Settling

So . . . we survived the six-hour flight here. It was touch-and-go for a bit (word to the wise: please, please, PLEASE don't start a flight by saying, "Sorry about the delay, folks. We were having some problems in the cockpit" . . . Uhhhhh . . . ).

I sat next to a large, pleasant-enough fellow who, when he wasn't sleeping, was eating corn chips and drinking Diet Coke with fervor. I, also, kept dozing off, and it was up to Chris to keep me from falling into the stranger's mushy shoulder. Oh, my knight in shining armor.

I'm a big fan of flying, especially when it's a cloudy day.  You find yourself in this billowing world of white and blue, not a care in the world . . . well, except for the whole being up in the atmosphere and possibly falling to certain death thing.  It's a new place, something entirely foreign.  It's terribly disappointing that clouds do not feel fluffy, that they're just water suspended in air.  What would it be like, skiing down a towering cumulonimbus? Swinging on a cirrus? Then you look down, and the world below is a different place.

 San Francisco at night . . . it looked like a a child had spilled fairy dust--great swirling gobs of it--all over the hills, black except for the vines of twinkling gold. The Golden Gate Bridge gleamed green over the water--tis bright, squiggly line of neon color in the onyx bay.  It was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen.  I mean, until I realize that all that black beneath us was water . .  . and we hit turbulence and jolted sideways, and all I could do was wait for the plane to split in half and send us spiraling into a mysterious island inhabited by scientists, polar bears, and unanswered questions . . .

I'm sorry, did I just have a LOST flashback? Forgive me. Too much Netflix with the hubs . . .

We were almost stranded, though . . . After landing, gathering the luggage, finding our courier van, and discovering where the pets were stashed, and driving, driving, driving, it was after midnight. We pull into our reserved hotel, and Chris knocked on the office door.  Nothing. I mean, lights out, no one answered, nothing.  I called the phone number. Yeah, nothing.  It was closed. CLOSED.

MEANING WE HAD NO WHERE TO SLEEP.

Thank the good lord the Hilton in the next town took us in.  Despite the fact that one of our cats YOWLS. It's the sound like shrieking and dry heaving and, oh golly, is it loud.  Walking through the lobby filled with business men,  this cocophonous creature in a cage at my side, I knew how parents tethered to a screaming child feel: MORTIFIED.

Still, we managed to get to the townhouse and get our stuff three days later.  My house, at the moment, looks like a cross between people-moving-in and a frat house on the weekend.  With no pantry and no linen closet, we're getting creative with this storage space . . . or  lack thereof . . . but we like it :]

And um . . .the scenery here? HEAVEN. I keep saying that I've moved to Hobbiton . . . and humming the LOTR theme . . . sometimes, in unison with the hubs . . . because we're soulmates like that. :]

How the pets got used to the stairs in the townhouse . . . I think this is a new favorite :]

Before our stuff arrived, we took a couple days just to drive around . . . This happens to be from our drive down Pacheco Pass. I HIGHLY recommend the drive--GORGEOUS

A little road called Heckler's Pass into Santa Cruz County.  May I add that ti's a death trap? There were acute angles. I mean, teeny TINY turns, one after another, on the edge of a mountain. Chris was laughing way too hard while I sat there, clutching my arm rest, going, "Oh, crap crap CRAP!! CRAPCRAPCRAP!!! YOU JERK!!!"
He was going WAY too fast, people.

After a trip to the Ikea in Palo Alto, Chris decided we should drive to San Francisco and over the Golden Gate Bridge.  One of these days, we're going to actually get out and WALK around the city :] Beautiful.

 We might just turn into Californians, people ;]