We have on/off years for vacations. Last year, we went to Rome, San Diego, Wisconsin, and New York. This year we went to San Francisco. And that was a last-minute oh-yeah-we-should-take-a-vacation kinda deal. For someone baking his/her brains out in Arizona, San Francisco* is the best place to go south of Calgary. The weather was perfect: 65F/18C for a high and the skies were cloudy all day.**
We now have two teenagers, so the wiser parents among you are probably wondering why we bothered. I don’t know.
My sixteen-year-old broke into tears repeatedly. I was immediately blamed for the first outburst. No one was sure who to blame for the second. There may have been a third. We collectively lost interest.
My fourteen-year-old son eats like a bird and runs out of energy about an hour before lunch. The result is a cranky monster who takes hours to settle down. The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde was cited often. His nose turned up at any mid-morning snack offering, forcing us to cringe as the hour neared. In the end, we resorted to placing bets on the exact hour and minute of the meltdown.
But there were good times too. Like. Um.
I highly recommend the Exploratorium. If you’ve not been, you can easily kill a half-day, even with jaded, cynical teenagers who complain about being dragged to “another mausoleum for little kids.” And, as we knew but somehow forgot, the de Young Museum, like most art museums, is closed on Mondays. Biggest surprise: the Botanical Gardens. Bright colors, fascinating and strange blossoms from all over the world, broad expanses of open space, no tourists (because they knew the de Young Museum, across the street, was closed…), and quiet in the city—all unexpected pleasures.
Not all is lost. In the event you find yourself with teenagers taunting you about your agility, mannerisms, fashions, and sensibilities while you pay for their hotel, shopping, taxi, boat rides, and fine dining, there is a wonderful form of retribution: the four-person pedal-carriage on a hilly road. Exercise is good for them.
What are your vacation plans?
Peace, Seeley
* Yes, I know: The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco – Mark Twain
** I know, everyone thinks the 360 average days of sunshine we get would be heaven, but let me tell you: It’s frickin’ boring. It’s like having the guy in the cubicle at the end of the aisle smile at you all day, all week, all year … for years. You start to wonder when he’s going to popup with an ax and go all Lizzie Borden on you.
