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!

*     *     *

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. 

*     *     *

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.

*     *      *

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....

California

It is still dark when I nudge Snowdrop to wake up. More than an hour away before sunrise here, in Laguna Beach California. 

Do you want to shower?

You said we could do evening. She loves the idea of evening because at home, there isn't time for it then, so she does morning (showers).

And quickly -- can I play with it? She'd spotted the little plastic toy I'd packed for her. I almost always bring one such toy for her on our trips. She fills her downtime spinning stories with its inconsequential tiny characters.

Sure.

And then at 6:45, we get in our booked cab and head to Anaheim. 

So serendipitous! Originally, I had thought I'd take Snowdrop for a long weekend away in Maine. (I know, we'd likely be on lockdown right now.) But I know this about the girl: wherever we go, she is happy. But if there's a pool, she's always twice as happy. I could find no interesting place to visit in Maine that did not require a long drive and that had an open pool in October. I tried, but I couldn't do it. So I turned to California. Someplace not too built up, within about an hour of an airport to which Delta flies. Hence, Laguna Beach.

About a week ago, Snowdrop was telling her best school friend about her forthcoming trip to California. Well now, the girl, herself born in L.A., was going there this long weekend too! (School is closed Thursday, Friday). She goes once a year. And always spends a day or two at Disney with her parents. When the girls shared this information with their adults, the next idea was this: could Snowdrop go to Disneyland with her friend? Yes she could.

Woah! This was thrilling to both girls, but I think especially to Snowdrop, who has been wishing for Disney, either the Florida or California one, for years. ALL her friends have been! (Snowdrop's parents are waiting until her brothers are old enough to appreciate all the attractions.)  It was just too fortuitous, too perfect.

Then came Covid. Hope, so quickly set loose, became fragile. My rebound led Snowdrop to text constantly -- how are you? how are you? how are you?? Gaga! Answer! All I could do is text back -- I'm trying, Snowdrop, I'm trying. Let's not give up hope.

Teetering on the precipice, the trip grew and grew in importance. On the day I finally was sure I would be good to go, the girl still couldn't believe it. Honestly, until we got in the cab to go to Anaheim, I'm sure she  lived in fear that this unexpected gift, this delight would be lost to unfortunate circumstance.

So here we are in that cab,  zipping next to the hills of Southern California...

She asks -- gaga, what's your favorite part of the hotel? She knows it's a huge splurge for me. A once in a lifetime deal.

Easy -- eating outside with you yesterday, and at night, keeping the doors open (to the terrace) and listening to the sound of waves crashing.

Yeah, me too. Nature's white noise! And I love the terrace comfy chairs. But maybe the pool too, once I try it.

I smile. Yes, in many ways you could say we are here because of the pool (kept open year round, 24/7, at 80F/27C).

Her friend's mom, a Disney pro, meets us at the Disney drop off point. 7:30 and the place is filling with people in a hurry. Honestly, at this hour, mostly grownups.  Has Disney always been such a draw to adults? We took our daughters to the Florida one when they were preteens. Then, separately, when in California on other business, I dropped them at the California one when one was just a freshman in college and the other a freshman in high school. My daughter tells me that it was one of her most treasured memories of time spent with her sister.

I hope this Disney visit will be that to Snowdrop. 

Back at the hotel, the sun is just pushing away the cloud cover. It's going to be a glorious day. A high of 67F (20C), but their 67 feels a lot warmer than ours in the Midwest!

I eat breakfast at the same casual hotel eatery. Outside again. My Covid cough is almost gone. Everything about Covid for me is, well, almost gone. But I am deemed safe. And my granddaughter made it to Disneyland. I am beyond grateful.

(I've been in enough coastal towns to know that these gulls are beautiful, territorial, bold, and loud. To the visitor -- cunning and fun thieves!)

By the way, what's blooming at Laguna Beach right now? Let's see...

(At the farmette, we're getting our first deep frost on Sunday, so whatever is still putting forth blooms or new growth will abruptly stop this weekend.)

After breakfast, I check out the Pacific Ocean. 

This requires taking the hotel steps down to their northern corner of the long beach area. It feels very quiet here. It's not private, thank God. I do not like private water access, and in California, you can't keep people off the sands (at least up to the high water line, though you can work wonders by blocking off access paths and not creating parking nearby). I read that in July and August, this beach can get pretty darn full (which in my opinion is great -- some of my best people watching times have been on beaches!). But now, at the end of October, rare is the soul that hangs out here on a weekday.

(Strong currents, big waves, make for wet pants by the end of my walk; powerful sun rays make for dry pants by early afternoon.)

There are plenty of gulls who make up for it!

This is a protected marine life area and you cannot remove anything from the beach, not even a pebble or a shell. This, too, is a good thing: how many times have your kids twisted your arm into bringing home rocks and shells that then are forgotten? How many shells do you have where you haven't a clue as to where or when you picked them? So, advance warning to Snowdrop: no, you cannot take it home! It's THE LAW!

The tidal pools here are extraordinary!

As are some of the clifftop homes.

So much wealth in the hands of a few! [And yes, I get that I am myself staying at a hotel that is full of people who are in a whole other, unknown to me league of spending power. I honestly like being the poorest person in the entire resort. (No sane person on my state employee's retirement would blow precious savings on a weekend here). It lessens the guilt. (Again, I absolutely blame Covid for the extravagance.) The hotel itself is not pompous and that is a relief. And many of the guests are actually Midwesterners just like me. I've heard Chicago mentioned in a number of places. I see a Wisconsin t-shirt. It's not like East Coast wealth, which is often subtle but with rules of conduct and attire. (I saw that when I was a nanny for a rich family for all those years.) 

(life guard on duty every day, crowds or no crowds; I ask him if he has a lot of cases that need his attention. rip currents, he tells me. sometimes you have to bring the people back to shore...)

And the late afternoon? By the pool, with my computer. Trying to not love a bit of strong sunshine, which is like alcohol -- addictive and ultimately not healthy, though offering some immediate gratification.  Using lots of sunscreen. Feeling so much stronger than on Sunday! Enjoying a lunch of a latte and banana bread.

And toward evening, I catch my ride to Disneyland, three times as long now, in rush hour traffic! Oh, those loathsome crowded LA highways, where 90% of the vehicles have no more than one passenger in them. You suck the joy out of moving from one place to the next!

Did she have a good time? Does this even require an answer?

Yes it does.

Her friend's parent is sitting with her on a bench scanning carefully each car that pulls up. I get it: we're late. She's tired, the parent is anxious to get back to his own little group. As we drive up, she jumps in the car before I even have a chance to roll down the window to talk to the parent, to find out, to thank, to settle accounts.

And on the ride back, I have questions, and I get her Madison family on the line and they have questions, and she tries, she really tries. But anyone who knows her can tell -- there's something off. 

Finally, she breaks down for me. It's that rash.

She got it in the middle of the night. Just a little one, just on her hands and around an ankle. She came to me with it and honestly, my immediate thought was -- bed bugs! I'd been to Paris, and I caught their paranoia!

In the morning, however, I carefully inspected everything and concluded, quite correctly, that this isn't bedbugs. Maybe an allergic reaction to something.... Who can tell.... She is well otherwise. I put it aside.

By pick up time, though, the rash had spread. Her feet were itching uncontrollably. Her hands were not much better. She was miserable.

Two things to note: she never complained during the day. She did not want to ruin anyone's Disney moment. And, too, she said that during many of the rides, she would manage to forget about it. But in the end, the rash was too bold, too present to ignore. And so I said to the driver -- for an extra $10, can you take us to a pharmacy on the way home?

He scoped out the situation quickly. No $10 needed. I'll take you to a CVS pharmacy. And guess what? It's right across the street from your hotel!

Normally, these cab drivers that are used almost exclusively by hotels, are not your chatty guys who want to hear all about your trip and tell you all about the greatness of Laguna Beach. Driving big clean cars is their job, you are not unique, they just want you to be comfortable and they get you to where you want to go as quickly as is humanly possible (which, on LA freeways, can be either demonically fast, or, more typically, going 1 mile per hour). In silence. And this is often my preference as well. In the morning, my cab driver and I listened to his Beatle music without exchanging more than two sentences (mine: could you please turn down the AC?)

But this guy, he had suffered the lateness of the pick up with me (you picking up your daughter? Can you text her that we're late? No, my granddaughter and she does not yet have a cell phone and I'm too embarrassed to keep texting her friend's parents). And now he was suffering with me the swollen itchy extremities of said child. So in the last twenty minutes of our ride, I asked him about this job of his: driving guests in the crazy congested freeways of this car-dependant state.

And Snowdrop and I learned a lot. 

He's Egyptian. With lots of family back in Egypt. And he works hard, here in Laguna Beach. Today, he'd been driving since 4:30 a.m and now, at nearly 7 p.m., he still had a ride to take on. He needs the money. To send back to these guys in Egypt. My wife left me because I work too hard. She said I'm married to my job. 

But, no complaints: he has been doing this for several decades and it allows him to have a decent life. And his passengers! Recently, he was called upon to drive one of the wives of the former president of Qatar. And her sisters and eleven girls and their body guards. Each person had two body guards.

They dont stay at your hotel, he tells me, giving me tons of reassurance there! They stay at the Laguna Beach Pelican Hill Resort. Prices for a room start at $5000 a night, he says. 

I bring up the Middle East crisis. He shakes his head -- it's hopeless. Those leaders, they never want what's good for the people. They exploit the poor so that they add not trillions, but even more to their wealth. They're all the same!

His pessimism is profound. Snowdrop, for once forgets about her swollen feet, hands....

Still, our driver considers himself to have a good life. I live near Disneyland -- it's cheaper there. I send  money to my parents, my aunt, my siblings back home. None of them have any money.  (He himself is older, but has no kids).

And now we are at the pharmacy and the little girl is in distress, just barely holding it together. The pharmacist -- so often a resource for me when I am traveling, takes one look and says -- give her Benadryl, rub on some XX, 

Should I take her in to have this checked out? She shrugs: mostly you can't tell where it comes from. Allergy? She touched something? Impossible to know!

We go to the CVS public bathroom, use copious amounts of the cream on her feet and I give her the antihistamine she so desperately needs.

And within a few minutes, she improves. 

It's really late, but we do still have to eat dinner. We're dining at the same place -- she's just cycling through the kid options and I'm using up my "resort credits" down to the last dollar. Tonight, she chooses spaghetti (and bread and good butter!) and I choose the sea bass and we both love our food.

She hasn't the energy to stick around for dessert. I send her to our room, settle the bill, and more slowly,  make my way back. 

I had said to her -- you'll always remember this day! I'm sure I am right: first Disney visit, and itchy feet!

Tomorrow she will join me in our Laguna Beach exploration. Well, not the town. Not even the State Park just up the road from us. I dont want to fly anywhere, drive anywhere, do anything at all that's even mildly complicated. Simple. Interesting. Fun. That's all we need. We'll find it within walking distance. Along the shoreline.

with so much love...