This is the true story of four family members who chose to get on a plane, rent a car, drive down the California coast, and have their vacation documented.  Find out what happens when people stop being polite, and start getting real.

The Real World: Pacific Coast Highway

Day Three:

9:30am: Get up and GO TO CHURCH. Yes. For real. ON VACATION.  Enjoy a coffee hour spread that could rival Old Country Buffet.  Think about how much Greeks like coffee hour and food. Watch Ted look on floor of car for tiny glasses screw.

12:00pm: Leave church and head to ANOTHER church. Yes. For real. ON VACATION.  Arrive at Joy of All Who Sorrow to venerate the Holy Relics of St. John Maximovitch, a modern-day saint. Liturgy is over so expect to be able to spend some quiet time lighting candles in prayer.  Instead, swing open front doors and unexpectedly see a bride right as she is walking down the aisle. Panic and hope you are not in the background of her pictures in your street clothes with five grimy kids behind you.  Feel confused as the church is empty of guests but clearly a wedding is happening in the immediate future, as in NOW.  Push Ted and Teddy in and run back outside to wait. Wonder how many other brides and grooms you will see on your trip and what it all means.

Above: Inside of the beautiful church Joy of All Who Sorrow.  Background, left to right: photographer, witness, bride, groom, and priest.  Foreground: Tourist in dad jeans who stumbled in.  NOT in our group. 

12:15pm: Watch Ted look on floor of car for tiny glasses screw.

12:17pm: Go to Greek restaurant for lunch and gorge self to prepare for two-hour drive to Santa Cruz.  Watch friend bring over frozen soft-serve Greek yogurt with what looks like honey drizzled on it and hear her say, “Try this.” Trust her and take giant spoonful. Feel tricked when you realize you are eating olive oil with sea salt.  Gag.  Resist desire to spit a mouthful of sea salt onto restaurant table.

                        Above, left: Yogurt with olive oil and salt.  Above, right: California lids.  

1:30pm: Grab Starbucks and hit the road. Suffer through first major disappointment of trip discovering California does not use plastic straws.  Force yourself to adjust to the misfortune that you can’t savor your Refresher like you can in Illinois.  Gulp it down faster than you should gulp down a $5 drink consisting mostly of water.   Enjoy scenic car ride down the coast. Appreciate the gorgeous cliffs, sparkling water, and twisty roads.

4:30pm: Arrive at hotel in Santa Cruz.

4:31pm: Watch Ted look on floor of car for tiny glasses screw.

5:00pm: Leave hotel to meet Ted’s cousin at his restaurant in Los Gatos. Wonder who planned the day’s itinerary (Eat heavy Greek lunch, drive two hours south down a winding coastal road, check-in hotel, drive back UP an even WINDIER road, eat ANOTHER heavy Greek meal.)

6:00pm: Become annoyed when WAZE decides that traffic on main road is too heavy.  Dumbass app recommends alternative route traversing curviest road in the history of roads. LITERALLY travel UP a mountain that twists and turns non-stop and then go back DOWN the mountain to get to destination.

Above: Road we should have taken in blue. Red arrows point to WAZE-recommended route.  

10:00pm: After huge, delicious meal, drive back to Santa Cruz for the night. Watch Ted use flashlight to look for tiny screw in car.  After much persuasion, convince Ted to abandon fruitless mission of ever finding screw again.

And yes…to be continued…

This is the true story of four family members who chose to get on a plane, rent a car, drive down the California coast, and have their vacation documented.  Find out what happens when people stop being polite, and start getting real.

The Real World: Pacific Coast Highway

Day One:

1pm: Go to the airport.

2pm: Get dropped off at the entrance while Ted parks.

2:15: Start check-in process at kiosk. Wonder how the airlines are allowed to charge you $30 JUST TO BRING A SUITCASE on a trip.  Think about the old days when you got a free meal and your dad used to sit in the smoking section of the plane.  Weigh bags.  Discover first bag is 3 lbs. under, but second bag is 8 lbs. over, which will cost you an additional $100 in baggage fees.  Panic and force kids to help you rummage through bag and take out what you hope is an 8 lb. makeup bag.   Wonder if you will be happy that you don’t have to pay extra or embarrassed that you need 8 lbs. of toiletries for a one week vacation.  Weigh bags again. Remove audiobooks that you will never listen to and shove them in one kid’s backpack and a men’s shoe in the other kid’s backpack.  Achieve acceptable weight.  When Ted arrives, hand him giant, feminine, pink Vera Bradley toiletry bag as his carry-on.  Sigh with relief.

2:30: Go through security.  Get flagged.  Realize too late that bringing a 3-wick aromatic candle in your carry-on as a hostess gift is NOT a good idea.  GET FULL-BODY PAT DOWN.   Wish you had given Ted your bag and carried the pink toiletry bag instead.  Curse Karma.  Get searched and patted down for approximately 10 minutes.  Resist the temptation to tell the TSA agent you are getting more action than you have in close to five years.  Watch shoes and candle and other essentials get swabbed and tested.  Rue the day you got that half-price candle coupon.  Look sheepishly behind you and see a handsome man in line wink at you.  Wonder if it is a sympathetic wink or a “Hey, 50-year-old-mom-being-searched, you still got it!” wink.  Glance down at your outfit and go with definite mercy wink.

3pm: Get to gate.  Silently decide the vacation has officially started and peruse food court for vacation food.  Order mini pretzel dogs.  Accept the fact you will have bloated vacation stomach for the next week.

4:30: Get on plane. Sit in middle seat because you are a good mom.  Eat pretzels.  Eat maple cookies.  Eat Stroopwafel.  Feel sick.

8:30: (6:30 PST) Arrive in San Francisco.

7pm: Have first vacation argument about where rental car company is located. Win.

7:30: Drive to friend’s house which is faaarrr from airport.  Use the time to enjoy skyline and scenery.  Have second vacation argument about screens and data time and how the scenery and sights ARE the vacation.

9pm: Arrive at the Whitney household. Relax. Have wine and salad and pizza. Ignore Ted’s comments about how cold it is and that the forecast says 50’s and 60’s and we should have brought more sweatshirts like he suggested.  Silently regret you only brought two long sleeve shirts for each person but do not admit this out loud.  Realize your pictures will look like you either took them all on the same day or never changed your clothes.

Day Two:

9:00am: Wake up, eat breakfast and get on the road to downtown San Francisco.

9:15am: Make our first stop of many at CVS to get an eyeglass repair kit for Ted’s prescription sunglasses that have already lost a screw. NOTE: HAD I KNOWN AT THIS POINT THAT TED’S EYEGLASSES WOULD BE A THEME RUNNING THROUGH OUR ENTIRE VACATION I WOULD HAVE STARTED TAKING PICTURES EARLIER.  Tell Ted it will be impossible to fix his glasses while on the road as a steady hand seems necessary but watch Teddy try to fix them anyway.  After 30 minutes watch Teddy give up.

11:30:  Walk a long way to see the sea lions on Pier 39. See ONE lone sea lion swimming around.  Get lunch at Boudin Bakery and pay $75 for four Panera-like meals.  Worry you cannot afford California.  Stop at Ghirardelli and get giant ice cream treats.  Stop in your tracks at the door and see there is a WEDDING party sitting on the terraces outside the store.  Wonder why they are taking pictures here and then notice the bride and groom dancing on the sidewalk.  Spot a photographer.  Spot a saxophonist.  Wonder who would love Ghiradelli so much they would plan their wedding around it.  Feel relief Ted did not know this was an option or our formal pictures may have been taken outside a KFC.

Above: Bride and groom in front of Ghirardelli, adjacent to CVS, four feet from a woman sweeping and changing out a garbage bag.                                   

4:30: Drive to Golden Gate Park. Argue about directions.  Lose.  Arrive at Segway tour with zero minutes to spare.  Argue about parking. Jump out of car to reserve Segway spots and let Ted park.  Hope he finds parking and is able to find his way back without his glasses.  Speed around the park on Segway seeing all sorts of things.  Shriek nonsense words like “GAH” and “HOO!” every time you lose control, forgetting that just because you are wearing headphones does not mean other people can’t hear you.  Wonder why with every whoop and squawk the man in front of you looks back with concern.

7:00pm.  Finish tour.  Watch Ted try to fix his glasses in the car.  Watch Ted drop tiny screw somewhere in driver’s seat.  Drive back to friend’s house and go to sleep.

To be continued……

Above: Segway tour in Golden Gate Park

There comes a time in every parent’s life when their child comes home from the local carnival and exclaims the four words they dread to hear:

“I won a fish!”

“NOOOOOOO!!!” your internal voice screams.

Thus, we came upon a night a couple of weeks ago when Franny came home with not one, but two, goldfish.  She was sheepishly holding one in each hand, their little orange fins swimming away in the requisite plastic bags carnival goldfish are prone to be delivered in.

“I tried to give one to Olivia but she didn’t want it.”

“What about the other girls?  Did you ask Bryn? Susie?  Did you offer it to Sadie? Surely one of them wanted a new fish!”

“Nope. No one wanted one.”

Impossible. What 11-year-old girl doesn’t want a fish?  What seemed more likely was that their parents had been more clear about carnival rules than I had been:  1) Answer your phone when I text you. 2) The $20 I gave you is for lunch. Do not spend $5 on ice cream, $6 on a frappuccino, and $6 on games where you might possibly win a fish. 3) DON’T BRING HOME ANY FISH.

Not that I have any experience with that exact scenario.

“What should I name them?” she said.

“You are not allowed to name them until tomorrow. They need to prove they can stay alive for 24 hours before they get a name.”

Side Note:

My only experience with carnival fish happened several years ago when Franny was a toddler.  We won a goldfish at the local fest and placed it in a small fishbowl in her bedroom.  The next morning I awoke wondering where the awful stench in my house was coming from. After searching around I traced it back to the fish. How could such a small thing create such a stink? I cleaned the fishbowl that was now murky and cloudy.  Within hours the house had a foul odor again.   I cleaned the tank AGAIN.  It didn’t work. On day three I did nothing and let the fish die in its own filth.

Back to Tim and Alfred.  Oh, yes, they lived 24 hours.

We pulled out the old fish bowl, let the water adjust to room temperature and put them in their new home.   They seemed happy and vibrant, and on day two when I saw they were still alive, I decided to invest in fish food.

Unfortunately, it was time to clean the tank already.  I told Franny she was getting a tutorial, as cleaning a fish bowl every two days was not my idea of summer fun.  We placed both the fish in the same Solo cup and set it on the bathroom counter while we cleaned the bowl.  All we needed to do now was wait again for the water temps to adjust to each other. (Believe me, this part is important.  If you place the fish back in the bowl too soon and the water is colder or warmer than they are used to, they will die. Trust me.)

At this point, Ted was home, so things were done with more attention to sanitation than they normally would be. He was following me around making sure I didn’t use one of our drinking glasses, insisting I use a fish net, spraying down every surface I touched, and warning me not to put the two fish in the same Solo cup.  Ted’s concern about the tight quarters seemed a bit dramatic.

“It will be fine,” I said as I walked away.

An hour later I went to check on the water.  AN HOUR LATER.

Oh, the water was room temperature all right. Also, Timmy was on the floor next to the toilet.

Holy Hell.  “AHHHHH!!!!” I screamed.

I have no idea how long he was down there.  Or how he got there.  Somewhere between right after I left the bathroom and ONE HOUR.  So many questions flooded my brain. Was he alive?  Was he breathing? Do fish breathe? Did Alfred push him out?  Did he jump to his death?  Was he trying to get to the toilet?  DO all drains lead to the ocean??

In a panic, I scooped him up with my fingers and threw him back into the fishbowl. We watched. And we watched.  He floated lifelessly on his side. And then…and then…his mouth started moving.  HE WAS ALIVE!!

Except was he? He was opening his mouth and closing it, but he wasn’t exactly swimming.  He was kind of just floating.  We waited.  I prodded him with my finger.  He lurched and then went back to floating on his side.   Oh no…was this going to be a repeat of when a certain toddler dropped our guinea pig years ago?  First shock, and then a slow, theatrical death involving spasms and twitches?

After a few minutes, he began to swim slowly, but still on his side, only using one fin. Maybe he just had a broken fin. An image of Nemo popped into my head.  Could a fish live by using just one fin and only swimming diagonally?  I prodded him again. He moved to the side of the bowl and started rotating the way an alligator would if he was trying to kill his prey, his nose in the corner spinning in circles.  He’d gone mad.  I could only hope he would be able to maintain a healthy weight with the constant spinning while eating for the rest of his life.

By morning he was normal again. Although I can’t say Ted was. He insisted from then on we put them in separate cups while we cleaned the bowl.  He felt certain Alfred pushed Timmy out due to cramped space. I insisted we also put the dog away during the cleaning process.  I could not guarantee that Athena was not, in fact, a pescatarian and wondered if maybe we just got lucky the first time.

Five days later, in a surprising turn of events, Alfred died. (It appeared to be of natural causes with no foul play suspected.  Except for the fact that it happened while Ted was the only one home. Still, the kids and I made the executive decision to close the case.)  The day after that, we found Timmy laying on the bottom of the bowl.  It was obvious he died of a broken heart.

I wish I could have come up with a heartfelt send-off for them, but quite frankly, I didn’t have much to work with.

RIP Alfred and Timmy. We hardly knew ya.

Legend has it that when I was born my dad said “Another girl??,” promptly got up, and went to the racetrack. Or maybe he was at the racetrack WHILE I was born. That actually seems more likely. At any rate, the story continues that while there, he bet on a horse named Salamantha. The horse won and I was consequently named Samantha, with the nickname Sal. In fact, Sal was the only thing my dad ever called me. It’s not often I admit that I was named after a horse.

My dad also made a bunch of stuff up so who really knows if this is even true. He was a great storyteller. An embellisher. He had a quick, biting, wit. Usually at the expense of others. (And yes, I am not immune to the obvious.)

He was funny. Once, while he was taking an experimental cancer treatment drug made from shark cartilage, he started telling everyone he could suddenly breathe underwater. When he had his gall stones removed he had them made into a paperweight. He would eat hot peppers and force you to feel his bald spot to see if it was sweaty.

He had an incredibly deep voice. The kind of voice that would scare my friends who came over for a sleepover when he asked them if they had a quarter to take the bus home.

He was also scary. The kind of scary where, let’s say you were hiding around a corner to scare your brother but when you jumped out and yelled “ROAR” and it was him instead, you might run for your life out of fear.

And if I’m being honest, for many years, he was pretty uninvolved. He would come home from work, watch tv, eat dinner without conversing much, and go to bed. There was an unspoken tension and anxiety when he was around. He was not what you would consider approachable to his kids.

And then my mom died. And he rose to the occasion. He changed. He softened. He became affectionate. Involved. Interested. If you needed him he would stop what he was doing and really listen. It was the opposite side of the coin to her death. There was an opportunity to get close to us. A responsibility.

Yesterday marked 20 years he has been gone. I hardly remember any of those early years when he was stiff and distant. When I think of him I see him laughing with us. At Chris coming over fresh from her visit to Target, showing him all the deals she got. At me when I’m dancing in front of the television trying to get a reaction from him. All five of us together reminiscing and telling stories about my mom.

The day before he died he told me he wished he would have been able to see the babies I was going to have someday. When I think of that it still shatters me. So I make sure to share with Teddy and Franny memories about their Papou, and hope they will know him through pictures and stories. Because even if he can’t know my babies, they will know him.

Once I had kids, I stopped watching television.  There simply wasn’t time. But recently we decided to revamp all of our tech at home and get rid of cable.  We settled on DirecTV and Netflix.  Suddenly, I have become a TV junkie, binge-watching new shows like The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel and discovering old shows like The Office.  I finally feel like I can contribute to conversations that involve discussions about something other than Dude Perfect and Girl Meets World.

However, there is one show I have never seen.  Some of you may have heard of it.  It’s called Game of Thrones.  It just finished its last season and it’s all I’ve been hearing about for the past few weeks.  Apparently, die-hard fans were conflicted on how the show was wrapping up.  I have never seen an episode.  Although I do have an interest in fantasy-based TV shows, GoT just never seemed that compelling to me.  And at this point, I’m not sure I have the dedication to go back and watch eight seasons worth of complicated storylines and characters with unusual names dying every episode.  Besides, I don’t have HBO.

But last week my brother texted me and asked me if I had seen the most recent episode. (Second to the last one).  Below you’ll find the text of our conversation.  I mean, you have to be pretty worked up to complain this much to someone who doesn’t even watch the show.  Please excuse his language.  He was very upset.

So I decided to watch the final episode to see what all the fuss is about.

The first thing I did was subscribe to a one-week trial of HBO. There’s no way I’m going to start paying for a new channel just to see the last episode of Game of Thrones.  I’m sure I’m not the only who has “tried out” a new channel just to see a show or two and then cancel.

Sunday night arrived and I settled in on the couch to watch.  The kids were off doing their own thing and Ted went to bed early because he didn’t feel good.  Apparently, no one told him if you eat a whole bag of salty sunflower seeds over the weekend there is a good chance you will get a swollen tongue and sores in your mouth.

The first thing I see is the guy from Elf.  Elf guy is walking around a city that has been destroyed.  He’s digging around in the rubble looking for something.  He comes across a couple who died while hugging à la those two old people in Titanic.  It’s clear they are important to him and he is sad.  I wonder about the back story of the guy from Elf.  Is he a mystical creature or is he just a regular little person?  Do they have a little people in this world?

Next scene: Jon Snow is heading to a castle.  I know him because everyone knows him whether you watch the show or not and also he was on SNL.  At this point I text my brother a single sentence: “So far this is dumb.”  I guess it’s just a bit more slow-moving than what I was expecting considering the hype.

Right after I type that some sort of flying dragon screeches through the sky and scares the crap out of me.

Okay, now we are getting somewhere. The queen is on screen and she’s an angry queen.  She speaking Elvish maybe and I have no idea what she is talking about even with the subtitles.  This is also the first time I hear about “breaking the wheel.”  I hear this phrase many times throughout the episode and unfortunately never figure out if it is a euphemism for something or if there is an ACTUAL wheel that has to be broken.

Suddenly Ted comes out of his slumber to join me.  He watches for five minutes and then leaves, stating, “I’ve seen this before. When it was called Lord of the Rings.”

Back to the show.  The guy from Elf rips off his golden-hand badge in fury, I assume symbolizing he has quit the evil-queen club.  The bad guys take him away.  And I’m pretty sure Miles Finch is headed toward his death.

HOLY HELL!!!  THE CABLE GOES OUT!!

Ok.  It was only a minute or so and I didn’t miss anything important. Other than the first eight seasons. HAHA.

So now I’m having two thoughts at once. First, maybe I should stop watching NOW and go back eight seasons. I’m getting kind of into this.  But can I get through them all in the six days left of my HBO trial?  I doubt it.  Second, maybe I should keep HBO.  They have some pretty good shows. This is how they suck you in. This free trial week is no joke.  These cable guys know what they’re doing.

So now Jon Snow kisses the queen and….what…is she dead??  Ok, so I had to back that scene up as I thought maybe it was a poisoned kiss and I didn’t realize he stabbed her. Too many Disney movies I guess.  The queen is dead and somehow the dragon is subconsciously alerted to this and it looks like Jon Snow is going to be toast.  Literally.  But, no.  Instead, it’s bye bye Iron Throne.

SIDE NOTE: As I am watching, I do have to wonder how there is an imbalance of power when one person has a dragon.   I mean, couldn’t this whole show have ended in season one if you just had your dragon burn down all your enemies?

Anyway, now is the time for the elders to decide the fate of Middle Earth and I guess they decide that democracy is not going to happen.  Somehow after eight seasons and tons of battles, they all easily agree that a KID IN A WHEELCHAIR with NO DRAGON is going to be the ruler.  But the Iron Throne is gone so I guess the homemade wooden wheelchair will have to do.  Jon Snow is banished. The girl with the eyebrows is going all Ponce de León on us.  And the last girl is going off to marry Joe Jonas.

It ends with a lady filling in her 23 and Me scrapbook and a big meeting where everyone decides on their jobs pretty easily: Master of Whisperers. Master of Laws. I’m pretty sure if I were there I’d like to be Master of Cheese.

Jon Snow goes home to Hoth and sees his one-eared wolf and they head to who knows where.

My overall assessment: I could see how people would get into the show. But in the end, the throne was melted, the kid in the wheelchair is King, and I still don’t know if they broke the wheel.

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