A San Diego state of mind

I landed in San Diego on Thursday, and after finding my luggage that had arrived a day earlier, I hopped on the shuttle bus to the rental lot. I ended up with a basic Nissan coupe, with the most important features being great gas mileage and a place to plug in my iPod, as I would be on the road quite a bit. Though my new-to-me Honda is a noticeable improvement over the old truck, driving a new car highlights the fact that my "new" car is more than a decade old. New is just so tight, clean and appealing.

After getting my new wheels, I headed out of town immediately. I would be spending my first night in Oceanside seeing the "Other Sean" and his wonderful family, and the following night in LA visiting other friends and checking out the brewery they opened a year ago. The feeling started to sink in on the drive north to Oceanside, a feeling of warmth and peace. This was home for almost three years, so memories rushed back as I drove through a landscape so different from Washington. I found myself smiling behind the wheel, at least until traffic slowed to a crawl in huge backup.

This vacation is a bit different than most. It is both getting away and going home. As I have written before, I am blessed to have many friends that feel like family, and doubly blessed to have two places that have these anchors of friendship. I have been welcomed back and into homes like no time has passed, yet heard so many stories of what has changed over the three years since I have been away.

Outside of reconnecting with friends, I left the rest of the itinerary largely empty. There are no real tourist destinations to hit this time around. It is more about taking advantage of the vacation bubble and catching up and reconnecting with parts of my life that I have let drift away. A week unscripted seems both a lot of time to fill, and not nearly enough time to get it all done.

The last couple of days I have largely wandered. Most of the (intended) destinations were about being close to the water. Like so many, I am drawn to the shore for vast horizon, crashing surf, and the peace that those things bring. A visit to Dog Beach (sorry Disney, this is "The Happiest Place on Earth"), a run around Mission Bay, and a trip to Sunset Cliffs to watch the sun go down were on the list, but most everywhere I went a memory popped up.

Some were obvious like when I headed out to the old house and regular haunts, but others were decidedly random. Just bits of life relived three years later. I was on a run from Dog Beach up to Sunset Cliffs and back Monday morning. I passed by a set of low houses with shallow paved front areas. Hanging from the fence were sets of planter boxes. I recalled running by one of these houses in the middle of summer a few years back and a guy was out watering the plants baking in the sun. Seeing me approach, he lowered the hose so as not to splash me. Eleven miles into training run, I slowed to a walk and asked him to spray me down. He was happy to oblige, and we ended up chatting briefly before I pressed on. A moment lost in thousand others that I had forgotten about, but came back so clear when running past three years later.

I found some peace here three years ago, and I am here seeking it again, though on a much tighter time frame. It feels like leaving my schedule and time largely open will give me a chance to soak some of that San Diego vibe in random moments. The yoga at sunset, surfers heading out in the morning, and dogs romping in the surf throughout the day. Like California this year, I am need of a good soaking.

The Vacation Bubble

When I travel, it is not just an opportunity to get out of town, but also a chance to step away from life for a while. The daily chores and routines are left behind that door I locked behind me on the way out of town, and do not return until I do. I am pretty good at leaving the thoughts of work behind as well, and I tend to float along in this self-contained bubble. Even as I let in new places and experiences, the "real" world of home is kept outside the barrier.

The flight out is a great transition. You are pretty much forced to sit still. Thirty thousand feet in the air traveling 600 miles an hour, texts, emails and phone calls can't catch up to you. Well, at least they didn't used to be able to. Now you can have that wifi tether if you want to, but thankfully phone calls are still verboten. For me, the flight is the time to pull out that book that lately has been pushed aside for whatever is on Netflix.

It is as if the vacation bubble has a bit of helium to lighten the load of each step. As the days pass, life at home and all that it entails fades further from my consciousness. Shoulders relax, eyes brighten and the mind clears. I feel more present. I am sure this feeling is hardly unique. Take any animal out of their regular habitat, their senses are heightened to the new surroundings.

Inside the vacation bubble, everything looks brighter, and maybe even easier. As you acclimatize to the new world, maybe you start to let in a few bits and pieces from home. Holding them up to the vacation light, things start to look a bit dingy and worn. You start to fantasize about leaving it all behind and setting up shop to teach scuba to tourists or open up that beachside restaurant with the swim up bar.

It is the rare few that actually pull the trigger, though. And of course your vacation paradise is someone's everyday home. All of their daily chores and responsibilities are there, you just can't see them inside your bubble or behind their locked doors. Still, on two separate trips to San Diego, the bubble popped and triggers were pulled.

Returning from the first one some ten years ago, my wife and I went out to dinner before settling in back home. She wondered aloud what it would be like if we moved south. I thought it was just vacation glow that hadn't dimmed yet, but it turns out it wasn't. A few years later, she confided that she resented that we did not move, and later headed south on her own.

I took my own trip to San Diego not long after, and while there on vacation decided to make it my home for a spell. Of course I knew it would not live up to what it felt like inside the bubble, but even after a new set of chores and responsibilities arrived with the new home, some of that vacation feeling remained. The new surroundings, new friends, and lets be honest, the sunshine allowed me to see things in a new light. I had planned to stay for a year, and ended up staying for almost three.

As I head south this time for another visit, I plan to use this time in the bubble wisely. To reconnect with parts I have left behind, and to the love and friendship that remains in this vacation spot that became home. To see things in a new but familiar way, and to bring some of that light home with me.

Subtraction and addition

Sort of last minute, I had the whole week off. One benefit of working all the crazy hours of tax season (which seems to stretch out to nine months) is getting to bank a little comp time for when it slows down. I have a few weeks saved up, and to work around other people's vacations, I was told to take last week off.

Since I was short on planning time (and disposable vacation money), I didn't go anywhere. It became a week to take care of projects that have fallen by the wayside. Cleaning the apartment, reading the stack of articles set aside, finishing reading a book, etc. I did get to see my brother and niece in a play, ran a 5k with friends, watched a couple of football games with different friends, and hosted some biking/brewing buddies for a brew day. Writing it all out it seems busier and less solitary than it felt. Brain probably isn't focusing on what it should.

The major project though was whittling down the stuff in storage to see if I could downsize. When we sold the house, I threw much of my stuff in storage, temporarily I thought. Then a couple months later, I moved to San Diego for a few years. So everything just sat. After I moved back and into my own place again, the big pieces came back out. It was an interesting and almost fun experience rediscovering parts of what I had left behind. My memory never being terribly good, it was easy to be surprised by things I had forgotten.

Then life/work got busy, and to be honest, I got lazy. The remainder of what was in that rented garage was left to sit. Part of it was that with each pass through, the decision of what is still important becomes more difficult. I am a pack rat by nurture and nature, so there was a lot to go through. Even though I was in and out of there every month or so to grab gear or tools, I really didn't know what was all there hidden away in those boxes. Now with a week with nothing on the schedule, it was time.

Frankly there weren't many painful surprises of love lost hidden away. It was more an exercise of deciding when and what to call quits on. Sports I will likely not participate in like skiing and softball, tools inherited from my former father-in-law that I have not used, the extra chair or sleeping bag, the motorcycle unridden, the files from my failed venture into real estate and lending, school books, bank statements and on and on.

By the end of the week, I had take a truckload each to Goodwill and to the dump, and a couple of large boxes to the shredder. The weather cleared up on Friday, and I moved what remained into a unit half the size, which saves me $100 a month. There are still things in there that need to go (like the motorcycle) but what remains is a more focused, organized set of still current passions - camping, hiking, building.

A couple of other pursuits have slipped from "passion" to "should be doing", but I am having difficulty getting my mojo back. I ran the 5k the first Sunday, and have some more on the calendar, but I need to get running back to an every-other-day habit. The other "should be" of course is writing. It is no secret the posting has been pretty damn sporadic here, and this month I am getting daily email reminders of what I am not doing. It is NaNoWriMo time once again. I have thrown my hat in the ring the last four years to spend the month writing dangerously. That first magical year, I wrote what would become Share the Road. Getting to 50,000 words in a month, all the subsequent work and then getting it in print was an amazing feeling.

Each year since has been a series of misfires. I was excited to take it on that second year, but stalled out at 30,000 words. Subsequent years were less inspired, and I mostly made the effort at the egging on from my friend Sean. He didn't throw down the challenge this year, and I am mostly glad. The magic just isn't there right now. I am still getting those daily email reminders from the NaNoWriMo website and community, however. They are messages filled with enthusiasm about creativity, and just plunging and seeing what happens. I am not ready to join in right now, but I will let them keep poking at me to prod me back up off the couch.

I am not ready to cart this off to the land of recycled passions just yet. It made the cut, and I will open up that box more than just once every few months.

It was a cleansing week and I am feeling a bit leaner. For all the subtraction this week, there was one notable addition. I have my CPA license back. After fitting in 120 hours of classes and taking ethics twice (I am now extra ethical), it became official last week. I stepped away fifteen years ago, and I guess it was one more thing that sat in storage all this time.

I am glad I didn't throw that away.

Quiet time

It is a strange, wonderful, lonely experience to come home to an empty house.

After the wife and house went on to live their new stories with a different set of characters, I have lived with others, metaphorically sleeping on someone else's couch for the last three or four years. Great strides were made, and setbacks were had in the meantime, but it never really felt like I had truly found my feet and started life anew.

I moved into my own place at the start of the summer. Beyond the last few years of living under someone else's roof, I had not lived alone for fifteen or twenty years. On the one hand, I longed to set up my own camp, cook in my own kitchen, have the mess or cleanliness be mine, but I also wondered what it would be like to be left entirely to my own devices. Though people may not actually put expectations on you, their presence nonetheless acts as a monitoring or filtering device. What would it be like with no one to consider or watch over.

I have found that now living alone, the battle against slipping into bad habits is more difficult. I'll have that larger helping of food, a second beer, or call chips and humus a meal with no one else around. Maybe I veg out to a marathon of Pysch episodes instead of shutting it off after an hour and reading a book. Since alone time is mine to be had, there is less of a push to go out and say go for a walk or hide out in a coffee shop where writing seems more likely.

I have actually been doing some writing, though nothing has appeared here in quite some time. I started the NaNoWriMo challenge on November 1st, and it felt like if I were to be writing, I needed to focus on that. Well, I am not going to make it to 50,000 words, so I feel safe to "waste" a few words here. I am only about half way at this point, but I will press on even as the deadline goes whishing by me this Saturday. The point of the exercise was to get me back in the habit and mindset, and I will call it at least half successful. The habit is still spotty, but the light in my eyes is flickering more regularly.

I have always been pretty comfortable on my own, but I have become less so in the past few years, and I think that is a good thing. I am glad to finally get started again with a place I can call my own, but I do miss the random conversations that come from living with others. It is funny how someone you haven't seen in a few weeks will ask you how you've been, and what's been going on, and you can come up blank. All the details fade into the background that is your daily life. But a daily conversation with someone at home, and you share the little tidbits that may not seem important a day later, but made for a good story that night.

And of course I still miss Sierra. She wasn't much of a conversationalist, but she was a wonderful presence and beacon of love. I went for a bike ride last Sunday, and I swear every whitish yellow lab was out for a walk. Each one made me smile, and reminded me of what a special thing it is to have a dog in your life. There will never be another Sierra, but there will be another dog someday. I don't know that I am ready just yet, but since my apartment doesn't allow them, the decision is at least delayed until next summer. Cats are allowed here, and I will admit that thought has crossed my mind.

Summer was pretty busy with big biking events, the annual family trip to eastern Washington, a hiking adventure and the run around Chicago. For the first few months it felt like I was hardly home (that is my excuse for still having unpacked boxes stashed in the den). Work filled up some weekends through September and October as well, so for several months it felt like I was just home to sleep, shower and change.

Now things have slowed dramatically, and life has been pretty quiet this past month. The days are shorter and the freezing temperatures have kept me indoors, looking at the growing list of projects that were left for another day. The silence of the house is more noticeable without all the activity of summer, and the cold seems to creep in and it can be hard to shake the chill.

I am happy to say the quiet house and calendar has encouraged me out in a different way now, and I have kept up on the group bike rides the past few weekends - new places, and new faces. And the holidays are on the horizon, and the weekends will fill up with all that is wonderful in family and friends. Then it is on to another tax season in the new year, and the weekends will be filled with a different sort of craziness.

I relish the peace, but look forward to a little noise now and then.

Eyes on the horizon

For the past few months, I have been back to running on a regular basis. As much as I enjoy running, it is easier to get out if I am training for a race. For a variety of reasons, it was difficult to commit to a particular race this time around, but I had a vague target of running a marathon before the year was over.

When I was running in Washington, I almost always ran in the evenings. As more of a night owl, it was just a better time for me physically. My body was warmed up, my mind was clear, and it was a great way to drop off any work frustration before I brought it home. For the past three years in San Diego, I have had to transition to running in the morning to beat the heat. For most of the year, if I didn't get out the door early, the sun would take more out of me than the miles.

And, I've actually gotten used to running in the morning. Still not the best time of day for me, but running seems to change that for the better. However, one benefit to our brief period of fall temperatures is being able to run in the afternoon and evening again. This past weekend I ran a 12 miler in misty rain, something that gave me some Washington flashbacks.

The previous weekend, I couldn't get out for my long run until after four o'clock. I had to get 18 miles in, and sundown was only two hours away. Not only was I getting to run in the evening, but I would end up running in the dark.

Every time I run around the bay, I pass by vacation rentals and hotels filled with out of town guests enjoying the sunshine. Seeing them sitting on their patios relaxing with a beer makes me a bit jealous at times, but it reminds me to appreciate that I get to run here all the time. I ran by these folks again on Saturday, but I also ran by five different weddings on my first 12 mile loop. White chairs on sand, flowered arbors framing the couples and the ocean backdrop. What a beautiful place to start your new life together, even with runners like me passing through their field of vision.

The weddings of course set my mind on a different path. What I've lost, what might have been, what the future might look like. How beautiful my own wedding day was, and how I didn't appreciate what I had until it slipped away. After finishing the loop around Mission Bay, the sun was now getting low on the horizon. I stopped at my truck to refuel, threw on a reflective vest, reversed course and made my way around the west side of the bay again.

The air was cooler, and the paths were starting to clear. Most everyone was heading inside, but there were a few of us chasing darkness. The chairs on the sand were now empty, the celebrations having moved on, but flowers still decorated the aisle they had walked down.

It is easy to get lost in your thoughts when running for hours at a time, and even easier to endlessly stare at the pavement in front of you. Sometimes it takes a conscious effort to raise your head to see all you are passing by. Recently, I have been looking around more, taking in what I can, while I can. This particular Saturday was something else though. The shift to running in the evening would have been enough to cast everything in a different light, but it really felt like there was more there, there.

Without a clearly defined target, my training hasn't been as disciplined as in the past. I knew I wasn't shooting for a personal best this time around, and the plan was just to enjoy the experience of race day. Things are starting to take shape, and the challenge is going to be tougher than planned. Time is also getting short down here, with my move day just three weeks away. Every time I pass by something now, I wonder if it is the last time for a while. It is starting to sink in, and I know it is going to get tougher.

I didn't have a camera with me, but as the sun went down, I remembered that my iPod could shoot video. So I stopped running, and stopped to appreciate it.

Quiet change of season

What passes for fall arrived last week. Unfortunately, fall does not come forth in a burst of colorfully changing leaves. Though there are trees that go bare in the winter, they are more unusual in the land of palm trees, and the leaves don't seem to go through the cycle of colors before falling to the ground. Fall comes in more quietly down here, and was really just signaled by a break in the heat.

After a month of temperatures that flirted and cracked triple digits, and nights spent sleeping on top of the covers with a fan blowing, there was suddenly a bit of chill in the air. Windows that were opened first thing in the morning to provide a little AC-less breeze were now closed, and blinds that shuttered the baking sun were now thrown open to let it in.

I was jolted awake the first fan-less morning. I had apparently turned up the volume on the alarm to compensate for the background whirring of the fan, and the loud music had me reflexively slapping at the alarm clock. I managed to hit the snooze button without remembering exactly where it was. As I rolled over, cursing the jarring start to the day, I realized I hadn't hit the snooze button in a very long time.

I never wake refreshed, and mornings are a struggle of frustration (how is it possible to feel worse than I did before getting some sleep!). Growing up, and for much of my adult life, the snooze bar was used heavily. Each push of the button gave me an extra ten minutes of sleep. Where I have to read for an hour in the evening just to get to sleep, in the morning I had no difficulty slipping into unconsciousness in repeated ten minute blocks. Each time I hit the snooze, I would be giving up something from my morning. "Bam - I don't need a full breakfast. I can grab and go. Smack - I can probably get to work without stopping for gas. Slap - I can get by without a shower and shave. Crack - aw hell, I'm late."

My clock was also set five or ten minutes fast to give me a bit of cushion, but even in my groggy stupor, I could do the math to figure out the real time. At some point, I realized how ridiculous this was. Yes, I was falling back asleep each time, but why not trade that for thirty minutes of uninterrupted sleep. I set my alarm clock to the correct time, and stopped using the snooze bar. Getting out of bed wasn't suddenly easier, but I did stop feeling foolish and lazy at the start of each day. Plus, I only had to hear the alarm once instead of four times.

For the past few years, I have been waking up before the alarm most mornings. For a while, it was Sierra's clicking nails as she paced the hardwood floors for her breakfast. It was frustrating to be robbed of the sleep I so desperately desired. Depending how early she was, sometimes I could make her lie down and go back to bed, but usually once she was up and around, so was I.

Now I am starting to wake on my own. She is usually awake before I am, but now stays in bed, resting her sore legs until she is sure I am up and ready to feed her. Though I am still very tired each morning, I have lost the ability to fall back asleep. Every time I roll over and see that I am awake a half hour early, I feel robbed, though now it is my own body doing the stealing.

For the past week or two, I have been getting up earlier than normal, before sunrise during the week. After feeding Sierra, we both walk outside so she can take care of business. The air is that perfect level of autumn briskness. Cool enough to clear out the sleepy cobwebs, but not so cold that I need to throw on a jacket.

It was back in the 80's again this week, so our break from the heat was short lived. The days may feel like summer again, but for a few quiet hours each morning, autumn show its cool face.

San Diego bucket list

Familiar and trite as it is, the phrase, "Don't know what you got, til it's gone" is still true. I have made that mistake before, and this time I am trying to appreciate what I have before it is too late.

Years ago, six of us did a tourist day in Seattle. Each one of us had lived in the area for at least a decade, yet there were still parts of the city that out-of-towners flocked to, but we had never seen. We all can fall into the trap, knowing that we can see something anytime we want, and since it is always there, we never get around to it. Here we live minutes from beaches people travel hours just to see, but how often do we dip our toes in the surf. Answer - not often enough.

So with a month or two left here in San Diego, I am trying to do some things I have put off. Appreciate this home of two and a half years before I head back north. So I thought I would make a list. Some are things I have intended to do, but put off, while some I have done before, but want to repeat while I have the chance. When I mentioned the list, friends started suggesting things to put on it. Things to do together, and maybe use the list to do things they have put off as well.

My hike up Cowles Mountain at sunrise was one near the top of the list. It was an awesome morning, and I am so glad I finally dragged my butt out of bed and made the hike. Cowles is still on the list, though, because I want to hike it again at sunset with Kristy. Another thing I have wanted to do is ride my bike down the Pacific Coast Highway from Oceanside to San Diego. The deadline/bucket list finally has me out on two wheels after I let my bike languish for too long.

I also want to take a long run with Sean. Overall, we have run seven marathons together, with three in just the last year or so. Though we have toed many start lines together, and chat repeatedly about running at work, we run and train almost entirely on our own. Last year though, we ran a twenty mile training run side by side, and I'd like to do it again. While there is nothing quite like race morning, the more relaxed, social run was a different kind of reward for all this running we do.

Not all the bucket list items are exercise related. I have also been taking advantage of Residents Free Tuesdays at the Balboa museums. As the name implies, San Diego residents get in free to certain museums each Tuesday. The free museums are different each Tuesday, so I have been doing my best to hit them all. Matt and Holly also put wine tasting in Julian on the bucket list, and I would like to complete the tour of the San Diego microbreweries that Sean and I have been working on. The Zoo, Balboa Park, Old Town...I need another sheet of paper.

There are a few things I didn't bother to write down. Things that I have actually been doing, but still want to get in as many times as I can. Things like running along Sunset Cliffs and Mission Bay, or heading over to Dog Beach with breakfast at Tower Two. Unfortunately, Sierra isn't really up for the walk or chaos of Dog Beach anymore, but I will be sure to take her to Fiesta Island where it is a short walk over harder packed sand. She needs to dip her paws in the ocean at least one more time.

Of course one of the most important things to do is spend as much time as possible with friends. I have always made it a priority to travel to see people, but you never know what the future holds. I want to be sure to make the most of it when they are just across town, instead of across state lines.

Leaving California with an aching in my heart*

*Apologies to Led Zeppelin 

I moved down to San Diego back in February of 2010. As I mentioned back then, I came down here for several reasons. 2009 was a tough year for me, my toughest really. Several of the pillars on which a life is built crumbled beneath me. I lost my wife, my house and my job. Through the process of loss and counseling, inner walls cracked and fell as well. By the end of the year, I felt shattered into a hundred little pieces, but with the feeling that I could build a more authentic version of my self.

I spent the week after Christmas 2009 down in San Diego with my friends Matt and Holly. They of course were going through their own struggles. Jobs had been lost, and money that was already tight became scarce. With my life a jumble of puzzle pieces, I decided to move down to San Diego. They needed a renter, and I needed a fresh start. I had no clue how it would all work out, but it felt like forces were coming together, and that it was the right turn to make.

I figured I would be down here for six months or maybe a year. Clear my head and open my eyes to new possibilities. I already had some good friends down here, and with time we became even closer. People I sensed were something special, revealed genuine beauty. Friendships grew, and then turned into something more, and I found love here as well. I started considering San Diego long term.

My time in San Diego up til then had always felt like a break from real life, a temporary visa that was due to expire at any time. As San Diego began to feel more like home, I felt more torn than ever. Though my heart was growing again here in San Diego, Washington still felt like my real home. Deep reflection ensued, and I made myself miserable for months.

Although I have made progress on the personal front, professionally and financially I was moving in reverse. I needed to make a new foundation, and for several months I wondered where to begin, and not just in a to-do sense. After some difficult debates and painful conversations, I have decided my best chance to start again is back in Seattle. Once again, I have no clue how things will work out, but it feel like this is the next turn in the road.

As difficult as it was to say goodbye to everyone in Washington when I moved down, it may be that much harder to say it again to California. When I left Washington, the rough plan was to return in about a year, so that buffered the decision. Now I have no clue where the next few years will lead me, and I have no such comforting feeling as I pack up the U-Haul this time around.

As close as I was to Matt and Holly before, they are now family. Sean Hawkins was already a good friend, but now he has become one of the best. Marci and their kids have welcomed me into their Home (capital H). So many like the Kesslers who I met as these great people who gave their time and spirit to the 2008 remodel, turned out to be sainted friends in everyday life as well.

And of course there is Kristy. She is the biggest fallout from this decision. There were other issues, but this mid-life reckoning of mine was the brick wall we ran into. Even though the relationship didn't ultimately work out, she made me believe in love again. I don't know what leaving will mean for either one of us, or where our paths may lead. I only know that there will be a void, that it will be painful, and I may live to regret it.

Sean Hawkins, being the enthusiastic, creative force that he is, started (verbally) writing the sequel to my life story at work the other day.

"Here's a guy who headed south after a painful divorce, only to find love again. He stopped being this morose guy, he wrote a book, and learned to brew beer. He ran in a bunch of races, got faster and faster, and dropped twenty pounds in the process. And he brought shade to hundreds of overheated Californians."

Though I never doubt for a minute how lucky I am, I rarely look at what I have done with such a rosey lens, so it makes me appreciate friends like Sean that much more. I would like to return to Washington the conquering hero, fully cleansed, having left my baggage on the shore to be washed out to sea. But I know that is unrealistic, and I am still a bit of a mess. I don't know what life would have been like if I had not made the leap south, but even though I have plenty left to work on, I know I am a better person than I was a couple of years ago. San Diego, and more importantly all the people, have been a big part of that.

The plan is to move back sometime in early or mid November. Work and U-Haul schedules are a bit up in the air, but I would like to be back home by Thanksgiving. I look forward to spending more time with my parents, my close and extended family, and reconnecting with old friends once again.

There is plenty to look forward to, but so much I will miss. Matt and Holly have been torn between Seattle and San Diego since they moved back ten years ago. Now that I have a deeper connection with the sunny state, I can finally understand what it is like.

I don't always drink beer, but when I do, I'm usually standing on a concrete floor

"Without question, the greatest invention in the history of mankind is beer. Oh, I grant you that the wheel was also a fine invention, but the wheel does not go nearly as well with pizza."

~ Dave Barry

San Diego has a large, and growing number of craft breweries. Some have made it big, like Stone Brewery that now sells its beers across the nation, and has grounds worthy of a state park. However, most are probably not known much outside the area, and are typically housed in an industrial warehouse looking something like this

With big fermenting pots on one side of the room. 

And tap handles drilled into the wall of a refrigerator on the other side.







As indicated by medals earned in the world competition this past week, their humble settings are not an indication of the quality of their brews.

Most all of the San Diego breweries have banned together to form a guild to help increase the visibility of these hidden gems. Since most of them are tucked away in industrial business parks, they are difficult to just stumble upon. The guild put out a flier, complete with a map, and Sean and I have been doing a little tour over the past couple of years.

While one warehouse room looks much like the next, and though many of them put out similar styles of beer, each brewery approaches them from a slightly different angle. Most are open only a few hours a week (adding to the "speak-easy" feel), and are restricted to serving 4oz tasters. While I can't afford to drink really good wine anymore, I can spend a couple of hours sampling really good beer, and walk out for under $10 most of the time.

Most have chalkboards similar to this one from Ballast Point

Each beer listed has information not only on style and alcohol content, but also more detailed information on the grains used, their original & finishing gravities, and a a measurement of bitterness called an IBU. You begin to learn that there is a lot more to beer than "Rocky Mountain water", half-time commercials, and bottles that change color when the beer is cold. (Not that there is anything wrong with a nice macro-brew once in a while).

After tasting all of these fine beers, my palate is improving a bit. I won't claim to be a connoisseur, but all the chalkboard information and chats with the brewers have been educational. I have learned that Belgian style beers are not my favorite, that I prefer Pales and IPAs with an IBU at 70 or below, and though I don't care for scotch, Scotch Ales are quite tasty. Of course, nothing can beat a good stout or porter.

In a couple of the breweries, you will see something like this

What are these you ask? Why, they are bins filled with grains you can buy to brew your own beer. And that is just what I have started doing...

Another red letter day

Just as the Super Bowl is a marker beyond the game for me, the day before Valentine's Day was the start of a few things that have little to do with the holiday.

Cherie threw down the challenge of running a marathon after a glass or two of wine on Super Bowl Sunday. I would like to say that I woke up Monday morning (the day all resolutions begin) and went for a run. I didn't. I had to go out and get the right shoes, shorts, a training log, and all other manners of putting off the actual work. But I followed through on the "Drunken Promise" only a week later, so I won't beat myself up too badly for the delay.

Being the number cruncher that I am, things don't really count unless they are recorded somewhere or thrown on an Excel worksheet. I have been keeping a training log ever since that first run, tracking distances, paces, heart rates and calories burned. I have experimented with a few online tracking sites, and these days my Garmin just burps the data up to the cloud when I plug it into the laptop. But I have maintained a paper journal since the beginning, and I continue to make notes to compliment all the metrics. When Buckeye Outdoors crashed on me last year, I am glad I had my own hard copy.

I dug out the training journal from 2005 and found the entry for my first run.

"First Run! The fantasy of a marathon begins here. Two short runs with a walk in between." 

Apparently the need to record time and pace didn't begin immediately, but I did make sure to note that it was 32 degrees out when I made that first step. I couldn't run more than a quarter mile without a walk break that first time, but I was running a 3.5 mile race just a month later. Seven years hence, I am still running, and that fantasy of marathon when I couldn't run a half mile is now reality.

February 13th marks another beginning. I arrived in San Diego two years ago with a pickup truck full of stuff and a road-weary dog. I received a very special valentine the next day.

Not everything has worked out as planned, but that is to be expected. I arrived here for just that reason. Even so, there have been some nice surprises and unexpected good things because of the move. I can't pretend to know what my life would be like now if I hadn't made the leap, but I feel like I am a better person, a better man for what has happened since then.

I don't know what the future holds, but I am better for having taken these first steps, making these changes, and setting out on a new path. I need to remember that and be a little braver when taking a risk and making a leap.

A walk down a shifting memory lane

Each time I come home, things look a little different.

I have made a point to get back to Seattle about every six months since my move south. Visiting this frequently does not allow much time for change, but it happens anyway. Just driving in from the airport, on ramps have changed, buildings have been knocked down and replaced, Quest Field is now Century Link Field, etc.

Recalling another native that returned after moving south, a friend asked if I had a strong reaction to coming home. That other friend grew misty crossing Lake Washington with Mount Rainier in the background after years in the desert. Since I have been visiting with some frequency, the reactions aren't as dramatic, but I have been gone long enough to have forgotten the particular mixture of gray and green here in the wintertime.

In many ways, it is like I never left. I joked on Facebook that I was "Sleeping in my parents' house, borrowing their car, eating their food, watching Rockford Files on tv, and I have a pimple on my nose. Time travel IS possible." 

I am lucky to be able to pick up with friends after a long absence and there is no weird tension or distance. For some it has been only six months, but I caught up with a great friend that I hadn't seen in almost two years. Much had changed in our lives since then, but conversation flowed as if I had seen him just last week.

Of course progress and chaos still have their hand in things. Just across the street from my friend's house, my old elementary school had been razed and rebuilt. Gone were the sprawling, one story buildings, replaced with a three story structure with interior hallways out of the rain. My high school across the street had also had a face lift, though it was at least recognizable.

Unfortunately, a couple of my friends' marriages are also being torn down, and they are still in the rubble stage. It is depressing, disheartening, and I don't wish that on anyone. Whatever is rebuilt in their place will be very different and may not be recognizable, but I can only hope that it is something strong and beautiful in its own way.

Rather unintentionally, I have ended up visiting several of my previous homes. After visiting Buzz and seeing the new elementary school, it was just another few minutes to the house I grew up in. It was strangely similar even after having gone through a period when it was used as a retirement home. While visiting another friend up north, I stopped by my house from when I was married. The bright red coat of paint still looked great, and only the car in the driveway gave away that it had changed hands.

Today I went for a walk around Green Lake with Tami. We talked about all that had changed and the struggles we were all having. Though the subjects have changed, the walk was familiar, as were several things around the neighborhood. The same woman was sitting at the end of the off ramp waving and asking for change, and there is still a block-sized crater just off the lake where a builder ran out of money years ago. Struggles continue.

As I was driving away, it dawned on me that I was only a few blocks from a house I had rented a decade ago. I lived there for a year or two, taking the place over after Matt and Holly moved back to San Diego. We all live together these days, but the Green Lake house was passed off like a baton on their way out of town. That house was my first rental with a backyard, and allowed me to adopt my pooch Sierra.

I stopped by to take a photo of the house both for myself and to send to Matt and Holly. When I pulled up, there was a family out front, letting their toddler and dog run around the yard. Not wanting to freak them out by taking a photo of their house, I introduced myself and mentioned that I had lived there previously. We got to talking, and it turns out they had moved up from San Diego only months before. We swapped stories about the house and my current town. The baton had been passed once more.

Nothing is completely stable, change is constant, the past is consistently being rewritten. But there are certain anchors that keep us tethered. My address has changed, and there are two places I call home, but family and friends are my anchors, and they keep me from drifting too far away.

Degrees of separation

Like a million little doorways
All the choices we made
All the stages we passed through
All the roles we played

For so many different directions
Our separate paths might have turned
With every door that we opened
Every bridge that we burned

~ "Ghost of a Chance" by Rush

Woke up to a rainy morning, more typical of Seattle than San Diego.

I will catch myself once in a while, slightly dumb-founded that I live in California. For the first 42 years of my life, I lived within a 25 mile circle. My family did not move around when I was younger, I went to college near home, I did not get a job that required me to pull up stakes. I stayed home.

These days I drive fifty miles to work, along highways carved through rocky hillsides dotted with avocado trees. I carry my 70 pound dog up and down concrete steps so she can pee near a palm tree. I run along the ocean past tourists who traveled miles and time zones to get here. Rain is an aberration and I wear shorts year round.

It was a thousand decisions, great and small, in my control and not that lead me here. Of course this is true of everyone's life. You never know what would have happened if you turned left instead of right that day. There are obvious ones that lead me to San Diego, but I have been thinking farther back recently.

In the summer of 1992, I had just returned from a trip of a lifetime after graduating from college. My brother and I spent more than a month on a whirlwind trip across Europe. It was an incredible adventure that I don't imagine I will ever repeat.

When I returned, I did not have a job or a place to live. I moved in with my folks for a couple of months while I looked for work and saved up some money.

I applied for work in a few local restaurants. Two called back. The Keg called first, and though I gave a stupid answer when they asked during the interview why I chose the Keg (because it was close), they hired me. I met many great people, and most all of my friends can be traced back there by one or two degrees of separation.

When you think of a phone call that changed your life, this is not what you would picture. But if Billy McHale's had called first, I never would have met all these people or had the same adventures. I would not have met my former wife or the woman I am with today. I would not have met the couple I live with, nor the man I work beside, had I not worked at the Keg.

I try not to obsess over the endless 'what-ifs' of it all, but I have been known to ruminate over regret. I am doing much better these days, but every so often I slip back into bad habits, and through a confluence of factors, that is what happened this week. I spiraled, I self-berated, I carried it under the surface and was a jerk at work on Thursday.

Kristy is out of town, and I am house sitting and taking care of the old dogs. I have had a place to myself for the first time in a while. I was looking forward to some solitude and getting lots of writing done, but I have felt more like a hermit. I've barely been running, and the writing hasn't been much better. I have dug myself into another hole this year, and I need to claw my way back out.

I posted on Facebook a shot of a sunset from the back deck along with the quotes from Seneca,

‎"Begin at once to live, and count each separate day as a separate life."

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."

This week I regressed, but tomorrow is a new day, next week is a new week. Maybe I needed to go through this valley to remind myself how miserable I used to be when I shut myself off and hid away like a hermit. To remember all I need to be thankful for in this season of Thanksgiving.

I am thankful for my family and friends, here and a thousand miles away. I wish I could bring these two places together somehow, especially during the holiday season. I am thankful for a temporary job that lasted a decade and introduced me to all of you. And I am thankful that Billy McHale's didn't call first .

Picture of the day

So, I am seeing more unusual creatures these days, hanging around with Kristy and Project Wildlife. But look who showed up at work to say hello.

A praying mantis! His head would swivel and track me as I worked on the patio cover, always keeping a compound eye on me.

I had never seen one outside of a zoo or Pixar film. It was pretty cool. And a little creepy.

The other Sean

I'm not sure which one of us is the Bizarro Sean, but Sean H and I seem to be carbon copies some times, mirror images at other. I just can't lose the guy, not that I am trying.

I ran my tenth marathon on Sunday, and I have finished five of them with Sean. He was the experienced one I could turn to with stupid questions as I prepared for my first in D.C. back in 2006. We had only seen each other a couple of times before then, but we became fast friends. We all set out together, and I finished hand in hand with his wife Marci, who I have run three full marathon with as well.

He is more outgoing and enthusiastic, and loves running more than I do. His passion has carried me to sign up for a number of great events. He and Marci actually went so far as to pay for my registration for the Las Vegas Marathon a couple of years ago. Creating that goal helped me get back out onto the roads and moving forward.

I am slowly catching up in experience, but still count on him for council. We have become each other's sounding board for running and writing over the past year. I can geek out with him about the minutiae, and debate for hours the benefits of one strategy over another. We both benefit from a different point of view, and it spares other friends from listening to us blather on. Mostly.

I suppose our running styles mirror our personalities. He is the rabbit to my tortoise. He plunges ahead, prepared, but pushing the envelope. I am his slow and steady counterpart, but unlike the fable, this rabbit wins 99% of the time. He is encouraging me to push past boundaries I have set up in my mind. I can't know they are there unless I test them.

We both ran the marathon on Sunday. We didn't run side by side because we were running very different races. He went out and set the first half of the race on fire before slowing in the later miles. He finished a solid 8 minutes ahead of me, giving me something else to chase. Not that we are competing, but it somehow helps to see someone you know achieve what you are aiming for. And he quite literally propped me up when I stumbled my way to the finish.

When I am back in Washington, I quickly fall in step with my old running crew. We share encouragements and victories in a flurry of texts in between the face to face meetings. For many of the miles, running is a solitary endeavor, and I enjoy the moments to myself. But there is nothing quite like toeing the line together and sharing the victory.

We both think the matching shirts are a little dorky. We don't always dress alike. Just when we run. Or when we work together. Aw crap.

Running in circles

It is taper time. The two or three weeks before a marathon when you dial back the number of miles you run to rest up for the main event. It is also the period when you have much more time to obsess and talk about running. So here we are.

I ran my second 20 miler a little over a week ago. Not that I need to tell you this, but 20 miles is a long way. At times I have entertained the thought of just running out my door, running for 20 miles, and seeing where I'd end up. When I saw how far I was from home, it would probably feel even farther. Seeing it in this perspective, it would be tough to imagine going another 6.2 miles on any day. And course I would need to get a ride home.

More practically, I end up running a series of loops. This not only allows me to finish where I started, but I can also stop by my car and refill my water bottles. Of course every time I pass by the car, there is the temptation to stop and call it a day. The multiple loop plan does give me ample chance to practice not quitting.

But running the same circles over and over can get a little boring, even in beautiful San Diego. After so many repetitions, you tend to zone out and the details fade.

The last few weeks I have been running the loops in the opposite direction, and it is amazing all the new things I have seen. Even running on the other side of the street seems to make a difference, but running counter when you normally run clockwise, you get to see things from another perspective. Even though I am looking at the same scenery, everything looks a little different from the opposite point of view.

There is a metaphor in there somewhere. Maybe members of Congress should go for a run together.

Lights out

As you may have heard, San Diego county went dark yesterday. 1.4 million households and business went dark at 3:40 in the afternoon, affecting some 5 million people.

Sean and I were at work in the Rancho Bernardo area. We were installing a much needed shade structure in 100 degree heat. We had just finished making a cut with the miter saw when the homeowner came out and asked if we had lost power. The whole house was out, so it wasn't a tripped breaker. When the homeowner went to ask if his neighbor had power, we realized the radio was out (which is odd since it is battery powered). Then we realized it wasn't the radio, but the radio station that was down. Uh oh.

There had been a small fire on a nearby hillside earlier in the day, but it looked out so it was probably unrelated. Sean had just been talking about recent solar flares a minute before the power went out, so maybe that was what knocked transformers out. Then three military jets flew overhead. I didn't imagine terrorist attack, but with the 10th anniversary of 9/11 just around the corner, it was lurking in the back of my mind.

We eventually found an operating radio station and realized how widespread the outage was. It went north to Orange County, south into Mexico, and east into Arizona, and it sounds like everyone went dark at once.  The airport shut down, trolleys stopped working, offices and schools emptied. Traffic signals went dark and gridlock ensued.

We had made our final cut with the miter saw seconds before the power went out, and the rest of the tools we needed operated on battery power, so we kept working. Stories on the radio about people trapped in elevators kept any concerns about dark homes and melting food in perspective. Phone lines were jammed, but a couple of texts were able to get through. We knew that Kristy and Marci were OK, so stayed to finish the job, and hoped that traffic would die down by the time we hit the road.

We left around 6:00, and my phone stopped working. My car had started to overheat on the way in to work, so I had stopped off for antifreeze. I topped it off again, and hoped that I wouldn't get stuck in gridlock. The gas stations I passed were jammed with cars, but with no electricity, no gas was flowing. People were parked there waiting for the power to come back on. The best guess was that it would not be on until the morning or later, so they were in for a long wait. I was really, really glad that my tank was half full.

Once on the freeway, traffic was not much worse than normal. Several cars were stopped on the shoulder, most likely out of gas. I saw one person parked under an overpass, sitting in a lawn chair, reading the paper waiting for some sort of help to arrive.

I made it home without incident. The sun hadn't set, so there was light to find candles, headlamps and flashlights for later. Matt had stopped at Albertsons to pick up food for the evening so we could leave the fridge closed to keep in the cold. Then he barricaded the door to make sure we didn't open it out of habit. We were set to hunker down for the night, but my phone still wasn't working, so I did feel a little cut off. Holly's phone was able to get a brief signal, so I was able to check in with Kristy. I was sure she was fine, but it was still nice to hear her voice.

The stove and water heater are gas powered, so we could cook and take showers. It was over 90 degrees in the house, so we ate and chatted on the deck until it was time to turn in. No tv, no distractions, flickering candlelight - not much to complain about. The only bummer was not having a fan going in the bedroom. It was another hot and sticky night, and Sierra had tough time of it.

Power and cell service came back on during the night, so most everything is back to normal this morning. There are logjams at the airport that will take a long time to work out, and I am wondering whether food at the store was properly chilled or thrown out. But schools are closed and kids have the day off. A San Diego "snow day" after 100 degree heat.

After of course September is "National Preparedness Month". Kristy had mentioned this earlier, but of course I didn't do anything to get 'ready'. Time to go over the checklist.

Summer all year long

click to enlarge

I'm not even sure where my pants are.

A quick visit

I am heading back to Seattle for a long weekend. Of course the time will fly by, and the weekend won't feel long at all.

Not that I need much excuse to head north, but the reason for this particular weekend is to both run a half marathon, as well as attend a wedding reception. Two friends were married in Puerto Vallarta last weekend, and they are having a local Seattle reception before moving to Australia for a couple of years.

I will also try to cram in as many visits with friends while I am up there, so the half marathon is not the only thing I will be doing at a dead run. There are a few faces I am hoping to see that I haven't seen since I moved to San Diego a year and a half ago. The time seems to have flown by like it always does (unless you are standing in line at the airport), but it also seems like forever since I have seen some dear friends.

Life is good here in San Diego, but my heart will continue to be torn between the two places. I will also be back up in July to spend the week with my extended family. I am fortunate to have had a couple of free airfares (one earned, another donated) to make these trips possible. Texts, emails and phone calls have become more important these days, but they can not replace a hug in person. I hope I can continue to make these trips possible somehow.

San Diego became a second home rather quickly. It is a beautiful area, and I am surrounded by wonderful friends. And being with Kristy has made it feel even more like home lately. But there are a few things I still haven't become used to yet.

The heat is the most pronounced thing. The ocean provides some moderation, but you don't have to go too far inland before the temperatures climb dramatically. We were working in the 92 degree heat yesterday, and it was frying my still rainy blood and Irish-white skin. 90 degree temps will sound lovely to Seattlelites still trying to shake off winter, but there was no pool or umbrella drinks, only work with no shade.

On the freeways, I have still not become accustomed to the motorcycles riding between the lanes. The logic is that if traffic is stalled, they will overheat, so they must keep moving. But most riders weave in between cars when traffic is moving right along. I am surprised that there are not more accidents, but natives must have better eyes than I do.

The other thing that continues to seem odd is seeing children in bars. In Washington, you must be of drinking age to be in a lounge or bar. The law is taken literally, so even infants are not allowed across the yellow line. But kids are in most every bar here, and it still catches me off guard a bit. It isn't wrong necessarily, just odd. I am sure parents love it, unless they are trying to have one moment away.

Sean and I were at a brewery the other day, and there were a couple of kids there. This kid seemed to tie a nice bow on how completely different it is. Not only was the kid crawling around among the steel kegs and wooden barrels, but he was making chalk drawings on the concrete floor.

It is like he is just decorating the sidewalk out in front of his house while his parents catch up with the neighbors over a beer. Not such a bad thing I suppose.

Change is still good.

Never rains but it pours

I no longer look at the weather report, even though I work outside most days. It just seems kind of pointless down here. There are rarely any big swings in temperature, and the occasional rain is nothing I haven't seen before. I have left the house under-dressed a couple of times, but apparently not often enough to change my behavior.

When I saw a friend post this on Facebook yesterday, I thought, "Really?"

OK, so the weather will be a huge test of character today for all the LA Marathon runners...I'm thinking of you my friends!

Weather in L.A. a test of character? "Wimps", I thought. And for the hundredth time this month, I didn't know what I was talking about.

L.A. Marathon: Thousands evaluated for hypothermia

The weather system reached San Diego at around 9:00pm last night, and it was impressive. High winds pushed the torrential rain sideways, and water cascaded off the gutterless roof like a waterfall. I stood under the cover of the front porch and watched the palm trees get knocked around in the roar of noise. It was cool, but I was glad to not be stuck out in it.

I had a friend who was going to try to qualify for Boston at the L.A. Marathon yesterday. I kept looking for his results online, but it just showed that he started around 7:45am and nothing else. Turns out it was a glitch, and he wasn't there at all. He opted to not run, knowing that the conditions would make it nearly impossible for him to qualify. And he said the decision not to run was, "one of the best decisions I have made in 2011!"

Rough start on the first day of spring.

A novel approach

I found myself in a novel. Or rather in writing one.

As I have mentioned, I started with little more than an opening scene, and wrote my way into the story. This flying by the seat of your pants technique is often called 'discovery writing'. Without an outline, you simply discover the story as it comes to you. Hopefully along the meandering path, you find a good story and satisfying ending.

And it appears that this is the way I have lived my life on some level. I do not have a five year plan, and rarely think much farther out than the coming year. There are several people in my life that knew what they wanted, and have spent considerable time and effort to reach their goal. They are the river carving their path through the landscape, where I am generally the piece of driftwood finding my path by bouncing off obstacles along the way.

It is not for lack of caring or an absence of core beliefs. I feel rooted in who I am, if not where I am headed. It is probably over-thinking all the possible implications that has kept me from forging ahead. I have talked myself out of many things, seeking the slower waters to ponder the rapids. The time crunch of the novel writing contest left little time to over-think.

In discovery writing, you follow inspiration along a twisting path and hope that it leads somewhere promising. You have the freedom to explore, always knowing that you will go back and edit it later. But of course there are no rewrites in life to take out the wrong turns, no matter how badly you want to erase them. So today, I am trying to develop an outline of my future, while at the same time, forging ahead on a new adventure unsure of where it is headed.

But this drifting path has led me to interesting places and introduced me to some wonderful people. And if my one plan for the future had worked out, I would not be on this current adventure, and I would not be sharing a home-brewed beer with a friend on his birthday.

So cheers to our futures, however you chose to write them.