“Let’s book it,” I tell him
after perusing the photos for about 30 seconds. He’s been talking about renting a big house somewhere
fun, and inviting family members to join us for community living and
connection. Ridiculously cheap airfare
from Chicago to Denver to San Diego in January eventually makes his dream come
true. He giddily surfs the net for
accommodations; my sole stipulation is we must be on the beach. In what seems
like no time, he surfaces a spectacular 4-bedroom townhouse on the sliver of
land in southern California sandwiched between the lion of Mission Beach and the
lamb that is Mission Bay. We can literally watch the sunrise and the sunset over
the water from the rooftop.
The trip becomes multi-generational,
a celebration blending, defining and cementing family: My dad and my oldest son along with their lovely
ladies, and Glenn’s brother
and equally lovely sister-in-law.
My love affair with San Diego is
the worst-kept secret; I haven’t been able
to take my eyes off her since we met in the summer of 1988. Is it wrong that I want to share her with my
guests, that they yearn to be her mistress, too?
We have plans for the week, but
not really. Herding all of us cats is
not as laborious as I expect it to be. We’re together, yet free to spend our time as we like.
With a little negotiating, rented
bikes from the shop across the street are ours for the week, delivering instant
mobility and freedom. There is always someone to ride with, and a ready escape
if you need to be alone. San Diego is designed
for biking and we pedal for miles. Even
I see this city I know so well from new vantage points.
Most of us beat a path to the
Starbuck’s along the beach and the
boardwalk. Nothing heals like a morning walk on the shore. Some of us conduct
business back home on our cellphones while sipping our favorite brews. We find
each other in our comings and goings, sometimes we stop to chat or tag along,
other times we wave a big hello.
We take a day trip to Ocean
Beach, with the requisite tourist photographs in front of Hodad’s, and the surfers catching waves next to the
peer. I stop in my favorite
artisan-owned jewelry shop, Noon. We meet
for lunch at a Mexican restaurant. We
admire the majesty of the mighty Pacific at Sunset Cliffs.
We explore La Jolla from top to
bottom, making the winding drive uphill to Soledad and back down to sea level to
watch the seals sun themselves on the beach at The Cove. While the trip up pales in comparison to the Colorado
mountains, the views at the top are no less breathtaking. I feel Californication
gripping our travel companions as they fall hard and fast for the edge of
western civilization.
The weather is perfect during the
day, a little chilly at night. Under the stars around the fire pit on the roof the
almost-full moon lights a path over the water. Social lubrication sets in. We share stories and opinions and failings
that maybe the kids shouldn’t hear. We
get to know each other a little bit better.
We roam the shops of Temecula,
share a final meal al fresco and part ways with Dad and Judy. Remembering this vacation
makes me both melancholy and exuberant at the same time. The intersection of
these fine souls, at this moment in time, sharing the house surrounded by the
sea will never happen again. And what an amazing blessing that it did.
Thank you, G. xoxo
No comments:
Post a Comment