we move on to other things tomorrow, one last glimpse back at some vacation photos and the trees that made us stop and take in their leaves (or their limes).

By the Sea

The sea's rumble acts as a set of blinders, drowning out everything but the view before me, centering my focus outward - beyond my chest-deep stance. In one of my first solid recollections of the ocean, I am standing chest-deep in the surf and rumble, holding tightly to the hands of my neighbor (whose family was traveling with us), facing her. I might be in middle school. I am acutely aware that she is anchoring me. That, should she let go, I might drift away. I feel like a grain of sand against wind. So small.

Some things change: the one once tethered to another becomes the anchor. Some things never do. Shoulders submerged at the turn of each wave, peering out into a boundless sea - the only sense of distance an unreliable line of sky - I am a grain of sand swept up in wind. So small. It is the sound - the deep rumble that, like the waves erasing tracks on shore, covers all else. It dares me to just look, to pick out the colors of water and sky. To just smell until the salt fills my nose. To just feel the water cooling me against the licks of the sun as the seaweed slips past my legs. To just daydream about the things I have not seen - the things I do not know. To let go of all other noise and enjoy being this small. In this moment. In this ocean. Drifting in the rumble.

Sandy Thoughts on a Rainy Day

Today was a bit of a stormy day, complete with a couple flickers of the lights and loss of the internet connection.



Much of our day was spent inside: some in stores, some sharing good food and even better conversation with friends.

Of course, we couldn't help but let our minds - and sometimes our conversation - wander to thoughts of a recent day spent at the beach, when we reintroduced Audrey to waves and sand stretched out like an endless ribbon before our eyes.

We spent our morning running back and forth between the two mediums, creating imprints or piles in the sand before the water rushed up to erase them so we could begin again. At times we stood, feeling the sand packed hard beneath our feet, other times eroding at the slightest touch of a toe, and still other times mounded against our legs, heavy and wet, and at the liberty of the waves. As we all were.

Sometimes, feeling small never felt so good.

Historic Main Street

Lakeside

Today I found Lake Grapevine (or what I think was Lake Grapevine). I walked down to the marina, snack and book in hand, and found a space on the dock to sit and stay a little while.

Things to do When Toddler-free

:: Paint your toenails. All ten of them.

:: Sleep in.


:: Walk around one-of-a-kind expensive glass art without holding your breath.

:: Try clothes on in outlet mall dressing rooms, without trying to barricade toddler in.



:: Chew your food. Take your time. Read a book and people-watch the mothers who pass by trying to wrangle their exuberant toddlers.

:: Call your toddler. Smile when she says she wants you and loves you. Let her know you miss her.

Welcome to Grapevine

Welcome to Grapevine. Texas, that is. I'm enjoying a few days of relaxing and taking in the sights, like this vintage steam engine, still in use.



This dress - just look at all those details! - is housed the museum where you buy tickets for the vintage train.

And, this washing machine reminds me of just how lucky I am to be a mama with modern appliances.

But who wants to think about laundry on vacation? The first rule of vacation: forget about laundry. The second? Let someone else do your cooking for you. Nothing says Texas like BBQ at the Hard Eight. So what's the third rule of vacation? Know when to sign off of the computer and get back to relaxing...