Tuesday, October 1, 2013


Some Sunday mornings I wake up and, as soon as I see the sun streaming through the trees outside my window, I feel I must. do. something grand. Forget rest, forget work; I've got to play and adventure and do things that make me laugh — I've got to suck life of all its marrow, as author Henry David Thoreau would say.

And some Sunday mornings, like this last Sunday morning, just as I'm trying to shrug off my grand, life-seizing ambitions so I can focus on cleaning or writing, I get a text from an old friend from home who's visiting San Diego and has decided to drive up to see me for the afternoon, and is, in fact, 20 minutes from me. Right. now.

Those are the best Sundays.

They send me flying to the back room to find some non-pajama, non-sweatsuit clothes, and then flying out the door toward Old Towne Orange, where everything is quaint and artsy, and the antique shops are a-plentiful.

This is my old, high school friend, G who surprised me this Sunday.

You may know him as my duck-loving, skunk-shipping, motorcycle-riding friend from high school student government. Now you also know him as my lederhosen hat-wearing friend.

First things first, G and I enjoyed a lunch at Citrus City Grill where we forewent sandwiches, pasta, and salmon for salads. They were topped with bacon, folks. It was a no-brainer.

Over lunch, we reminisced about our good ol' high school days, which are frighteningly far behind us. And then we betted on where our waiter was from. I said France; G said Portugal.

We decided the loser had to take off their shoes and get in the large fountain in the center of town. Unless there was a large fine associated with getting in the fountain, in which case the loser had to do an interpretive dance around the fountain. G was more inclined to risk getting the fine. I was more inclined to watch him do an interpretive dance.

But alas, neither of us won (our waiter was from Greece). So instead of heading to the fountain, we went antique-shopping.

It was just like our good ol' days in high school student government, when we'd spend our class period dinking around Michaels craft store looking for silk flowers with which to make flower crowns for the members of homecoming court; or when we'd spend our class period licking the centers out of cookies; or when we'd spend our class period having sunflower seed spitting contests.

No doubt we learned some invaluable, life-changing lessons about student leadership in that class.

Anyway, we dinked around stall after stall in a large antique mall, trying on hats...

...sipping imaginary tea...

...trying out suitcases...

...doing our best mug impersonations...

This is my Fred Flintstone mug impersonation. Obviously. 

....and laughing. Lots of laughing.

G can make me laugh harder than just about anyone, which is one of many reasons I like having him around.

After we'd gotten our fill of hats and creepy mugs, we stopped at an Italian restaurant that sells gelato. I'm allergic to dairy, and I don't eat refined sugar, so I'd planned on opting out of gelato. But you know, there was something about that sunny afternoon that convinced me my Sunday adventure wouldn't be complete without a cup of mint chocolate chip gelato. So G and I took our gelato out to the fountain, where we people-watched and licked sweet, sticky fingers.

All too soon, G had to drive back to San Diego to catch his flight home, and I had to get back to my writing and lesson planning.

So we parted ways, and I drove home feeling puh-retty convinced I'd sucked life of its marrow that afternoon. Or at least of its bacon, antiques, and gelato. Come to think of it, those things are way more appealing than marrow, anyway. Hmmm, maybe there's a thing or two G and I could teach Thoreau...

Here's to friendship!


© by scj

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