Ah, California. A state I’ve been to many times, although not in recent years. I’m definitely more a northern California type and prefer San Francisco to Los Angeles—although San Diego is quite lovely.
My ex-husband proposed to me in San Francisco actually. He meant to do it while we were on a horseback ride at Half Moon Bay, but when he tried to bring his horse parallel to mine, it trotted away, taking him and his grand proposal with it. It was kind of funny to see, as he had precious little experience with horses, if any, where I had been a mere 20 years out from not only Camp 4H on Long Island, where I took classes in equitation, but also starting a horseback riding club at my high school. Riding a horse is not unlike riding a bike, in my experience. You never really forget how. Therefore, it gave me a chuckle to see him bouncing in the saddle as his horse trotted up the beach.
Our guide was not amused, however, and it took some doing to turn my ex around and back toward the group. Instead, my ex proposed to me just outside the Legion of Honor, where there was a view of the Golden Gate Bridge.
That’s kind of how things were with my ex-husband. He’d always just forge ahead, figuring he’d learn as he went, and it often ended up in some kind minor and eventually amusing catastrophe. I was into downhill skiing, and as he was open to trying new things, when we were dating we took a ski trip up to Mont Sutton in Quebec. I firmly believe in the saying “friends don’t teach friends how to ski” and figured that went twice over for romantic partners, so we took lessons, my ex to learn and me to refresh my skills. Well, the first time we took a lift together, when he got off he didn’t stand up. Instead, there he went, skiing in a squat right toward the back, ungroomed side of the mountain.
“Dan! DAN, FALL!” I yelled, choking back tears of laughter. “FALL DOWN!”
I haven’t seen anything that funny on a ski slope since. However, in his defense, getting off the lift is often a challenge for beginners. I learned that when you’re not sure what to do and you can’t control where you’re going, it’s usually a good idea to just lean over and fall into the snow. It’s better than crashing into another skier or a tree—or skiing off the back side of a mountain. (My beginner moment was NOT falling, and instead skiing right into a tow-rope operator who caught me just before I skied into a stream at Sunday River in Maine.)
My ex and I went to Jamaica for our honeymoon, and when we rented a canoe he paddled us out too far and then capsized the canoe. I was able to dive down quickly enough to grab my wallet, so I didn’t lose my ID, but I did lose some sunglasses I was rather fond of. When we got back home he gave me a gift certificate to get new sunglasses, and that’s how I came to acquire the pair of Ralph Laurens that I still wear to this day, 22 years later. It was quite a memory. Some naked guys sailed past us from the nudist resort next to where we were staying. There’s nothing like reconsidering your brand new marriage while clinging in fury to the side of a canoe, and just when you think help has arrived, you look up to see a pair of hairy arses sitting on the edge of a sailboat while the owners of said arses laugh at you as they sail by. Eventually the safety patrol at the resort came out to get us. Quite embarrassing.
My wasband had a great sense of adventure, though, so I have to give him props for just getting out there and doing new things even if they didn’t always go as planned, like marriage to me.
Anyway, here’s the California state Christmas tree, complete with a few ornaments showing the Golden Gate Bridge, my favorite bridge in the world. Click to enlarge. This one is dedicated to my friend Susan, who has made not one but two trips to see Poets of the Fall not only fun, but super coordinated and easy for me to plan and navigate, first to Prog Power in Atlanta in 2019, and more recently to Warsaw, Poland, just last September. Susan, I promise, one day I WILL take a picture with Jaska!
zenzalei 