One of the perks of academia is the opportunity to indulge in the wildly wonderful ritual of Spring Break. Just as the weather starts to warm, we are granted one week free of students, classes, and all other responsibilities—a luxury I never truly took advantage of as a college co-ed. While my classmates headed off to Daytona or some other frothy hotspot, I always headed back home to chilly Chicago—having to settle instead for hearing my friends’ stories upon their return of how they danced all night or met boys on the beach. And while I don’t regret having missed out on some of the adventure, I did make a mental note way back when that goes something like this: When given the opportunity to spend a week having fun, take it.
And so when Spring Break rolled around this year, Mike and I decided to skip town for the one place we’ve been meaning to return for some time: the sunny shores of Northern California where so many of our good friends live.
We’d been there together once before—on accident, though, not long after we’d met, about a month before we started dating. It was our first year teaching at Kentucky and we’d coincidentally both made Spring Break plans to visit not-so-significant others in San Francisco. I was supposed to fly through Houston and Mike through Cincinnati, when my flight was mysteriously cancelled and I was rerouted up north—only to find that my new seat on the new flight just happened to be located next to one Mike McKay. “What are you doing here?” we exclaimed simultaneously, both trying hard to suppress the exciting suspicion that it just might be Fate, both trying hard to act coooool. And while we were each greeted at the airport by forgettable Others, it only took about two days of disappointment before we were calling in for much needed relief. “Get me out of here!” read Mike’s distressed email at the very time I was thinking that same thing.
The memory of that funny trip made this time around--married, with our lovely baby--all the more special. Not to say our journey wasn't without its snags. In addition to arriving to the airport late and barely making Not to say our journey wasn’t without its snags. In addition to arriving to the airport late and barely making our outbound flight, we were most upset to learn of the $80 fine for our “HEAVY” bag. Who knew one package of wipes, a jumbo bag of diapers, ten rainbow stacking cups, two stuffed giraffes, four types of rattles, one furry bear with chewable appendages, and five non-chewable-yet-chewed-anyway books could tip the scales so expensively? And the worst part, had we packed in two bags, it would have been free. “Well, it all evens out,” Mike lamented, our answer to all of life’s unexpected fines and fees. “Yea, it’s just 25 lattes,” I added, an illogical scale of conversion that’s always made losing money more manageable for me. “I’ll just drink that shitty coffee on the plane.”
Once to San Luis Obispo, however, things started looking up—and the contrast from where we’d just come could not have been more striking. As we stepped through the doors into the brightness of our first California morning, I’m sure I had much the same feeling Dorothy must have felt when she awoke after the black-and-white storm: everything was colorful, beautiful, clean. Flowering bushes framed the view. Fragrance filled the air. Literally. I kid you not, we half-expected cherubs to appear singing in the distance, an expectation not totally unmet when an impish little fellow behind the Avis desk slyly handed me keys to our rental car with a kindly, “Hey, mannnnn, I’m gonna give you a maaaajorrrrr upgrade.” He nodded slowly, knowingly, as if we shared a secret I was suppose to understand.
Either way, I was totally grateful for his kind of strangeness after we loaded up its leather seats, eased back the sunroof, and cruised our way downtown. “Where should we stayyy?” Mike sang in that way he does when he’s got 5 stars on his mind. Yep, if there’s anything Mike loves more than me, it’s a well-appointed hotel room. While I’m sure he’d never have an affair with another woman, I can’t say the same for a king size bed that someone else makes, a shower with great water pressure, and cable TV. Sadly, though, it’s a love that often goes unrequited, as our budget dictates like it did this trip, a less-than-starry pad.
“Ummm…” I didn’t know if I wanted the answer, but “can you tell me what that sign outside means?”
Something about cleaning supplies, the gal assured me, an explanation that eased my mind only somewhat. Sure, it wasn’t mold or asbestos, but seeing as I’d just written an entire blog about my house being hosed down with bleach, I didn’t know how to take the news. Back in the car I wondered if Celie shared my concern as she wouldn't stop writhing with an "ahhhnnn! ahhhhnnn!" kind of whine, a sound most atypical of our otherwise happy girl. Thank God for what we discovered as a sure-fire way to quiet her cries: that nail-biter of an epic tome, Where Is Baby's Belly Button?, a book I found myself repeating endlessly until Celie finally fell asleep.
While our room was less than luxurious, it didn’t matter much as we made the most of our time outside. We toured campus, strolled downtown, walked the creek and generally set the tone for the remainder of our stay, alternately awe-inspiring and laid-back. With its vast and rolling hills, breathtaking views, and idyllic everything, there's just no other place like California. "Why wouldn't we live here?" Mike and I kept asking ourselves until, of course, we were reminded of the approximately 1.2 million reasons why it might be difficult. The first thing out of everyone's mouths was housing--a particular challenge for people like us: teachers. In fact, in many of the cities we visited the only way to afford housing is to qualify for one of the State's newly subsidized "special occupancy developments" that target low-income families, teachers, and health care providers. Pretty sad, I'd say, when two Masters degrees from Princeton and Berkeley can't rent you more than a one-bedroom subsidy.
"It's a killer," one woman mentioned, adding that she and her husband were currently considering a move themselves. But what she said next is what really got me. "Outside of the astronomical cost of housing, the main thing is that San Luis Obispo is just too perfect to stay. Everything is wonderful, taken care of, too clean...so much so that it's more than a little tempting to disengage from reality." Coming from New Orleans, I couldn't quite comprehend what this must feel like--to live in such a Pleasantville where the streets are too clean, where one has to search for problems to fix in order to feel grounded. She went on to say that she'd recently finished reading Barack Obama's book, Dreams of My Father, a story that had her rethinking her retirement. "It's incredibly inspiring," she said, "and we realize we have an obligation. We've led great lives here, but now it's time to give back."
"Come on down to New Orleans!" we replied, sharing with her our story of the KNOA Studio, the city, and the work that still needs to be done. She seemed impressed, a reaction that I must admit I enjoy. Not so much because I need my feathers stroked, but because every so often it can't hurt to be reminded as to why we've come here, to our nation's epicenter of devastation.
Like many of the folks we met in California, she was refreshingly friendly and simply in love with our girl. She'd approached us, as many strangers do, to comment on our "beautiful baby" and catch a glimpse of Celie's smile--a lovely little look that she grants somewhat discriminately--a trait that we've grown to admire.
"She doesn't smile for everyone," we often say, either as an attempt to make someone feel better for only receiving a cautious stare, or to reiterate their good fortune in getting one of her enthusiastically toothy grins. "God, it's like the paparazzi," my friend Jill laughed after a rather large group of Spaniards at the next table over requested if they could take a photograph of Celie at dinner.
"That's actually never happened before," I added, "In fact, that's a little weird." Still, they seemed to enjoy her Sweet Eyes and Fish Face, two crazy expressions she seemed to pull out just for the camera, like some kind of little showman's reward.
The best part of the trip, however, was simply being with friends. It was an amazing few days of spending time with the very peeps who know us best: first, Walter and Dana in San Jose who showed us around the Apple Computer mothership (who knew sushi, fresh avocado salads, and made-to-order omelets would ever qualify as "cafeteria food?" Thank you, iPod!); followed by a truly exceptional four days with Dean and the fabulous Jill, my very best friend from childhood.
To this day and despite the distance, she is still my favorite pal--so fun, so funny, so original and real. With Celie in tow, we visited museums, drank good wine, walked to the ocean and back through Golden Gate park, grazed on pizza, and generally had fun doing nothing at all.And as my family and I boarded our plane, Celie fascinated with the lights outside, I realized that our time away was more than just a vacation--for me, it felt like checking in with that part of me that so easily gets lost when life gets carried away. The word, I guess, is comfort--the kind that only old friends and a big blue sky can give. From San Luis to San Jose to San Francisco, our week was filled with what can only be described as one glorious day after another. Just as I remember it, California is truly a dreamer's dream, the kind of place that will always feel like home.
