Lopez Island, WA
It's hot. Interest in domestic pursuits has waned in favor of recreation, sunshine, the outdoors.
The Seattle area is unabashedly gorgeous in the summer. Although the naked urge to get outside and DO something is everpresent, I commonly find myself weathering a weekend tornado of errands, baking, baby showers, children's (not mine) birthdays and yard work. Oh, there is so much yard work. Brian, lovely Brian, would spend the entire summer working in the yard. Happily, too.
Sadly I do not share his zeal. Rather, I have a new obsessive pursuit entitled: Making Stuff Happen. Stuff being Adventure(!). I have begun a campaign of insisting that we get outside, explore, get wet and dirty. We WILL have fun and we will like it dammit.
And let me tell ya, the inaugural weekend was a grand slam.
We took the ferry to Lopez Island. Let me clarify. We rode our bikes on the ferry to Lopez Island. Yes.
The island is gorgeous. We cruised by one idyllic, pastoral landscape after the next.
We hit the farmer's market where local kids were selling limeade with organic berries to earn money for summer camp. I bought a fancy heart necklace from a Lopez artist.
Calm, pebbled beaches.
Our most remote destination, Shark Reef Sanctuary, was worth the 12 mile ride. The lovely, lazy sea lions were out bronzing themselves on the rocks.
Taking a break. Resting our rear-ends and watching boats sail by.
Vitally important to document all the new calf muscle Brian built that day.
We had a weekend.
Our anniversary is coming up in about a week. 2 years - feels like 100. Our Lopez Island adventure reminded us that we don't have to be so darn...PRODUCTIVE all the time. We're fun, remember? We can be silly and play in the dirt. Something amazing happened when we let go of all pretense and stopped acting like adults. We did whatever the heck we wanted. Purely for the fun of it.
I am faster than Brian on uphill climbs thanks to all those excruciating spinning classes I've endured. But Brian is faster than me on downhill slopes. He sails past me never once touching the brakes. Just as he passes me, he stands up in the saddle, looks back and winks. Bootie high in the air, he gives it a little shake and maybe a smack for good measure - just to make sure I don't miss the fact that he's mocking me. No, he doesn't have the most sophisticated sense of humor. I laugh, as I often do, in spite of myself. I thought: Today I got to meet my husband as an eight year old boy. What an anniversary gift.
