slo happy.

When I decided to combine a visit with Kelly in Southern California with Elizabeth's wedding weekend in Northern California into a one very big vacation, I thought for sure that by the time August rolled around, I'd have met someone (a fella, perhaps?) who would want to accompany me on a drive up the scenic (and romantic) Pacific Coast Highway.

If not a guy, maybe a friend would want to join me for a west coast adventure?  It could be just like Thelma & Louise, minus the whole murder thing.

At the very least, maybe someone also heading to Elizabeth's wedding might need a lift from Los Angeles to San Francisco and I could give them a ride?

Anyone?  Please?  

I had a lot of prospects ranging from the bags-are-packed-but-I-have-no-vacation-time to the mildly-interested-that-sounds-cool-but-probably-not, but none who could actually commit.

I decided to embrace the hand I was dealt and execute my plan anyway.  So I rented a car and took off on a solo excursion.

Though not in exactly the way I'd pictured, I said hello to my celebrity friends as I drove through Malibu and took a stroll through Santa Barbara and a Mexican culture festival before stopping for the evening in San Luis Obispo.


Because of its pleasant climate, walkable streets and friendly people, San Luis Obispo has been called the happiest city in America.  Perhaps I was still basking in the glow of my new little friends or maybe it was the fact that the economy car I bid on through Priceline turned into brand new Nissan Altima at the rental car counter, but I was feeling quite happy.     

In fact, I was happy before I even left Kelly's house, as she and I shared a lot of laughs over my failed attempts to pronounce "San Luis Obispo."

SAINT-LOUIE-O-BEES-PO?

SAND-LUIS-O-BLISS-PO?

Eventually I started calling it "SLO" like all of the locals do, but with a slight southern accent, I sounded like a complete loser. 

While I cannot comment on everyone's happiness level, I can tell you San Luis Obispo is a cool town full of eclectic stores and super hip (but nice) people.  The town reminded me a lot of my college town - Athens, Georgia (and we all know how I feel about that.)

One of the city's must-sees, according to the Lonely Planet travel book I read like it was the Bible, is "Bubblegum Alley," an alleyway covered with decades of chewing gum.

I'm not a germaphobe (at all) but when I stepped into the alley I felt like all the mouths that had once chewed this gum were now breathing on me.  I kept getting whiffs of Watermelon mixed with Spearmint, Grape mixed with Winterfresh and it made my stomach turn.  For the first time all day, I did not feel happy, so I stayed long enough to take pictures, and then moved on.




All day I noticed that whenever I heard a good song, saw a beautiful landscape, or encountered a funny person, I wished that I'd been able to convince someone to come along for the ride.  I'd have to stop myself from reaching for my phone to text or email someone, even if just to say, "I almost threw up in Bubblegum Alley!"  I know there is joy to be had on my own - and I've been lucky to have experienced it - but I also know me; and I like company.

With a great deal of work, I have found peace and contentment within myself - but finding peace and contentment by myself is a completely different thing; I'm still working on it. 

I cannot deny, though, that there is something satisfying about being on my own in a strange city - free to explore (or not explore) at my own pace, on my own timeline.  I've been known to make travel companions crazy with my inability to keep up with the group and my tendency to "wander" slowly with my head tilted back so I can take in all of the sights and all of the sounds.

By myself, I had no one to answer to.

So, I went to Big Sky and drank Anchor Steams, ate fish tacos, and talked to the bartender.  And then went to my hotel and watched the Olympics.



Not exactly the raucous or adventurous night I would've spent in the happiest city in America had I been with companions, but it was SLO according to me and that made me very happy.

perfecting the double bounce.

Earlier this month, I went to Orange County, California to visit my childhood friend Kelly. The visit was the first leg of a two week vacation.

I was eager to catch up with her and to spend some quality time with her family, especially her little boys - Jared (5), Joel (3) and Jesse (1).




Knowing how different her everyday is from mine, ahead of my trip, Kelly warned me several times that her house was insane. I think she actually said at one point, "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

She was right. Her boys wake up early and are pretty much non-stop until bed time. They play rough, they ask the same questions over and over again (I actually heard an, "Are we there yet?"), they have meltdowns.

The most peaceful time of the day is Kelly's enforced "quiet time," where the boys retreat to their rooms and either nap or play quietly by themselves.

P.S. I looooooove quiet time. I'm trying to incorporate it into my own life.

I laughed to my boss back in Atlanta that my job never seemed so easy. Raising kids is hard work. Easier when they are as precious and hysterically funny as these guys - but still hard.





I suppose Kelly might've preferred that I use my visit as an opportunity to help her out and give her a hand with taking care of the kids, but I just wanted them to like me. So I acted more like her fourth child or, at best, the parent who lets her kids do whatever they want.

I'd get them all wound up around bed time and then tuck them into their covers like burritos.

I'd hold them up by their ankles, swing them around, and toss them onto the couch.

When the older boys asked if they could hold my Blackberry or take pictures with my big camera, Kelly shook her head, "no," at the same moment I was saying, "yes," because that's what cool aunts do.

A few shots from the Jared and Joel photo shoot.





Cool aunts also jump on trampolines. (Ok, this one was more for me and not the boys - I'd been dying to jump since I arrived.)

The minute I stepped onto the trampoline with Jared and Joel, my face lit up like a light bulb. I hadn't jumped on one in years and had forgotten how much fun they are. Their faces lit up too - probably because it's funny to see an adult doing cheerleading moves in broad daylight and under no influence of alcohol. I can't remember the last time I'd laughed that much - trampolines are instant stress relief (not to mention, a great workout.)

Both Jared and Joel asked if I would hold their hands so we could jump together, a request that made my heart melt it was so sweet.

After a full day of working to earn their trust, "Finally," I thought to myself, "They like me, they really like me!!!!"

One at a time, I honored their requests, holding their little hands in mine so we could jump together in the center of the trampoline. Evident by their even bigger smiles and adorable squeals, I could tell they were enjoying it even more than when we were all jumping on our own. When I'd let go of one, the other would be waiting patiently for his turn. Earning the attention of Jared and Joel and having them want to jump with me was so flattering. I felt like a celebrity.



And then it hit me.

They do like me and we had bonded, but that is not the reason these independent little guys wanted me to hold their hands. Without even knowing that I was doing it, my body weight jumping in such close proximity to theirs was sending them flying to heights they couldn't reach just jumping on their own.

I'm not sure if there is a technical term for this move, but I know it as the "double bounce."

I was first introduced to the double bounce in the 1980s by my older cousins, who during a weekend visit to my family's farm in northwest Ohio, double bounced me so high, I came down hard and sprained my ankle badly enough to require a cast up to my mid-thigh.

What happened after my fall is a blur - my mom tells me I limped through the airport in pain, asking her to carry me and forcing our whole family onto one of those golf cart things that beeps all through the airport. When I got the cast, it was so big and cumbersome, I had to cut all of my long pants to fit over it. I don't really remember any of that, though.

What I do remember, like it was yesterday, is what it felt like to jump higher than I thought possible; I remember feeling like I was flying over that trampoline - like I'd never come down. I also remember the look of proud satisfaction on the faces of my older cousins who knew they were the ones who'd made me soar.

When I realized I was creating that feeling for Jared and Joel, I beamed. I briefly worried that they'd end up in casts like I did and cursed my parents for never buying me a trampoline, but mostly I beamed. What a privilege to spend time with my old friend and get to know these boys so well.

The morning I had to leave, Jared, Joel and I took one last jump on the trampoline before I had to say goodbye. Leaving Kelly and her family was bittersweet. I was looking forward to the trip ahead of me, but sad to leave my little shadows and our trampoline dates behind.

Spending three days with three kids under the age of six was anything but peaceful - it was chaos. But I felt at peace and so very happy.

When I left, Kelly sent me a text message, thanking me for coming (as if leaving Atlanta to spend three days in Southern California was just such an inconvenience). She said I brought new energy into her house that helped her see what was right in front of her, but easy to forget in the day-to-day.

Her words made me smile. Another double bounce, perhaps?



After a particularly difficult year, I'm learning to fall in love with my life exactly where it is - even the monotony of getting up, going to work, going to bed, starting again. But I still struggle, as I think we all do from time to time, with wondering if I'm doing the right thing? Am I keeping up with everyone else? Or worse - is everyone having more fun than me?

Kelly's job of raising kids - keeping them fed and bathed while also building their self-confidence, teaching them to be kind and keeping them from turning into little assholes -- is the most important job there is. But it doesn't change the fact that it can be monotonous and exhausting.

For Kelly's boys, and for me when I was younger, the double bounce meant nothing more than a higher jump - a chance to experience the stomach drop feeling of catching air at a height not possible on our own.

A metaphorical double bounce from a friend (even an old friend like me who blows into town like a hurricane to tell you that your life is completely different from mine, but it's really fun and these kids are great and you're doing a fabulous job) is sometimes all it takes to help us see our own lives from a new vantage point.

The same old jump in a completely different way. The double bounce.

When no one falls or ends up in a cast, it's a pretty awesome thing.

Day 352: Skype Date

Tackling a project to do 365 things I've never done before could not have happened had it not been for the eager support of my friends and family, rooting me on from the start and willing to be a part of challenges.

If you've been reading this blog from the start, you likely know the names of some of these supporters. Their names appear to the right of the screen, in that huge long list of awesomeness where I've "tagged" them each time they participate in my blog, and in my life. The more times they participate, the larger their name gets. But don't be fooled into thinking that only those on that list have participated in this experience. There are plenty more, whose names are smaller or nonexistent, who have cheered me on from afar, commenting on my progress and leaving me messages of encouragement when an entry has touched them. Tagged or not, without my team, my pit crew, there is no way this project would have ever gotten off the ground or sustained 352 days.

One of my friends, who had yet to appear in the blog until this day, is my hometown friend Kelly.

I have known Kelly since middle school. We met in 7th grade at the height of our awkwardness. We spent summers swimming in her pool, going to the mall, and obsessing about boys, and have been friends ever since.

When we were in college, Kelly moved to San Diego to live with her sister. She was only supposed to stay for the summer, but after meeting a wonderful guy and falling in love, she decided to stay. Years later, she and the wonderful guy got married and now they have two gorgeous kids. It's taken years, but I think I've finally accepted that Kelly's probably not moving back to the east coast. Knowing that I will always have a friend in Newport Beach, California with a free place to stay makes that pain hurt a little less.

With two young kids and a busy life in California, flying to Georgia to go sky-diving or polar bear plunging with me for the blog was obviously not in the cards for Kelly, but she is definitely one of my supporters from afar. There was something that I'd wanted to try for the blog, though, and I thought she might be able to help, so I emailed her ahead of Day 352.

"Do you Skype?," I asked her.

"Are you kidding?" she said. "Yes! We Skype all the time!" Kelly's sister has since moved back to the east coast and that's where her parents live too, so web chatting through this service is something that they do often.

We made plans to make Day 352's thing I've never done before to catch up with each other via Skype.

Ahead of my Skype date with Kelly, I talked to others who were frequent Skype users. Some of my co-workers with long-distance boyfriends were big fans of the service, as were those who lived far away from their families. My friend Jackie said Skype has been great for her son because while he's not much for talking on the phone, when he can look at the screen and see the person he's talking to, he's much more likely to become engaged in the conversation. In fact, at one time her son thought her parents (his grandparents) actually lived in their "'puter" (computer).

I looked forward to seeing Kelly's face (and her kids' faces) and for us having a real conversation that included body language and visual responses. There is only so much that a phone call can do.

Everyone that I talked to said Skype is extremely user-friendly, but it would be like me to somehow screw it up or not be able to figure it out. So I asked a ton of questions before logging onto my boss' computer, where he had a webcam installed for Skype. I created an account and then found Kelly's username that she had given me ahead of our date. I clicked on her name, and within seconds, a screen popped up and I could see her! Clearly I'm behind the times when it comes to technology, evident by my television and my cell phone, but I honestly could not believe how easy this was.

I gasped like I was seeing her for the first time in my life.

"KELLY! HIIIIIIIIIIII!" I shouted at the screen. Everyone sitting around me turned and looked annoyed. I apologized for my overzealousness and tried to play it cool. And then I laughed at myself, as I imagined that how I was acting was exactly how my technologically disadvantaged father might act if he was using Skype for the first time.

Kelly smiled and waved, but then frowned and told me she could see me, but couldn't hear what I was saying. "WHAT?! YOU CAN’T?!?! OH NO!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Again, I was shouting at the computer.

I started spastically clicking on audio buttons and furiously looking for a microphone hook ups, anything to fix the problem so that she could hear me. I knew my friend Katy uses Skype for her job, so I rushed over to her desk to see if she could help."

Do you have a Skype headset?," she asked me.

I looked at her, puzzled. " I don't know what that is."

She explained that a lot of personal computers have microphones built in, so an external mic isn't necessary, but since we're in a public workspace, a headset with both earphones and a microphone is necessary. I didn't have one. She didn’t either.

Noooooooooooo. My Skype date was about to go up in flames.

Kelly was patiently waiting in front of her computer when I ran back to my desk. Skype has an application that also allows you to Instant Message the person you're talking to, presumably in situations like this. I explained to her what was going on and told her I was in search of a headset and would be right back. She laughed and said, "Ok."

After pleading with several people, my friend Jason finally came to the rescue with a Skype headset. It made me look like a telephone operator, but I didn't care. I plugged it in, and finally I could hear Kelly and she could hear me.

Crisis was averted, and our Skype conversation could commence.

Unfortunately for Kelly, our Skype conversation, at least for the first ten minutes, became a conversation about Skype. I was so enthralled with this technology and the fact that it costs nothing; I could hardly concentrate on the conversation. I was "that girl" who said probably a dozen times, "I can't believe I'm looking at you right now! And you're in California!"

When I finally calmed down long enough about Skype to actually talk to her, we had so much fun catching up. There is a little bit of a delay, which can be frustrating but also humorous. I could hear her laugh sometimes before I could see her react to what I was saying. And because I was looking at her on the screen and not directly into the camera, we never really looked each other in the eye.

I didn't think about it while we were talking, but later I was absolutely hysterical thinking about the first time I ever logged onto the Internet with Kelly and our other friends Lisa and Cindy. We were at my parents' house on their old computer with one of those free trials from AOL. We stayed up for hours online chatting with God knows who, pretending like we were in college and making up fake names for ourselves.

Fifteen years later, there we were, on the computer again, only this time talking about our real lives, not ones we made up. Still hysterically laughing, though.

I felt like I got a glimpse into her life, and she got to see a little of mine too. I was at work, but I wasn't technically working when we spoke, but still there were phones ringing and co-workers stopping by my desk to talk to me. Kelly's kids were waking up from a nap and were running around in the background, demanding to be let out where their dad was. She managed to get them to say hello, but they are active little boys with an agenda of their own. And they even cuter live than they are on their Christmas card. I was soaking it up.

There is absolutely no way that Skype could ever replace the comforting feeling that comes with being the presence of good friends. I so wish that Kelly and I lived closer and saw each other more than once or twice a year. There's nothing quite like giving her a hug, seeing her face in person, and hearing her laugh without a delay. But to have the option of speaking to her face-to-face and see her crazy kids bouncing through her house, all for free, through the wonders of the Internet? Well, that's technology that I can get behind.

Skype, you are amazing. As long as, of course, I remember a headset.