Once upon a time, Tod and I decided we’d take a vacation. I’ve recently gone on and on about what weird vacationers we are. We don’t necessarily like organized events and like to do things on our own. We also love to go to places we’ve never seen, and that’s how we ended up on the west coast a few weeks ago without a plan.

“California would be neat,” I said, adding that it would be really awesome to see the Pacific coastline and some new scenery.

“Ok, sure.” Tod said.  

That was the beginning, middle and end of our planning strategy.

We knew that California could easily entertain us for eight days with all the towns, sights and national parks just waiting for our arrival, but what we didn’t consider, or even investigate was the climate and temperatures of the places we set our sights on. When someone says California, I immediately think of beaches, surfers and sunburn. Unfortunately for us, none of the spots we chose in California were very conducive to sun, swimsuits or SPF.



When we left, our garage, the thermometer read 74 degrees and the sun was shining. When we arrived in San Francisco, Calif.? Fifty-two degrees and rain. Pebble Beach, Calif? Fifty-seven degrees and rain.

There was a base of 24-36 inches of snow in Sequoia National Park and Tod had shorts on. We couldn’t even get into Yosemite. The roads were closed due to snow. We spent four of our eight days getting bounced out of all the spectacular places we thought we were going to see.

It hit us both square in the face that failing to plan, is planning to fail. We had high hopes for Lake Tahoe, and visiting some family in Sparks, Utah, but as we finally found an open road across the Sierra Nevada range and settled into our room on the lake, weather warnings caught my attention.

“WARNING! An expected 24-36 inches of snow is expected to fall within the next 24 hours and a high wind advisory is in effect. Expect winds to exceed 100 mph across mountain range roads in the vicinity.”  

While Tod rolled his eyes and laughed, I scanned the phone book for emergency medical clinics because I was preparing to have a panic attack the likes of which has never been seen. I wasn’t interested in careening off a cliff 8,500 feet above sea level, or being trapped in the area surrounding Lake Tahoe until June. Your average cheesburger costs approximately $39.95 there. The sun had barely peeked over the mountain and Tod and I were loaded back up and ready to head out.



Somewhere along the road, amongst the many striped lines, mile markers and broken dreams, Tod and I were captive members of an unintentional couples growth workshop.

“Where now?” he’d ask, and I’d mentally translate his words into: “Well now genius, you’ve really messed up this trip, what devastating disappointment should I look forward to next?”

I’d ask, “Would you like to stop somewhere to eat?” and he’d mentally translate that into, “I really can’t handle taking one more switchback, 110 degree curvy road because you drive like Mario Andretti and I’m ready to hurl.”

There were a few hours somewhere between Fresno and Mariposa where no one said a word. We silently contemplated our fate and the long stretch of time before us until our Eastbound Delta flight returned us home. Compounding our weather-related failures, Tod and I had consumed the sights we had mapped out, like starving teenagers, in half the time we thought it would take. Lost, like a ship without anchor, we floated here and there until eventually, one of us cracked a joke about how we couldn’t wait to do this again, and our minds were reset back to enjoying the time together without any distractions.



That’s the benefit of knowing and sharing your life with someone for the better part of 27 years. We learn to manage together, even when things don’t work out quite like we planned.  It’s kind of funny not to gush excitedly about our stellar vacation, when friends ask about it, but even though it wasn’t one for the record books, we eventually pieced together something enjoyable.

I don’t think we’ll be heading back to California anytime soon, and I think I’ve been permanently removed of my vacation planner status. I’m slightly concerned because I imagine next spring break I’ll be ice fishing in the Boundary Waters if Tod gets to choose. At least he’ll have a plan.