-
Beach Bits, Bug, corona virus 2020, crazy stuff, I'm an idiot, Life Lessons, out out out of the house!, spilling my guts, travel
Bug Turns 15: The Road Trip to Nowhere, Part 1
I labored about whether to write this post for a long time. While only a few days have gone by, I’ve sat and worried about it endlessly, the hamster wheel in my head spinning like the hamster is a crack addict. I really wanted to share this big-deal-trip but I felt like it was also an embarrassing mistake. I am deeply ashamed. I was afraid to talk about it for fear of being lambasted for naively ignoring the governor’s travel ban. It was stupid. We shouldn’t have gone. We were incredibly careful and incredibly lucky but at the end of the day I don’t want to traipse around with my white privilege like people are not dying from a horrible disease.
But then I talked to my therapist (I have a therapist now!) (more white privilege that I’m ashamed of) and she said, it’s my story. This is where I tell my stories. If I lose friends or future business contacts because of some dirt that can be dug up on this blog then maybe I don’t want those friends or business contacts anyway. I am fully going to own my mistake and write about why we shouldn’t have gone. But I also want to share the special parts. It was an amazing trip with my daughter. It was her birthday party that she couldn’t have and you know how I always go over the top with birthdays. So it’s a bittersweet story but it’s my story. I am ashamed that I acted irresponsibly and I will pay the consequences. I will also try maybe unsuccessfully to defend my bad choice. But I made it and we made it back and I think we are going to be okay. Hopefully wiser for our mistakes. So please don’t let the pretty pictures glamorize a bad decision. This was irresponsible of me and I regret it. I am also incredibly grateful that we were able to be safe.
There. That’s it. A huge heavy weight on my conscience.
When we left for our trip we never intended to go more than 200 miles. That was the point: a road trip to nowhere. Our plan was to get in the car and head up the coast and stop at every little silly thing we could find that wouldn’t be infested with people. That meant nature and funny photo opportunities that nobody else would be looking at. Bug is her own person now with her own instagram account and she creates her own content just like her mama. I can’t say I’m not proud of her creativity. Social media has it’s many faults but creativity is not one of them.
Our first stop was a farmer’s market on the way to the coast. Back when we used to live at the beach, Bug and I would visit the Farmer’s Market every Saturday. It’s such a strong memory for both of us. I’d buy a three-pack box of raspberries and Bug would eat them before we even left the market. She loved the Farmer’s Market. From riding in the front-facing Bjorn to stroller days to riding her own tricycle…the market holds a super soft spot in our hearts. It’s really sad that we don’t go anymore but where we live now we don’t even think about it. We live in a super boring suburbia that has no central gathering places like a farmer’s market. Of course we can drive to a few that are actually nearby but we don’t because we don’t even think of it. Out of sight out of mind I guess. This is something I intend to change. Farmer’s Markets are great. They support the local farmers, there’s fresh healthy food and it’s just a good family outing. Of course we haven’t been going anywhere since Covid started but now that farmer’s markets seem to still be open with precautions maybe we’ll put them back in our schedule. Note to self: go to Farmer’s Market.
We bought some hummus and pita chips, a three pack of berries (of course!) and some snap peas and carrots for snacks. We didn’t have a way to wash them so we just hid them in our cooler for later. Then we headed off to find our favorite breakfast: Zinc!
Yes, we are those basic beetches. I mean, how can we not be? Do you see that work of art that is avocado toast up there? Everyone should eat avocado toast! I told Bug that we are really spoiled. When I was a kid we got cereal or toast but never gourmet avocado toast on the regular. This is definitely the good life. Bug had an iced green matcha latte and of course I had a regular latte. Basic Beeches through and through.
After that we hit up another favorite spot for Bug’s favorite sandwiches and sparkling cider for the road.
Then we drove. Basically we sat in traffic all through Malibu and Santa Monica. We took the long route and didn’t mind. We had no schedule and no place to be. Of course I was a little worried about where we’d stay that night without any reservations but Bug forced me to be optimistic. What could go wrong? Worst case we sleep in the car. Um, we could get murdered? said my usual over-operating worry brain. We did pack sleeping bags and my back windows are pretty darkly tinted so it could be work. I do know a few campgrounds that are usually open so we could get by. I was just worried. Like I always am. But I didn’t need to be. There are a lot of hotels open and they are super happy for customers because business is slow and they are hurting. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Next stop: lunch in Zuma. I had planned on stopping in Santa Monica and maybe swinging on those really big swings on the beach near the boardwalk but it was way too crowded. If there was no parking then we weren’t stopping because crowds are NOT for us. Even before the pandemic I hate crowds so it was a no-brainer that we’d avoid them now.
Zuma was beautiful. There were people out but no crowds. The breeze was also pretty strong so it felt like if there were any germs around, they weren’t sticking around long. They were blowing far out into the sea to be cleaned. So we sat and we ate our sandwiches and talked about turning fifteen. I’m so proud of this big kid.
She’s tall now. She often stands next to me and says things like, “Mom, you are so small!” It’s refreshing. I like being small. She’s still a few inches shorter than me but she is definitely adult-sized now. It’s a funny thing that happens. I often tell her that I wish I could keep a version of her at every size. I miss that wobbly three year old who would tear down the sidewalk and throw herself into my arms for a hug. I miss the floppy pigtails and songs about hotdogs. I even miss the scared years when she’s talk about her worries incessantly and hated going to school. I’m so proud of her and how she overcame. She’s strong and independent and opinionated and smart. She’s everything I ever dreamed of and so much more. I knew I’d get a quirky kid but I never dreamed she’d be this perfect.
Next up: Santa Barbara and the horrible, no-good, terrible business of finding a bathroom in a town full of covid-partying morons. I know that’s harsh. Not all anti-maskers are morons in fact many of them are doctors and seem pretty smart. But for someone who has anxiety and has become a germaphobe because of the pandemic, you can kind of understand what it’s like for a worrier like me to see a crowd of drunk people NOT social distancing. Anyway, more on that tomorrow!
-
That Trip: page 1
This is my favorite picture. If I ever write a book about that trip, this will be my cover. It pretty much encapsulates my life as a teenager. I was sixteen in this picture but given my upbringing, my sixteen years was easily everyone else’s twelve. I’ve always been a young soul and super naive. I always looked younger than my age so people treated me like I was younger. This was a blessing and a curse but mostly now that I’m older, I think it was a blessing. I dodged a lot of bullets looking the way I did.
I remember the day this was taken. We were waiting forever for my parents to finish loading up the RV that my dad would be driving us across country in for our big educational adventure of the summer. This adventure was hatched up by my mom of course. She was always one to string together impossible plans on a shoe-string and a prayer. I would never take the risks she took with us kids or her finances but because of her free spirit and general optimism, I have seen more places and experienced more crazy stories than my kids will ever hope to.
So there we are: me on the left leaning on my cousin Nicki’s knee in exaggerated tiredness. Next to her is, Tara, her sister and then that gangly dude in knee socks and hightop Converse is my brother, Shawn. We were a pack. I have a zillion cousins but I’ve always been the closest to Tara and Nicki (I hope you guys don’t mind me using your real names.), probably because we were closest in age. My mom has five brothers and sisters and us four were the first grandchildren born in the Albertson family. We stuck together.
I remember that porch with the red concrete bricks so well. It is still my favorite and when I’m house-hunting (if I ever get so lucky to be a homeowner) I will always want a house with a big front porch. The red bricks were always hot in the sun and if you were cold from running in the sprinklers all day you could always stand on them and warm your feet until they burned.
I made it a habit to jump up these steps everyday when I got home from school. It was a game for myself that I would never touch the middle step. A few times I misjudged and ate the concrete but for the most part I was limber as a billy goat. There was also a 3-foot short stucco-covered brick wall on both sides of our big front yard. I also jumped over those walls whenever I came to them like a hurdler. I was really tough on myself and my physical fitness regime. It’s too bad my parents never let me try out for track and field. But I digress.
There were a lot of cement and stucco around because the man who lived in our house before we moved in, was a cement contractor. I think everyday when he came home from a job and he had some extra cement he just smeared it onto the outside walls of our house. Everything was covered in white stucco. In fact, even the ceiling of the front porch was stuccoed cement. Our house was a tank. If a hurricane ever ripped through the desert where we lived, our house would stand still while the rest of the neighborhood blew away.
Anyway, I’ve always loved this house. It wasn’t the nicest. It was kind of a hovel but it had a lot of charm, quirk and weird add-ons. I will always be trying to recreate the sense of home it gave me. We moved a lot before we moved into that house and we stayed there the longest so it will always be my childhood home.
But back to the trip. My parents always take forever to get ready for a trip. They still do. My mom makes lists and checks them twice and just like me, she overpacks as she imagines every possible scenario. I’m sure she packed a lot of food and of course we had “busy bags” of things to do since this was the time before cell phones and boredom was only be kept at bay with coloring books and sketchpads and Uno cards and hula hoops. Wait, hula hoops? Yes, hula hoops. I’ve been reading my old journals and I made a point of mentioning that they were packed and stored behind the kitchen banquette seating because you’d never want to be caught out and about without your hula hoop. Face palm.
I’m sure we kids were no help. The fact that we are all sitting there on the front step looking bored out of our minds, and then sticking our heads out the window while my parents rush about fussing over packing and taking inventory of all the broken things on the rented RV, is a pretty good clue. But we were kids and I think our responsibilities started and stopped at remembering to pack enough underwear and a swimsuit. As soon as that was done I’m sure we felt free to whine and complain about how boring and hot the day was. We didn’t leave until 8pm that night and if I remember right I bet our goal departure time was more like 10am. That’s the way we roll.
The RV is a character itself in this story. It was a 32-foot beast called the Executive. I’m not sure if it was my aunt or us kids who renamed it “The Execute” after it proceeded to break down in every state that we drove through. It was rented from one of my dad’s pest control clients. I remember the guy’s shop well. It was a furniture rental store called Don’s Furniture. It was dusty old place full of big bulky wooden desks and grungy tweed couches sitting on a cement floor. I don’t know how he kept in business when you could find just as nice of furniture at the Salvation Army but it was the sticks and nobody really had much money back then so maybe that’s how he made it. He was actually planning on expanding his store to a second location with the two-thousand dollars he made from renting this RV to my dad. Which leads me to another question, how the blankety-blank-blank did my family afford to spend 2K on an RV? We couldn’t even afford to eat out at fancy restaurants!
The answer is: my mom. I’m sure she connived and cajoled her sister into getting her wealthy husband to pay for it in exchange for my dad doing all the driving and she doing all the cooking. That might have been a good deal. I don’t know but I do know that there are many layers to my mom and her sister’s relationship. They’ve both been known to have hot tempers and I do remember there being a lot of stress generated between the two of them. But I love them both and I know that they loved us and they wanted to create this amazing adventure across America so that we kids could learn US history in person the year before we all studied it in school. It was a brilliant plan. I almost want to try to do it myself with my own kids. But it was an expensive plan and we had no money so it went the way most expensive plans with no financing go: disastrous. Wonderfully, comically and epically disastrous.
*these memories are mine and not necessarily accurate. If somebody remembers it differently please reach out and correct me. :)
