Summer Weddings and What I Think of the Golden Gate Bridge

We’ve spent the last week-and-a-half trying to create a vacation out of to two weddings -- one in Minnesota and one in southern California...So we were provided two occasions to witness the exchanging of vows, the expression of faithfulness and commitment, the hope and joy of beginning a new life together. Unfortunately, on the whole, Richard and I agree that the past 10 days have not been our finest. I experienced much of the trip as a stark reminder of the seemingly inevitable distance that exists between people, even people who have been made one through marriage. It can feel as though we are worlds apart even when we’re right next to each other. The irony is that tomorrow, Richard will get on an airplane headed for the Philippines. I wonder if the physical distance will be easier for us to take than the emotional.

The weekend before last, we were in the thriving metropolis of Grand Rapids, Minnesota, birthplace of Bob Dylan and home to tourist magnets like a paper factory and iron mine. We were there to attend the wedding of Richard’s niece, a delicate 22-year-old with a sensitive heart and a flare for the dramatic. It was fascinating and at times painful to watch this beautiful girl as she prepared to leave home and move into the half-completed house being rehabbed by her now-husband. So much uncertainty, so much disorder, so much to try to get under control. She threw herself between extremes of effusiveness and emotional shutdown. I felt a strong protective urging towards her but knew I was not (and am not) going to be the one to save her or bring her balance, should she need either. I do hope we continue to see her regularly and grow closer to her and her husband.

After the weekend in MN, we flew to California to spend a few days vacationing in San Francisco, visit my sister and nephew in San Diego, and attend a wedding in Pasadena. For the first leg, I had reserved a room at a bed-and-breakfast at the top of a hill just 10 minutes from downtown San Francisco. At least, it was referred to as a “bed-and-breakfast” online; in actuality, it was the home of a practicing progressive Jewish couple who rented out the spare bedroom to unsuspecting tourists in search of a romantic but not-too-pricey getaway. The house was beautiful and the couple very kind, but private this B&B was not. It was more like staying at your uncle’s house. We found ourselves tiptoeing from our room to the bathroom down the hall to avoid the embarrassment of being seen in our sleep-wear.

Our time in San Francisco was brief. The first day, I woke up very early with a nasty headache that only vacated my body four or five hours later when I finally gave in and took my migraine injection (which Richard likens to nuclear war). So by 10:30 we were on our way to a café. By 11:30 we were exploring downtown. By 1:30pm we agreed we had seen enough of Chinatown, Union Square and the nearby neighborhoods and were ready for bigger and better things. So we made our way down winding streets and up steep hills to the Golden Gate Bridge. Granted, I’d seen this bridge before, but I wasn’t all that impressed.

This would be a good time to confess that I am a bad tourist. I get antsy on tours, I hate being bombarded with information I’ll never retain, I feel like a failure when bored after 45 minutes at a museum, and I can’t read a map. I’ve been meaning to start writing a travel-book series called “The Half-Ass Tourist.” I don’t say this proudly, just in the spirit of self-revelation.

More on the trip and other exciting revelations later…This post has become too long.