This weekend we are going to spend a few days at Seabrook on the Washington coast, with the Professors. It’s a super cute little planned community with houses that look like they belong in Nantucket.

It’s about three hours away and I am looking forward to some ocean air and down time. Except for one thing.

I have to drive. On the highway.

I HATE driving on the freeway. I don’t even like to BE on the freeway. In my everyday life, it’s not so much an issue – I commute by bus, and living in the city means you can pretty much get anywhere by surface streets.

I don’t mind the actual driving, and I am not a bad driver. Unless The Geek is in the passenger seat – that makes me nervous.

But the freeway. Too many tons of metal going way too fast, operated by people too busy texting or talking to pay attention to the road.

It wasn’t always like this. Over college breaks, I drove from Kent to work at Bellevue Square. I can remember driving to downtown Seattle one time, too. But somewhere along the way, it became scary. A few years out of college, I made plans to drive to central Oregon to visit family. I made sure I left really early so I could avoid traffic, but it was still nerve-wracking. I’ve driven to IKEA a few times, a route with some crazy merges. One time a rain squall came through followed by blinding sunlight. By all rights, I should have hit something on the exit ramp – I could not see a thing.

The merging, especially, is stressful. I will scope out on-ramps that shoot you onto your own lane if possible. But that pales next to the I-90 tunnel. The few times I’ve had to drive that, I held my breath the whole time. And it’s not a short tunnel. It is very narrow – the margin for error is very small.

It occurred to me as the departure date approached that maybe I’m not the only one who feels this way. And lo and behold, it’s a thing! Freeway phobia! Lots of people have this problem too! Have to say that made me feel a bit better – that I’m not the only loser whose adrenaline kicks when the speedometer goes over 40 and you’re 4 feet away from big metal boxes.

I read some tips about writing down affirmations, getting hypnotized, hiring a coach. But what seems to be most effective is just doing it – getting on the road and facing your fears. No, I can’t control anyone else on the road. BUT I also can’t control anyone else on the bus or in line at Starbucks.

So Friday morning, I will load up my family and head south on I-5 at 60 mph. I will breathe slowly and deeply. I will make a playlist. I will load the directions on my phone. I will try to have faith that I can do this. (Maybe you could keep your fingers crossed, too? Every little bit helps.)

At least I don’t have go east through the I-90 tunnel. A girl has her limits. One thing at a time.

I hope the traffic looks like this.

Hello, poppets.

I spent the past few days in a place where they have sunshine in March and it’s not 40 degrees, visiting friends in San Francisco and spending some girl time in the Napa Valley. It was lovely.

The Geek and I met these friends when we all lived in a four-plex on Capital Hill in the early 90′s. We were both newly married couples whose husbands bonded over motorcycles. Wednesday night dinners followed by 90210 and Melrose Place were a  weekly ritual. Then they had a baby, we had a baby, we all moved out of the four-plex, and eventually, they moved to San Francisco. Which is convenient for visiting, I must say.

This particular visit included a girls’ trip to Napa and Lesley, Larry’s sister. We rented a friend’s house in Napa, done up with some sweet mid-mod decor. We discovered there’s not much to do in Napa at the moment – the recession seems to have left its mark. Luckily the house came equipped with a firepit, which one can actually use in March in Napa. Many gin and tonics were enjoyed. We are old enough now that it was quite refreshing to be able to hear one another and sprawl on the ground, as opposed to having a cocktails in a bar.

The next day I got my first facial. So decadent, but still strange to lay still while a stranger lathers multiple ointments on your face. Looking I am sure a full 10 years younger, we toured a few wineries and made our way back to Napa for a tasty tapas dinner. I won’t tell you what time we turned the lights out that night – did I mention we are old?

Sunday night back in San Fran, we were lucky that it was warm enough to “stoop”, a Surrey Street ritual of cocktails and neighbors. No trip is complete without it.  Monday was spent in search of souvenirs, a mad dash my escort Larry was more than up for, before heading to the airport and back to reality.

I always love going to my second home in SF. The light is different there, some of it is familiar by now over so many years of visits. The people are the same, never seeming like it’s been months since my last trip, but everything is different from my everyday.

When things are stuck in your normal life, a weekend away is just the thing to shake things up – even better when wrapped in the arms of old friends. Around the fire pit, I was reminded that we all have our own problems, that nobody’s life is perfect or just right. Maybe bits and pieces, but nothing fits just right for anyone. Some of our problems are the same – we worry about our kids, we wonder if we are doing it right.

Really, though, we can’t know. Maybe someday we can look back and say, yeah,  I did OK or I should have done this different, but really, we are all just doing the best we can. Having great friends along the way smooths the road, eases the roughness. And for this I am grateful.

But it’s good to be home.

P.S. Still not missing Facebook.

I may ramble here, as the bits and pieces in my head are not always logical, do not tumble out in order. They are usually connected, but sometimes only by a wispy thread.

Sometimes I go to grab them, but they swim out of focus, or I grab something meant for another bit and can’t make it fit together. Forgive the chaos.

What I mean to say goes something like this.

A longtime friend died too young last week. I am now in the thick of teenager parenting, floundering more and more each day. In the midst of this is middle age – surely I cannot be old enough to be dealing with teenaged offspring – was I not just one?

So it goes like this, bouncing from one thing to another. Sometimes good, sometimes bad, sometimes holding my breath til the next ball rolls along. In the flat bits and even better, the good bits, I am storing up little things because I know nothing stays the same. I will need these good bits again one day, and it may come sooner than I think.

I am banking things of comfort. The soft feel of flannel sheets on bare skin. Guests in my house. One-on-one conversations.

The value of a friend, old and new. A few extra dollars in the bank account when usually there are none. My family’s voices in another room on a Sunday night.

Matching socks. A well-made martini.

Candlelight.  An overgrown yard and garage full of possibility. My cookbooks.

Hearing “Mom” and realizing that means me. Running a business that means something to people.

This place, where I put some words and sometimes people read them.

Today is my first day back at work after 9 days off. It occurred to me about a month ago that if I took my last 3 vacation days the week of Thanksgiving, I’d get 9 days off in a row – something that hasn’t happened since 1992. Seemed like a no-brainer.

I don’t know what I was expecting. Wait, yes, I do. I thought it’d be a great opportunity to be productive around the house. I had a whole list of things to do. I did one of them – the frig is clean. I didn’t organize the boxes of bar books. I didn’t do ALL the laundry. I didn’t redo the Boy Child’s bedroom. I did bake a bunch of cookies, but froze none of them.

Don’t get me wrong – it wasn’t terrible. I just couldn’t get motivated for those projects. It was so much easier to watch TV or take Jack for a walk. To be fair, there was a fair amount of entertaining, an auction to attend, Thanksgiving, crafting with the ladies.

You’d think being a slob all that time would perk me up. But as I come back to work, I feel something lacking. I hoped maybe for some great release, some clearing of the head. Nothing here is different. The break from the routine was nice, but now it hardly feels like any time passed.

I’m beginning to think this slogging through of things is just how it is now, and it was foolish to think 9 days at home would change anything . I yearn for the years past when I truly felt joy and happiness most of the time, and it makes me sad to even type that.

I chase it still.