A. and I returned a week ago from a two-week road trip from San Francisco to Seattle. We drove miles and miles on winding roads, my bare feet on the dashboard, listening to Bruce Springsteen and soaking in the scenery.
We visited with dear friends in San Francisco, southern Oregon and Seattle. We gawked at red woods and sequoias, hiked up mountains (my max was about 4 miles), walked on the beach, drank chais and ate granola and fresh berries.
And we laughed. A lot — sometimes like schoolchildren. We paid $5 to drive through a sequoia. A. wrote me a note in the Holiday Inn in Redding, Calif.: “I like you. Do you like me? Check a box: Yes or No.” I was laughing so hard that night, I had tears running down my face.
We stayed in funky hotel in Boonville, Calif., a beautiful log cabin in Sisters, Ore., and in a motel on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State.
And we talked and talked — about our finances and baby names. And maybe someday moving to the mountains.