California Travels

I'm in California.

It was blazing hot.

Now I'm wearing a hoodie.

We were camping for seven days. Three days at a lake and four days at the beach.

This is why I haven't been blogging.

Because...

surfing and boogie boarding and fishing and celebrating my dad's birthday.

Now there are going to be things like...

Universal Studios and ghost towns!

So to recap, there is one good thing about year round school and its TRAVEL.

Three Day Theme Park Extravaganza

We went to Disneyland.

And California Adventure.

And Knotts Berry Farm.

My two boys are sleeping soundly tonight.

There is nothing that my seven-year-old won't ride. Also, somehow, during the past six months or so, he turned into a big boy.

My four-year-old was afraid of the Haunted Mansion. Until he began using his finger and thumb as a pistol to shoot the ghosts. Now he loves it.

There will be pictures eventually. But not now. Because I am going to sleep for a day and a half. Or until my children wake up. Whichever comes first.

Fun in the Sun

Whew! We're back from San Diego. We had a whirlwind twelve days that began with an extensive tour of the Salt Lake International Airport. Our flight was delayed and we walked around and around while waiting for the ice to melt off the runways.

Then we celebrated my dad's awesome career at his retirement party. The Sunday after the party I had a bunch of people tell me that it was the best retirement party they'd ever been to. I have to agree. Although, in fairness, I haven't been to many retirement parties. Still, it was very fun and it was a great way to celebrate the incredible worker that my father has been for more than thirty years.

The weekend was spent visiting with friends and celebrating family birthdays. 

On Monday we met my friend and her daughter at the Wild Animal Park which is now, apparently, referred to as Safari Park but I (and just about everyone I know) refuse to call it that.

My friend's daughter had a bit of a meltdown just before we went on the tram so my parents decided to take the boys while my friend and I walked around with her daughter. It was during this time that we spotted this deer just off the path. Jenni and I then decided to see how close we could get to her. We became somewhat strangely obsessed with this deer considering the fact that there were lions and elephants and giraffes and tigers not far from us. 

Although, to be completely truthful, it was the only animal we saw that wasn't in a man made "habitat" so, technically, does that make it the only technical wild animal in the Wild Animal Park?

On Tuesday my mom and I went shopping and out to lunch while my boys played with their cousins, aunt and grandpa. My poor mother-in-law had caught the plague of death that had been circulating through the cousins and had to stay confined to the bedroom. Later that afternoon we watched my cousin, Holly, play in a water polo game. Their team crushed the other team and we got to watch Holly score a goal!

On Wednesday, I drove down to my grandparents' house and we hung out there for awhile before heading to Mission Bay for some Rubio's and play time with a fellow PLNU alum and her adorable son.

On Thursday my parents treated us to a day at Legoland. Let's just say that this was a colossally big hit with the boys.

We rode rides. We took large amounts of pictures with Legomen. We walked through the Lego cities they have. I may or may not have wanted to live inside of Lego New York.

Matthew ended up having a huge meltdown at Legoland a few hours in and this began his tailspin into difficult days. He had been an absolute angel for the first week we were there.

The remaining five days were a bit challenging. But part of it might have been the fact that by the weekend he'd caught whatever was circulating around my sister-in-law's house and he wasn't feeling well. Thank goodness for the flu shot because he didn't run the fever and Garrett, thus far, has not gotten sick.

On Friday my brother, the Sea World employee, treated us to a day at the park. No day at Sea World is complete without an interactive bat ray session. They are my oldest boy's favorite thing in all the world--maybe.

Since we'd been taken to the Wild Animal Park, Sea World and Legoland at no cost to us (oh! we are SO spoiled!) I decided to buy these for the boys with their lunch. 

They didn't even eat half of them. So then I had to wrap them up in napkins and stuff them in the backpack because, at something like $3.50 each I wasn't about to toss them. Although, in the interest of full disclosure, it should be noted that, since I did not want to take the frosting in a backpack, I consumed almost all of it myself. Consequently, I am now avoiding the scale.

We had a lazy weekend and on Monday we went hiking, played with cousins for an hour, and then played around a nearby park. It was at the park that I decided my son is actually a modern day Huckleberry Finn. Straight into the pond he went, clothes and all. 

Weather was in the high 70s. So why on earth wouldn't he go swimming in a pond in February?

When we got back into town last night, we were walking outside and Matthew howled, "WHY IS MY HEAD SO COLD?"

"Because it's cold here," I replied.

"IS YOUR HEAD COLD?"

"Yep," I answered.

"BUT WHY?"

"Because it is not warm in Utah in February."

But in San Diego it was warm and the boys were riding bikes, playing in the yard, soaking up the rays and making memories.

In San Diego

We finally made it to California after a three hour delay because of the icy runways at Salt Lake International. We were super thankful to get out though--on account of all the canceled flights there were. We had my dad's retirement party last night and it was super fun. We've got a VERY busy schedule of Legoland and Sea World and etc. ahead of us.

I can't seem to be able to blog from my parents computer for some unknown reason. My husband's laptop will leave with him today so he's going to guest blog a few times for me.

Hi Troy! I just volunteered you to blog for me! I LOVE YOU! :-)

It's raining. It's pouring. And they're all blaming me for bringing it. I find this an unfair assumption because it is neither freezing rain nor snow. Therefore, we can deduce that it did not come from Utah.

Hope of Summer

It's ten degrees. TEN. The heater runs incessantly. On account of all the TEN DEGREES! When I dropped The Rock Star off at school today I walked him 35 yards to his classroom, said goodbye, and walked back to the car. My lungs were aching with the chill. My face was prickly and taut. I came home and checked the weather. ONE DEGREE. As in, 31 below freezing. As in, 74 below what I consider to be a happy temperature.

I WENT TO COLLEGE AT THE BEACH, PEOPLE! It was consistently in the 70's and 80's. Occasionally, in the winter, we had to suffer through weather in the 60's. There may have been a time or two when the thermometer started with a 5 and we bundled up in sweaters and scarves. I miss San Diego beach weather. Because right now, I am looking forward to the pool in the dead heat of summer. I am looking past February and March and April and all the way to July and August when I will be warm.

The summers here are like the conjoined twins of the summers I grew up with. They are hot and with that comes tank tops and pools and splash pads and flip flops and I love it. The autumn is beautiful. I never really knew fall until I moved here. And I was very pleased to make her acquaintance. December, even, is fantastic. Snow on Christmas? Yes, please. Hot cocoa and spiced cider and a fire crackling in its place? Indeed with an emphatic head nod.

But winter.

When January rolls around I want to climb under my covers and only come out on the warm days in spring (which are separated by the bipolar cold days of spring). The skies are cold. Life is frozen. The earth is dead.

But underneath it all lies the hope of summer.

And when that doesn't feel like quite enough, there is the hope of San Diego.

Miss

I haven't been home, really home, in eight months.

And by home I mean San Diego and by "really home" I mean that I am not forgetting that I spent a day there before we left for Hawaii and a day there before we came home to Utah. Yes, Utah is where my home is. It's where my church family is. It's where a lot of people I love are. It's where my life is. San Diego, though, is in my veins, sharing space with the blood that pumps through and keeps me alive.

I am actually homesick and I haven't been homesick in a good, long while. The weird thing is, I'm not really homesick for the sleepy cow town I grew up in. I'm sick for the beaches and the weather and the green grass of my college campus and lunch with my mom and dinner with old friends.

These freezing temperatures in October aren't helping.

This isn't a complaining, Dear Utah, I'm mad you kind of thing. I've come to realize that snow in October is always going to surprise me even when I fully expect it. It's just a, Dear San Diego, I really, madly, deeply, truly, long for your warm weather kind of thing.

And good Mexican food. I mean, who doesn't long for good Mexican food from time to time?

Home For the Holiday

I haven't been in San Diego for Thanksgiving since a few days before we moved here. (I haven't been home for Christmas either.) The first two Novembers that we lived here I cooked and we hosted my inlaws. Last year we went to Oregon. Thankfully, my inlaws have a Thanksgiving that is very similar to what I grew up with. The menus are nearly identical. I'm so glad that I didn't marry into a family that ate bizarre things or omitted the green bean casserole (oh the humanity!). These last three Thanksgivings have been wonderful.

This year, I get to go home. Most of my extended family will be there. I can almost taste the mashed potatoes, marshmallow covered yams, and green bean casserole. I can almost smell the turkey cooking. I'll wake up in my old bedroom, the one that still has a few glowing stars on the ceiling--leftover from my early teenage years.

Garrett is counting the days until our trip in sleeps. There are two sleeps left, to be exact.

And then I'll be home for the holiday.

For the Birds

Imagine The Rock Star's delight when we received a package today from my inlaws. We opened it and pulled out sticker books, sticker crafts, cookies, Halloween candy and a decorative scarecrow. He was thrilled.

He wanted me to put the scarecrow outside.

It's clearly not an outside decoration.

I explained this.

"How will it scare away the crows?" He asked.

"It won't. Which is fine. We don't really have an abundance of crows," I reminded him.

But it got me thinking. Maybe if I did put it outside it would scare the misguided seagulls back to California where they belong. I only recently learned that the Utah state bird is actually the California Gull. I feel so sorry for those stupid birds. It's totally like the Israelites being stuck in Egypt. There they were, slaving away, trapped under Pharoah's rule--unaware of just how great the Promised Land really was. A land flowing with milk and honey, it was. They'd all been born in Egypt and that was that.

They're not called the Utah Gull. No. They're from California. They just don't know it because they were born here. Whenever I see them, I try to nicely explain that it doesn't get cold where they come from. The water--it just keeps going. Granted, the Salt Lake is bigger than one bird could ever hope for but it rather pales in comparison to the Pacific Ocean. And waves. Oh, those poor birds are missing out on tides! Abundant fish, too. I don't actually know what lives in the lake but the whole things smells funky so I wouldn't recommend eating anything that comes out of it. Poor gulls, fly back to your home.

But they never will. Even in California, gulls are totally stupid. And aggressive. They'll snatch an entire sandwich right out of your hand. Oh. Yes. They. Will.

So if I thought that putting the scarecrow outside would do any good, I would. But it makes for a super cute indoor decoration. And as for the gulls, well, on a warm summer day when I look up and see a bunch of them flying around I close my eyes and pretend I'm at the beach. They're like a little piece of home.

Interestingly, when I'm in California, I can't stand sea gulls.

This is not a metaphorical post about how California is the promised land and Utah is Egypt and I'm enslaved here. God led us here and I love our ministry. I don't want to leave right now for anything. It really is just a post about the birds.


Thanks Gary and DeDe for the package!

California Moments

I have California moments. These are times when, completely out of the blue, something hits me and I almost leave my husband a note:

Dear Troy,
Moved back to San Diego. Took the boy. Don't worry, we still love you.
-Wife

Today I took the little dictator to the mall because I was in need of a new pair of jeans. We had a good time. There were no tantrums. Jeans were purchased. Lunch was had. At the end of lunch he saw the carousel and very near had a coronary trying to pitch himself over the side of his stroller while screeching and pointing frantically. I didn't really want to take him on the carousel because there was no one else with me to watch the stroller, diaper bag, and purchases. And I really didn't want to lug the bags up onto the thing with me. So I took him to the play area instead. He slid on the dino slides, he hid in the play logs, and he spun the giant globe they have in the center. Each continent on this particular globe is painted a different color but there are no cities or state lines or mountains or bodies of water other than the major oceans. When North America went whirling by I smiled to myself. I've always loved how easy it is to find where I live. Just trace your finger up to the very top of Baja and move it another couple millimeters to the north. I was just about to show Garrett how to find where we live when it hit me. Out of the middle of nowhere I almost starting crying right in the middle of Dino Towne Play Area. On this particular globe there wasn't even a blue dot representing The Great Salt Lake. I could have ventured a guess as to where on the globe we were at that very moment but for all I know I might have pointed to somewhere in eastern Nevada or southern Idaho. It was suddenly very disconcerting to only have a vague idea where I was.

And I am not saying that I'm not supposed to be here--because I am. I am not saying that the Lord did not lead us here--because he did. I am not saying that I want to move back or that I don't have friends here or that there aren't four thousand and one reasons to be happy in my new home. I'm just saying that the homesickness sneaks up on me, unwarranted and unexpected. It's in the fact that my mom couldn't meet me at the mall today. It's in the sweater that I am wearing at the end of April. It's in the discovery that there are only two Jack in the Boxes in this whole state and they are in southern Utah. You'd think since it took me five months to realize this it wouldn't be a big deal but the fact of the matter is that I kind of wanted Jack in the Box when it was determined that I could not have it. It's in the epiphany that I'm not just above Baja anymore. There are a great many miles between me and that endless ocean now.

I find a great deal of comfort in the fact that when Abraham was 75 God called him to leave all he knew. He took his wife and his nephew and set out from Haran. Sarah probably wasn't terribly thrilled. And on top of it all Abraham was paranoid about getting killed by the Egyptians. At least when I moved my husband didn't make me tell everyone I was his sister. Thank goodness for that. But it turned out pretty well for ole Abraham. You know, "I will make you a great nation," and all of that. The thing is, you can know you're where you're supposed to be and still have California moments.

********************************************************

He might only have 20 or so words in his vocabulary, but today he strung three of them together and said, "No more, mama." He was only repeating what I told him to say but if you lived in the house of the incessant babbling you, too, would be beside yourself with joy.

Vacation All I Ever Wanted

I do apologize for my blogging hiatus but an immense amount of fun was busy being had. In addition, the computer resides in the room that my toddler was sleeping in. We took a plethora of pictures but, as it would probably bore you to see them all, I have included one that sums up my child's feelings on the week spent in the south of California. Yep. That's pretty much the biggest smile I have maybe ever seen. It definitely has something to do with the fact that the guy in the picture with him is probably his best friend on earth. When Grandpa is around, everyone else--and I mean everyone--is chopped liver. When my dad came to get us at the airport, he was still twenty feet away when my son spotted him. This kid nearly killed himself trying to get to him as he broke into a smile a lot like the one he's wearing in that picture. It borderlines on being a tragedy that they no longer live in the same town. On Saturday night, my father went to bed at 7:55 because that's the time their campout started. It's true. My dad pitched a tent in the office and Garrett had his first ever experience of sleeping the whole night through with someone right next to him. We never wanted a child in bed with us and endeavored, right from the start, to keep him sleeping in his own crib. But my dad asked nicely and I figured that, at 18 months, we could give it a shot. The sight of him sound asleep curled up next to my dad in a tent was just about the cutest thing in the world. And the next night he slept perfectly by himself so no new "I have to sleep with my Grandpa in a tent" habits were forged.

We had a jammed week that included the carousel at Parkway Plaza, a wonderful Superbowl party with my extended family, visiting my mom's parents, seeing my students show, visiting my dad at work, Sea World, dinner with a dear friend and fellow pastor's wife (J'Lene, if you're reading this, I am so glad that we had time to catch up. I miss you tons!), time spent with Garrett's cousins, and lunch with my mom at La Cocina, the best hole-in-the-wall Mexican food you will find north of the border.

The sun came out on Tuesday and Wednesday and I was able to soak in the warmth. Of course, my mom informed me that it had only been a mere 59 degrees. What has happened to my inner thermometer? I think it's broken. In any case, I am back in the land of the cold and snow. I've given my parents up for Lent* but will see them just after Easter when they visit for a few days. Maybe my dad will pitch our tent in Garrett's play room. We'll see.

*This blog writer, Lori Doozleberry, realizes that the point of Lent is not to give up something that you will already be doing or something that has an ulterior motive. On the contrary, if you choose to practice Lent, you should give up something that will be incredibly difficult, something that, when you think about it multiple times a day, causes you to pause and pray that the Lord will be with you through the sacrifice. Time with God should replace time spent with that which you have given up.

San Diego

Um, have I ever mentioned that I love San Diego?

Quite often. Really? You don't say.

As my plane descended into America's Finest City, my boy became restless. I hoisted him up onto his chubby little legs so he could see out the window. "There's going to be a park," I whispered, "and we're going to fly through it." He looked at me, eyes twinkling and turned to stare out into the darkened world. Soon enough my trained eye recognized the Museum of Man at Balboa Park. I smiled, "See, I told you." And I almost burst into tears at the sheer thought of having my feet firmly on the coastal ground.

My husband thinks I am a complete and total nut case. I am obsessed. Luckily the illness won't prevent me from climbing on the plane and returning to the tundra on Wednesday--I'm too in love with Troy to live in a different state than him.

It should be noted, however, that Garrett most definitely understands the difference between snow on the ground and, well, not snow on the ground. He spends a great deal of time looking out the back door and screeching. He can go outside without a jacket and that's what he intends to do. All the time. It should also be noted that I special ordered warm weather and, apparently, Mother Nature hates me. Granted, I am wearing ONE layer of clothing and not eight but it is downright chilly. I suppose I shouldn't have aspired to wear a bikini in February.

I saw my students' show last night and I was greeted with an excited ambush of "Mrs. Doozleberries*!!!" and "We're so glad you're here!" Which led me think, Sally Field style, "They like me. They really like me!" But then, later, they informed me that I look sickly and white. Yah. Well. That's what two months of wearing eight layers will do to a girl.

*Names have been changed to protect this blog writer from scary murderous stalkers. The author of this blog is not named Lori Doozleberry. Though, she's starting to think she may go by that from now on.

Warmth

It is stinkin' cold here. Not inside my house, mind you, but everywhere else. It dumped nine inches of snow on us yesterday and it's been freezing ever since. When the dog goes outside to do his doggie duty, he has to leap and lunge through the several layers of flakes. When Garrett goes outside I have to carry him or else he'd be buried up to his bum (he has short legs). When I go outside I shiver and dash to the nearest vehicle, if it happens to be mine, well, all the better. It's beautiful. But man if it isn't dang chilly.

I am visiting San Diego in nine days. Praise God! I have never looked forward to being warm more than I do right now. I am picturing a sunny, 90 degree, So Cal summer. I realize that it will probably be more like 60 degrees and overcast. But guess what, 60 degrees will feel like 90. And I can't wait.

You Might Be Able To Hear A Pin Drop

The house is eerily quiet now. My mom, a.k.a. our final holiday guest, boarded a plane and flew back to my true love. I did not have to shed tears on my drive home. I did not have to open the closet in the guest room and hug the coat that she left (which is a darn good thing because this time she did not leave said coat). I did not have to wander around my house for a day and a half wondering if I could survive without her. So I guess I've made progress.

Last Wednesday my son's grandparents, Uncle Jon and Aunt Heather descended upon my house bearing luggage and enough gifts to make an orphanage smile. My parents moved in to the guest room. Heather was blessed with an air mattress in the playroom, you know, in case she got a midnight hankering for some Little People. (That sentence is wrong on so many levels.) And Jon, well, he was given the best bed of all, the couch. Merriment was had. For one amazing week it was as though nothing had changed at all this past year, except, of course, the weather.

Now they have gone and my little puppy* has been deposited into bed and it is quiet. It's no more silent than it was in Ramona when we put the boy to bed but it just feels different being so far from home. I mean, if a Lori talks incessantly in the middle of a Utah, but no one in her family is around to hear it, does she make a sound? These are the great ponderances of life. I can hear my clock tick and I can hear the laptop clack which means I can definitely hear myself think and y'all that's just not necessarily a good thing. Also it should be noted that awesomeness oozes when native Californians use the word y'all in the Beehive state, which has no affiliation with the south whatsoever.

Tomorrow I plan to begin The Great Cleaning Crusade. Anyone wanna place any bets on whether or not that will happen? I'll make it easy for you. Instead of cleaning I will probably begin counting the hours until my trip to San Diego. 28 days. I'm going to try not to think about the fact that I could do an entire rehab program in that amount of time. Do they have rehabilitation centers for people with state addictions? "Hi, my name is Lori and I'm a California addict. I've been clean for 37 days but I plan to take a hit the moment I graduate from this program." Hmmm.

*My son has decided that he is, indeed, a puppy. He barks constantly and he does so in the highest pitch possible. He'd make a soprano proud, that boy.

Sniff...

My brother's girlfriend is about to get on a plane and fly back to my mother ship. I am jealous of her in a mighty way.

Oh California, how I miss your 67 degree mornings. But, it's awesome here, too. Tonight, the low is 4. As in F-O-U-R. That's right. Work it, Tundra. Work it.

Thoughts

Two days ago I met my bishop. Well, er, that is, I met who would be my bishop if I happened to be LDS. He and his wife, who live a few streets over, came to our door to welcome us. They were sorry they hadn't been over sooner, to help us unload. They were oozing hospitality. I think we Christians could learn a thing or two from the Mormons. (Not including their actual religious beliefs, mind you).

I've been here for three days and I have to say that Utah is (so far) not too bad. Love you, California, you'll always be the one. Oh it's freezing. Literally. It snowed the first morning we were here and is supposed to dump about six inches tonight. And oh how I am the minority. Which makes me feel uncomfortable and fiercely proud all at once. And then, there is the small fact that my parents are still here so I can't be too homesick yet. But come on, how could you not fall in love with this view:

This is a picture of the Wasatch Mountains taken from my driveway. They are gorgeous. And at night the valley is alive with Christmas lights and it I imagine hard enough it's almost like I live in the Hollywood Hills and I am looking down on Los Angeles, only there are huge mountains jutting out of L.A. instead of, like, an ocean. And, as promised, here is a picture of the house:

Remember that we are renting. No I did not inherit a bajillion dollars so that I could simultaneously own a home in Riverton, Utah and Ramona, California. Please go away interest only financial burden or what I like to call "Next time, maybe, trust your instincts and don't play around with creative financing." Anyway, all that to say that the house is pretty amazing. It's just a long way from the church which, after all, is why we're here.

Okay, folks, there you have it. I NaBloPMo'd my brains out. I blogged every...single...day during the month of November. I used ellipsis wrong. I started sentences with and, but and because. I started in the south of California and ended in the north of Utah. But I so did it.

Suffocation

Today is my last Tuesday in California. At this time next week I expect to be somewhere near Vegas on my way to a new life. If I wasn't so busy self medicating with boxes and phone calls, I would be able to feel my heart breaking.

I want to breathe everything in. To remember it all exactly as it is. To savor being Californian. I'm desperately trying to scorch images of sea and sun and remembrance and life onto that place just behind the eyes, the hamlet where nostalgia dwells and my soul only aches a little. I am telling myself that this too shall pass. But in that comfortable adage I discover a new fear. Perhaps, one day, I will have forgotten that this is home. It isn't the house, though I am having a terrible time tearing myself away from my son's first room. It isn't even the things I know and the routine of it all. It is the way that I am inexplicably alive in this space.

Utah is fine. It's a beautiful place to visit. I might have even been able to pull up a chair and stay for awhile, by a fire, with the snow-covered Wasatch Mountains peering through the window. Perhaps I will find solace in the slower pace, peace in the biting cold, and warmth in the welcome. But I will not ever find California. For what has always been under the sole of my shoe now eludes me. My definition of home will evaporate with the breath that I am holding. And I can only wait so long to exhale.

California

I'm obsessed with California.

Oh sure, there are things I'm not altogether fond of. Things like Death Valley and El Centro and politics. But to have been born and raised here is to be called a Californian--and that's not something I'm ashamed of. Because to declare her heritage and her blood means that I get to claim the warm sand of San Diego beaches, the majesty of Yosemite, the snow capped Sierra-Nevadas,the driftwood of the gray northern seashores and Redwood trees. Lake Tahoe, my favorite place on earth, covers the crooked border that is shared with Nevada. And weather worn lighthouses litter the coastline in ghostly beauty.

I've been to 18 states (and it's a personal goal of mine to see them all before I die) and I find several of them to be quite wonderful. But the thought of leaving this place for any of them actually makes my throat constrict if I dwell on it for too long. Because she is beauty. She is familiarity and magnificence and wonder. She is home.

I adore the nearly year round warmth of my life in Southern California. The way my skin feels when the sun drenches it in kisses. The not-too-hot-and-not-too-cold way it feels when a breeze picks up on a lazy afternoon in late September. How the sky looks when dusk falls over Point Loma. I love it here in my little corner of the country, where dreams are not landlocked but have an oceanic eternity to come true. Where there is San Francisco and Crescent City and Hollywood and Tahoe City and as different as they all are, they're all in the same state.

And if e'er I am to leave, I will miss the smell of waves breaking just off the shore of my youth. I will cry for all I took for granted for so long. I will remember, in my new world, what it looked like to sit behind a computer screen, on my own slice of land, in a place my grandparents came to and my parents didn't leave, and watch the trees gently blowing as the October of my life waited to take hold. But even if I find myself in New Jersey, New Mexico, New York or New Delhi, I will call myself Californian. Because I can't imagine ever ending this love affair.