I’m pretty sure there is nothing more depressing than being at work (before the 4th of July, when EVERYONE else in the country is off) and knowing that on this day last year, I was in Hawaii. I was eating my 3rd day of banana pancakes (the locations changed from Eggberts to Kountry Kitchen), and drinking the most excellent coffee in the world. It was hotter than hell outside, made even more horrible because of the humidity and my wicked sunburn that comes from my inability to be exposed to sun (sadly, not joking- I wore SPF 60- a special sunscreen ordered from Canada specifically for skin cancer patients, and yet it wasn’t strong enough) that resulted in millions of tiny blisters all over my shoulders, face, arms and legs. Luckily I covered it up with makeup to hide my hideous face, but still- do I wish I could be covered in tiny blisters and sweating my face off in Hawaii, or sitting in an air conditioned office on a 90 degree day? Even though my boss was texting me constantly needing to know how to bill something, or where the endorsement stamp was, I’d rather be in Hawaii, sweating like a pig. That’s right, at least my belly would be full of the world’s best pancakes, and my hands would be shaking from the vast quantities of coffee I couldn’t stop drinking.
Ever have a trip, or a day or an experience that you think about with fond memories? The memory of it just almost literally fills you with warmth? That was Hawaii (okay, and Vegas, and our trips to Disneyland) for me. I know that with the baby and saving money and all our trips are going to be very few and very far between (and most likely NOT to Hawaii or Vegas), but at least I can remember the joy I felt at being completely alone with my husband- no family or friends to call us and interrupt our time together. We had a solid six days to ourselves, minus a few calls in the airport to talk about how cool it was (one of the benefits of having a dad who is pretty much nocturnal), and to check in on Dad who had been watching Woofie for us while we were gone. No one else called, no one emailed (well a few did, but they were welcomed), and well, it was heaven.
We cooked dinner every night, or ate the previous night’s leftovers. We visited farmer’s markets (boy those people are serious about their markets- they wouldn’t let anyone shop until the BELL WAS WRUNG), and went sightseeing, we dipped our feet in the bluest ocean waters, and shared a pineapple together on the lanai. We went to Costco and went out for breakfast every morning, as well as eating shave ice every single day. We sent postcards home and really got to share our very first long vacation together.
When I look back on our trip, it was like we were at home, but just a different home- I had my husband, my books and the most beautiful surroundings on Earth. I honestly don’t think I was ever happier than I was the night we sat out on the adirondack chairs on the cliff of our resort grounds, gripping Paul’s hand (fear of heights made even worse by the absolute pitch blackness of it all) and looking up at the ink black night’s sky, just gazing at the stars, some of which we have never seen, living in L.A. I saw my first ever shooting star (falling star?) and made a wish, a wish that has seemingly come true (or will in a few months).
Every trip I take is made better because Paul is with me. I’m happy driving up the coast to get to his sister’s house in Hermosa Beach. I’m happy just snuggling up close to him in the morning, when there is just enough time to scramble my stuff together and get off to work. The main factor in all my fantastic memories of trips is Paul- he makes me happy every day, all day.
Now given the choice- Hawaii without Paul or in the office with Paul at home waiting for me, I would gladly choose to be wherever Paul is. He makes life fun for me, no matter what I’m doing.
