It has been far too long sine I last wrote. A lot has happened, and it is difficult to recall just how the last two weeks have played out, but I will do my best to remember.
Claire left for Michigan to say a painfully anticipated goodbye to her grandpa, Clair Dickinson. May he rest in peace. In her absence, Callie and I took a weekend trip to Los Angeles to visit some family and friends. Night one landed us at Riley's house. Riley is Callie's cousin and he lives in a huge house full of 9 college students. They have one of the largets cactus that I have seen in the front yard. When we arrived we were given two of the highest loft beds we have ever slept in (a bit nerve racking) followed by a tour of the house. A few rooms in we stumbled across a group of Riley's roommates lighting 100 tea candles and preparing for a round of Quija. I was skeptical of participating due to some uncomfortable experiences with the unseen a few years back, but Callie jumped right in. I watched from the couch. About twenty minutes later when I was nearly asleep, things started to happen. I won't go into too much detail, but I will say that I am a believer; someone spoke with us for a while that night and I will never forget it.
The next day was spent roaming around LA's version of chinatown, which was a bit dissappointing. The upside was some cheap produce; the downside was an undeserved parking ticket. After that we headed to Venice beach to eat dinner and have some uncomfortable views of poorly trained dogs trying to go to the bathroom. Enough said. After a few laughs we removed ourselves from the fecal matter and walked along the boardwalk for a while. Also in this time frame we managed to drive over some spikes going the wrong way and got a flat. I had thankfully recently been trained in the art of changing tires and was able to temporarily fix the problem. Lots of people watched, some sat to chat; we had an excellent introduction to the people of Venice Beach. Turns out that California's Venice has its own version of crazy going on, and it's significantly less classy than Italy's. California's Venice is grimey and young, beautiful in a southern cali way, and worthy of a good wander. Two worlds, two different crowds, both of them worth spending some time in.
That night we landed at Hannah's house, a friend from Seattle. Hannah lives in what can only be described as an absolutely adorable dwelling. It is the garage of a house turned apartment and is surrounded by gardens, lights, and a comfortable patio. Conveniently, she was dogsitting for her boyfriend and we were able to spend some precious time with Effy, one of the cutest designer dogs I have ever seen. Effy is a mix of a poodle and a golden retriever; if you have not seen this animal, you must look it up. I love dogs, and as it tuns out, Effy loves me too. Perfect.
We had a ladies weekend that involved beach volleyball, a small pub crawl, and a morning recovery trip to a farmers market. We laughed a lot, and had the luxury of a readily available shower.
After LA, it was back to Vegas to pick up Claire Bear. We stayed one night with my aunt and uncle, and headed to Zion National Park in Utah the next day. Zion is full of breathtaking views of sandstone cliffs that hover over the Virgin river. We camped two nights along the river and stayed in constant awe of the surrounding canyon walls. The red, sandstone cliffs were accentuated by the hot sun during the day, and beautifully outlined by the milkyway and thousands of stars at night. We saw shooting stars, hiked to the Emerald Pools, stacked rocks in the river, and basked in just how good it is to be alive. Seriously though, all corn aside, these are some of the best days I have had.
After Zion, we headed back to Vegas for the third and final time. This time was the real deal, the big shebang. We stayed at Summer Bay Resort a half a block from the strip and semi-gracefully transitioned from the freshness of the great outdoors, to the bright, hazy confusion of Las Vegas. I won't go into much detail, because as we know what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. I will say, however, that despite our efforts, and better judgements, and all such things, we didn't manage to make it home before 7am either night. We met lots of people, I shouted Sweet Home Alabama into a microphone, got lost more times than we care to keep track of, and watched the sunrise glisten on the Trump tower each morning as we dragged ourselves back to our hotel room.
Claire flew away to San Francisco the third day, and we returned to my aunt and uncle's house to recover. My aunt Jenny brought us back to life with some good old fashioned southern hospitality. We slept in big, comfy guest beds and hit the road this morning. I am currently sitting in a warehouse-turned-loft-but-still-warehouse space in Santa Barbara that belongs to my friend Ryan. We are still tired from Vegas, and can't wait to go to the beach tomorrow. There is a band playing on the other side of the thin, warehouse wall, and a precious dog named Herbie lying next to me. The woman singing on the other side of our wall has an absolutely beautiful voice. It's been another good day, and that's all I have to say about that.
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