California

Snowdrop loves amusement parks. The twirling, spinning, dizzying array of thrills. Not the terrifying roller coasters that have you twist upside down while plunging at lightening speed downwards -- she tried it and said no to it going forward. But the fantastic offerings of whirlwind rides, games and inevitable additions to her stuffy collection is, for her, heaven. She is in this a total mother's child. Life was never sweeter for them than this August, when the two spent a day together at the world's largest water park (Noah's Ark at the Wisconsin Dells).

Her day in Disneyland begs the question: did it rise above all else? How does it compare? 

She thinks about it: if it wasn't for the feet, the Disney day would be tied with the water park day. I text her mom: Noah's Ark is still ahead! 

On the one hand, you want to go back and examine what you could have done to avoid the problem that arose. Pack Benadryl next time? We have never needed it before! I already pack a half a dozen just in case meds for my older self. For Snowdrop, children's Tylenol checks off most potential boxes of trouble. That and a thermometer, and even there I feel like I'm overdoing it. (I never once took my own temp during my Covid bout. I knew exactly when I had a fever and when it passed. What are cool hands for?!)

And in any case, aiming for perfection, trying to ensure a "best ever" day is not the point of going places, is it... When I go away, I do want a good room at the end of the day. Everything else is an adventure!

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We get up late by our Midwestern standards, but early by west coast clocks. So, not yet when the sun lightly tints the skies.

And not yet, when the gulls start their squawking outside. There is no rush. The morning air is cool. We wait for it to warm up a bit before going down to breakfast.

She likes hotel breakfast buffets, but honestly, I think they are overrated for people like us. We dont need all that variety. We dont touch 95% of the offerings. We go for our favorites. Why not just order our favorites? I give her free choice to create her own ideal meal. She picks pineapple (huge chunks of it), a croissant, bacon. And she eats it all. (I pick oatmeal, fruits, yogurt and, because I'm making up for the Covid losses -- a croissant. With honey, because I am addicted to it in the mornings.) 

(pucker over pineapple)

We are so lost in the unrushed moment that much of the morning passes before we decide we are ready for the beach.

(she writes her comic, I read...)

This is fine with me -- the life guard comes on duty at 11. We head out at exactly that time.

*     *     *

(the hotel will give you a bucket and spade...)

By the great Pacific, she is tentative. The waves can be unassuming and then suddenly one will come with the power and fury of an angry brute. I want to encourage her to go out more, but the drop off is significant and I'm not sure she's up for the currents that come at you from the side. I see that only a handful of big people and a few local kids are actually riding the waves or swimming beyond their crashing power. So I say nothing and watch Snowdrop navigate the ocean on her own terms. She seems inspired by some construction idea that I'm sure wont quite come out as planned, but the joy is definitely in the build. 

Yes, the sun is strong. We did use sun screen, but still, I'm sure it wasn't in sufficient quantities. (The girl likes to put it on herself.) Her rash is still bothering her, but Benadryl controls the itch. She ignores the discomfort, the funny spots all over, choosing, as she so often does, joy over griping about what's not right.

(and only her head remains...)

(exploring the tide pools: we see many crab and little fish, but fail to spot the octopus we're told lurks here sometimes...)

Watching her play -- that is what makes this utterly crazy trip with all its intricacies and devious twists totally worthwhile.

We're two hours into it and she could keep going, but I think we've maxed out our safe levels of beach time. 

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I was going to have us de-sand thoroughly in the room (there is a shower on the beach, but it's hard for her to get all of the gazillion of sand crystals off her clammy skin), but as we walk up and past the swimming pool, it tempts her too much and I think -- why not.

She plays, solo. And together, we do some people watching. Adults, some kids I'd seen yesterday. Crazy brother and sister, hitting each other, shouting at each other while the mother chatted on her smart phone. Today, they're at it again. Splashing every which way. I get some of that water on me and my exasperated look has the dad finally tell them -- move away from here so you wont make that lady mad again. How about, instead -- "take note of your surroundings, kids"? Snowdrop tells me -- they're just having fun. And I agree. It's the pool area. Kids play. They splash. It's what you do. But oblivious fun? Being oblivious or indifferent to the needs of those around you is never good, be it the person who brings you towels, or refreshes your water, or the old lady who just doesn't want to get splashed by a carelessly tossed ball.

Snowdrop and I eat lunch by the pool. 

Snowdrop comments -- I thought you don't use ketchup. Oh, but this is a throw-back meal! To days of shrimp cocktails! She looks unconvinced, digging into her own cheese quesadillas and fries, most likely thinking -- what was wrong with that generation?! 

More people watching. I see that we are definitely in a place that accommodates weddings. We have a huge, incredibly fancy one with guests and wedding party members from Japan. Christian Dior and Tiffany gift bags have been sighted. (Do the affluent from Japan not do online registry gifts, delivered to the home?) Then I see another kind of wedding: guests from Minnesota. So casual! Enjoying their time with friends by the pool. Beers, refilled. The hotel is as friendly, caring, solicitous to the likes of them, and to the likes of me, as it is to the Japanese contingency. I admire that.

(the parents of the groom maybe? or am I age-stereotyping? maybe the best man? he's wearing a boutonniere...)

We retreat to our bright and beautiful room(s). I skip out to the CVS to try another topical cream for the little girl. The sky is so blue, the sun so piercingly bright. Don't they miss the damp smell of earth here after a gentle rain? Every climate has its subtle beauty, only in Southern California, it's in your face grand. Perhaps just a little too grand?

The sunset, from our room, is beyond beautiful. In between the palms, the Japanese couple gets married.

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Dinner -- again at the lesser eatery in our hotel. She goes for the noodles once more. Me, I'm feeling I need a small plate meal. The waiter recommends the risotto. Perfect.

And now it's time to unwind, with terrace doors open just enough, so that we can hear the sound of ocean waves. Beautiful for me because it is so very different from the sounds I hear each night coming through the farmhouse windows.

with love....