With my husband, of course. Ian’s friend, T, visiting from LA with his girlfriend, E, took her to
We had two dogs for the weekend, though, so it hadn’t, at first, occurred to us to try and stay (that and the fact that we’ve been gone all summer.). But on Thursday, when I realized that an 80 mile drive isn’t such a good idea after a night on the town, I called the hotel and asked if dogs could stay. Yes . . . but dogs smaller than ours. Ian did a bit more research and found a motel right across the street that did take dogs, for a $5 fee, and suddenly I felt the rush of excitement that comes when you’re going to stay overnight somewhere. And I realized, somewhat sheepishly, that I’ve totally trained myself to be gone this summer—like really gone, a lot. That’s it, I’m addicted to weekends away.
We enjoyed ourselves thoroughly, reveling in farmer’s markets and good food; friends and cheap cocktails; our own queen bed and another for the dogs. Ian and I bought coffee at the hyper-efficient drive-in Cruisin Coffee—quad grande rice latte for me (at home I make my own and one of the shots is decaf but that seems a bit too much to ask when ordering an already weird drink), single tall for Ian. We strolled through Whatcom Falls Park with the dogs and let them off their leashes near a huge swimming hole. After tearing around after each other, careening up and down massive boulders while I winced and pictured them overshooting and plunging to their deaths down the sheer rock face behind us, we finally got them down to the swimming hole and into the water, where Spackle immediately transferred his focus from Marlee to the stick Ian found, and Marlee completely failed to transfer her focus from Spackle.
Bagels, one last visit with the in-laws, an uneventful drive home (because we went the speed limit, because there were cops everywhere on I-5), and a low-key barbecue in our back yard with the same players, rounded out the summer perfectly.
Really now, I’m going to buckle down and stay home.
For a time.