Out West – Day 2

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Friday the 17th of April dawned eagerly at 445AM Pacific time with the Rising of the Twins. Let the games begin!

When the rest of the city awoke, we scored a Sienna minivan from Alamo and blindly pointed it uphill, due west from the airport. The closest thing to hills in Florida is that godawful Hills reality show which my wife thinks considerably more of than I do. Here in Northern California we found some major league mountains. The pavement starts off in a normal fashion, but then slopes and turns and weaves towards the heavens, requiring much muscle under the hood and in your pants to conquer. We then crested the range and zigzagged downhill to Pacifica Beach for a sniff and a view of the ocean blue.

That afternoon we dropped our bulging bags and still weary butts in a hotel in the businessy Embarcadero district of downtown.  We were located more in the thick of the action than the previous night–we just didn’t participate. As soon as the kids found slumber–no later than 8PM–we retired to the carpeted hallway just outside our door for an ornate dinner of takeout pizza, salad and wine, exchanging only whispers and peppercorn ranch.

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Out West – Day 1

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I oozed out the essence of Day One in the previous post. It began at 446PM Eastern at Orlando International and concluded 11 hours and three pounds of sweat later at San Francisco’s airfield. Those woeful kids suffered through an undeserved day of discomfort, exhaustion, and air pressure fluctuations while I suffered doubts over my sanity for putting us all through this. A day on Venus would’ve seemed short in comparison.

That first night we slummed it at the airport Clarion. Still, 15 minutes apiece were spent on the drive there and the haul of luggage from the car to room 404, and another quarter hour on successive trips back to the car for the balance of our baggage. Travelling with kids, I had learned that morning, causes anxiety not only over the kids’ tolerance of the flight, but equally over the capacity of two adults to transport the immense agglomeration of stuff needed to sustain the kids. I had whittled my own accoutrements down to three shirts, two pants, and a camera battery charger. (Fine, I admit, the camera came too, but only because it won out in a coin toss over the underwater binoculars.) The remaining space was reserved for diapers, wet wipes, mush food, toys, books, and a dizzying array of one-piece crotch-snap suits, shorts, pants, jackets, hats, and so on; the kids will travel in style, or won’t travel at all.

A Travel Tip

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One piece of advice I can give about flying cross-country with infant twins: DO NOT. No matter how many passengers compliment your handling of the situation, multiple hours spent in an ass-cramping seat holding 18 squirmy and fussy pounds does not a fun day make. Add to that a shift of three time zones, and you’ve got a recipe for regret. And, rather than letting loose once you’ve finally arrived, for the duration of the vacation you are bedevilled by angst over the trip home.

Getting Closer to an Actual Post

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The yearn to blog and erase a prolonged DCO drought is tempered by two week’s worth of red emails in my office inbox. It’s going to take a few kickstarts to get this blogging hamster wheel started again.

Back with a Whimper

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Returned yesterday. Still recovering from some stomach ‘bug’. Had to post, though it’s nearly midnight now and the bug and I both need to rejuvenate. Much blogging will ensue this coming week.

Still Breathing, somewhat

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No, DCO ain’t dead yet, despite all outward appearances. And, anyway, who would notice? For purposes of proper bookkeeping, I indicate that mentally I’ve been elsewhere the last few days, preparing for a week-long ‘holiday’ in San Francisco beginning on Thursday. Normally, travel doesn’t sap all remnants of conscious thought, but normally I don’t fly 3,000 miles with 9-month old twins with a disposition for auditory theatrics.

Posts over the next ten days will be sparse, as will be value in those that do appear.

Slosh

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There’ll be no sloshing in a coffee cup without water. The main ingredient in a wholesome, satisfying slosh is some type of liquid. Absent any slosh-able component, all you’ll get is a faint whisper of air, if that.

 

There’s a sound reason this post is categorized under “Regrettables”, a heading reserved for those days when something, anything, needs to be slapped onto the DCO screen. The Regrettables are reserved for the “anything” days.

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