little black journal

We managed to squeeze a little SF getaway into our itinerary before flying to Texas – 22 hours in the city to see a game, catch up with a couple of friends, and dine at our favorite restaurant in The Mission. It was a whirlwind, but Shane had it all carefully mapped out. I married the ultimate trip planner.

After a quick coffee date with Brieanne, I met up with Shane, Marco, and Lisa at the ballpark for some Giants v. Padres action. I can’t think of a more perfect way to spend a Sunday afternoon than soaking in the sun while watching Buster Posey knock baseballs out of the park. Bliss.

Final score: 5-0, Giants! (As if these grins didn’t speak for themselves.)

High on victory adrenaline, we trekked back to our hotel near Chinatown to clean up a bit before dinner. Shane had scored us a room with a great view of Coit Tower and the Bay – I think I grow a little fonder of this city every time we visit.

We had dinner reservations at Delfina that evening and took our time strolling from the BART station to the restaurant. The Mission has become one of our favorite neighborhoods in San Francisco – the bright colors, the lively crowds, the mix of new and old. And the pasta at Delfina. Ohhhh, that pasta.

In our younger days, we would have capped off the evening with a cocktail at Bix or Bourbon and Branch. Instead, we headed back to our room and capped our evening with a chocolate bar and an episode of Veep. After changing into my stretchy pants and slipping between those crisp hotel sheets, I can’t say I minded the way things have changed.

I met up with my friend Danielle on Monday morning to dish the latest with one another over coffee and pastries, and then it was time for us to say adios to the City by the Bay and board our plane for Texas. I always leave a little piece of my heart in SF after visits like these. Good thing Buster is there to hang onto it for me. 😉

My whole Sabbath resolution didn’t work out for me so well this weekend, but that’s alright – the past couple of days were filled with quality time with some of my favorite people, a couple of very satisfying checkmarks on my project list, and most importantly, a morning spent cheering on these rockstar runners at the Mercer Island Half Marathon.

Shane’s couch-to-marathon journey is the stuff of inspirational success stories – when we first got married, that guy couldn’t run a mile without doubling over in sweaty, breathless exhaustion.  Now, Shane Lightning Schnell is running half marathons at 7:15 a mile.  That’s right – he ran those whopping 13.1 miles in one hour and 35 minutes, crushing his personal record and finishing 133rd out of over 1500 runners.  All those lunchtime runs in the cold and rain, all those Saturday mornings spent pounding the pavement, all those blisters and sore muscles, they all paid off.  It felt so good to see him head toward the finish line with a smile on his face – I was so proud of him, and so happy to watch him experience the joy of meeting a hard-fought goal.

We all gathered at the 8 oz. Burger Bar post-race to toast the runners with beer and mimosas and milkshakes.  Boy, did these guys ever earn their pints.  I’m not sure what I did to earn my strawberry milkshake…we’ll call it my cheerleading award.

Shane spent the rest of the afternoon curled up in our bed, took today off to recuperate, and then hit the sack at 8:30 tonight.  Looks like the speedy Roadrunner is no Spring chicken, but whatever – he’s still 100% stud.

Tomorrow we head to Portland to celebrate Christmas with the Jarrells.  But today?  Today was the Schnell family pre-Christmas Christmas bonanza.  And it was glorious.  Shane and I stayed in bed until 10 am, at which point he rolled out to pick up scones from the neighborhood bakery.  I poured us a couple of glasses of festive-looking green juice, we dug into our breakfast, and then it was time for presents!

There were several gifts under the tree this year to Boo from Boo – I scored a sweet new lens for my camera and Shane was happily surprised with a bottle of fancy absinthe.

It felt good, our little family of two sitting by the Christmas tree and listening to Nat King Cole sing about roasting chestnuts.  So warm and cozy and…right.

I spent the better part of the afternoon in the kitchen, rolling our sugar cookies and making my favorite cranberry cornmeal biscotti.  Can’t wait to decorate these babies tomorrow with Elise!

We headed downtown later in the day to do some shopping and catch a movie.  Shane bought me a couple of pairs of earrings from my favorite boutique and then we walked over to the theater for Silver Linings Playbook, which turned out to be my kind of movie – romantic and sad and happy and just a little bit cheesy.

After the movie, we strolled through downtown, taking in all the Christmas lights one more time before heading to dinner in Capitol Hill.

We capped off the night at home, snuggling on the couch and watching Elf while Shane sipped his spiked eggnog and I ate the cookie cast-offs (no sense in letting that armless gingerbread man and four-pointed star go to waste!).   It was nice to soak in the peace and comfort of home today – I feel rested and thankful and so, so ready to engage in some serious playtime with two very special little girls.  Portland, here we come!

Shane and I had dinner with one of our pastors on Monday night, and as we laid all of our hopes/longings/sorrows out on a table filled with piping hot bowls of pho, she reminded us that we shouldn’t let our dreams for the future get in the way of reveling in the present.  Damn, she’s good.  I get so wrapped in wishing and wanting that I forget how good things can be right now.  We’re young and active and healthy.  We live in an amazing city with all kinds of amazing people.  We have good jobs and a home we love.  And we have boatloads of freedom.  We can jet off for a weekend getaway when the mood strikes us, we can spend an entire Saturday lounging in our pajamas after a long and tiring week, and we can turn tickets to a 7 pm comedy show into an epic night out on the town.  Last night was such a night – we had tickets to see Louis CK at the Paramount and decided to meet up after work for a pre-show bite at Kushibar.  We’ve been wanting to check this place out for awhile, and the big bowls of tonkotsu ramen did not disappoint.  We’ll come back next time with bigger appetites – I wish I’d had room for the fried octopus balls (as in fried balls of octopus meat – don’t be gross)!

We had some time to kill post-dinner, so we popped into Shorty’s on a whim to play some pinball.  This place is pretty divey, but once you get past the sticky floors and the musty odor of whiskey-soaked dudes, it’s a fun joint.  Oh, and I crushed Shane at pinball, for the record.

We made our way from Belltown to the Paramount and could hardly contain our excitement as we settled into our seats.  Shane has been a big fan of Louis CK for years, and I’ve recently come to see past the occasional (err…frequent) crudeness and get a good laugh out of his stand-up.  I had pretty high expectations heading into this – it was our first comedy show and I’d heard from a couple of people that this tour was hilarious.  And wowsers – he hit my high expectations out of the ballpark.  My cheeks hurt from laughing by the time he left the stage.  And then he came out for an encore and I howled some more.  Thanks, Louis – we needed that.

I assumed we’d jump on lightrail and head home after the show was over, but Shane had another whim up his sleeve as he pulled out his phone to look up downtown dessert places.  We walked down 4th Avenue, taking in the decorations and the lights and the clear, crisp night.

We landed at Purple wine bar and after four seconds of perusing the menu, I settled on the creme brulee.  Shane ordered a stinky blue cheese plate and a glass of port, and we sat there for awhile, still chuckling over our favorite Louis jokes and remarking what a fun, random night it had been (the Shorty’s crowd and the Purple crowd are typically not one and the same).

Much love to my man and my city – we should all get together more often.

Today is a special someone’s “Larry Bird” birthday (Shane’s trying to make this super-obscure reference “a thing”, so I’m throwing him a bone). Yup, my man turned the big 3-3 today.  We spent Shane’s last birthday in Paris under the Eiffel Tower, and while I would have loved to sweep him off to France again this year, I had to settle instead on a box of goodies from the French bakery near my office.  With a little extra flair, of course…

The evening’s celebration was relatively low-key – beer and the Giants game at our favorite sports bar, then dinner with a few friends at the Mexican joint around the corner.  Shane and I have both had kind of a tough post-vacation week, and it was so good to see him grin from ear to ear tonight with each Giants run, each pat on the back from his best pals, each bite of his spicy goat stew.  His joy was contagious – I felt like it was my birthday tonight as well.

Happy Birthday, buhb.  Wishing you a year full of grand adventures, gasping-for-breath laughter (you and I do seem to get funnier with age…), and virtual high-fives from your boy Matt Cain.  I love you mucho.

It’s become common knowledge that Shane can run.  Good Lord, that boy can run.  One full marathon, a handful of half-marathons, and hundreds of miles in training runs in between – he’s a machine.  He can bike, too, with 20-mile weekend rides around Mercer Island just for fun (how is that fun?) and summer commutes from work on his shiny red Trek.  But swimming?  Not so much – Shane still carries the scars of his of his 6th-grade swim class.  The teacher told the kids to line up in their lanes according to their skill level – pros in lane #1, slow-pokes in lane #5.  Shane, in his pre-teen confidence, strutted straight over to lane 1 and doggy-paddled across that pool like his life depended on it.  Two minutes later, the teacher called him out and told him he belonged in lane 5 – poor kid had to get out and do that march of shame to the other end of the pool, dripping wet and totally embarrassed.  He carried that discouragement into his 30’s and never really graduated from the doggy-paddle.  So I was a bit surprised when Jack convinced him to register for the SeaFair sprint triathlon – did Shane understand that the first part of that “tri” was a half-mile swim?  My surprise quickly turned to pride when he registered for classes at the local pool and traded in his flowered board shorts for some legitimate spandex – it felt daunting and a bit awkward to be taking up swimming so relatively “late” in life, but he shoved his qualms aside and went for it.  ‘Cause my guy really is all kinds of awesome.

After months of training, race day dawned bright and early today as we made our way to Seward Park for the big event.  Shane suited up, I settled into my spot on the sidelines, and he was off!

He came out of the lake in the middle of the pack, tired but looking strong (and kinda hot, no?).

He said the bike was the hardest part of the race for him, but with a smile and thumbs-up, he signaled that he was ready for the run.

Just seconds from the finish line, with barely enough energy left for one subtle smile…

Check out this trifecta of studliness!

Congratulations, buhb!  I’d say you have officially earned your place in lane #1.

We awoke this morning to gray skies and a steady drizzle, which initially had me a bit bummed out, until I realized this was just the excuse we needed to go back to bed for a couple of hours.  No beach-front runs for us today – just plenty of snuggling up to the mister, exchanging mushy greeting cards and wishing each other a Happy Anniversary many times over.  We lingered at the house until check-out time, really not wanting to say goodbye to our little beach-front abode – I’m already checking future availability…  We had planned on an afternoon hike at Deception Pass, but the rain only fell harder as we drove north, so we stopped for a hot bowl of chowder in La Conner for lunch and decided to head on home.  We ended the day with 60 Minutes and a pot of oatmeal for dinner – how quickly the tides turned in our ultra-romantic weekend!

While the life we live is full of so many blessings, it’s also full of little stresses, daily to-do’s, and the general whir of busy-ness.  It felt so, so good to put all that stuff away for a couple of days and shift all of my focus to loving my husband better, taking joy in his humor and thoughtfulness and devotion.  It was refreshing to lavish affection upon one another, to talk about our hopes for the next year and the next fifty years, and to know that we’re really just beginning this grand adventure called marriage.  As hard as it is to come down off a such a perfect weekend, it’s encouraging to remember that we still have so much to look forward to – thousands more “I love you’s”, hundreds more kitchen dance parties, plenty of grand adventures, and a healthy smattering of island getaways.  Happy Anniversary, sweetheart.  Thanks for two days (plus six years) of bliss.

As much as I love to travel, I am a notoriously bad trip planner.  I put off the researching and reserving until Shane swoops in with that save-the-day manner of his, and promptly books us a room at someplace amazing and lines up a slew of activities and meals and cocktails on his giant clipboard o’ fun.  Such was the case with our anniversary trip – it was technically my turn to plan something this year, but after only 10 minutes of frustrated VRBO-surfing, I threw my hands up in exasperation.  Enter Shane, with a link to a charming little waterfront cottage on Whidbey Island and a list of nearby parks and restaurants.  I promptly booked it, and on Friday afternoon, we were island-bound.

We arrived at the house just in time to watch the sun set over the sound.  We took in the view from the deck, bouncing inside to warm ourselves by the fireplace when  the winds picked up.  We spent the rest of the night on the couch, eating ice cream and playing a round of 90’s “name that tune” via Spotify.  Nothing says happy anniversary like En Vogue and Goo Goo Dolls!

We rolled out of bed this morning only when we were good and ready, snacked on banana bread and fresh fruit while watching the sun glint off the water, and then went for a jog down the beach, stopping every so often for Shane to skip a rock or scout out the bald eagle we’ve seen criss-crossing the beach all day.

We left the house around lunchtime in search of hearty local cuisine, and found it at the Coupeville and Bayview Farmer’s Markets.  Mini-donuts as an appetizer followed by a salmon taco from a little stand at the Coupeville Market, and then a tri-tip sandwich at Bayview that rivaled SLO’s Firestone Grill (my Cal Poly peeps know the significance of this comparison), paired with a grilled artichoke and ice cold lemonade.  In the words of La Verne, “nom nom”.

After stuffing ourselves silly, we drove over to Ebey’s Landing for a beach-front hike.  The fields leading to the water were shining in vivid shades of green and yellow, and the lookouts over the sound were breathtaking.

We made it back to the car just as our legs were about to give out, and the deck at the house proved to be the perfect place to put our feet up and catch a breath of fresh, salty air.  We cracked open the special bottle of champagne we’d brought along, put together a plate of chevre-smeared crackers and squares of dark chocolate, and spent a couple of hours letting the sun warm our cheeks, listening to the tide come in while we talked and laughed and felt so…content.  It was the kind of day I desperately wanted to stretch on forever.

Tomorrow, we officially celebrate six years of marriage – I’ve been trying to wish Shane a happy anniversary all weekend, but before I can get the words out, he shushes me and says “not yet!” (in the same way that he believes Christmas music should only be played on Christmas Day, he believes anniversary wishes are only applicable one day out of the year).  So tomorrow, Mr. Schnell.  Tomorrow I’m laying it on thick.

There’s a part of me that wants to dislike Valentine’s Day – I know it’s become a “Hallmark Holiday”, full of commercialism and consumption and cheeseball sayings on little candy hearts.  But here’s the problem when it comes to me hatin’ on V-day:  I’m married to a man that decided to surprise me with a decadent French dinner at Chloe tonight and hold my hands across the table and be all romantic and stuff.  And really, who am I to turn down champagne and mussels and sorbet-topped meringue?  So I’m putting aside any bah-humbug feelings and embracing the mushy-lovey-dippy-doo.  Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. Schnell.  It was fun to get out on the town and be all fancy-pants with you (and it’s also fun to sit here in our PJs and catch up on the Daily Show).  I heart you mucho.

I had a dream about Robert Pattinson last night.  We were at a party and he was being all cool and Edward-y (minus the sparkles), and I was being all swoony and silly, and then, in the wee hours of the morning, I woke up.  I suffered just the shortest moment of disappointment that it was over, but then I rolled over and I looked at my husband sleeping next to me, snoring in his easy, quiet way, and I thanked my lucky stars for him.  I bet Shane is reading this now and thinking, “Say what?  You snuggled up on me this morning and wanted to spoon because you had a dream about a Twilight character?!”  But honey, no, that’s not it – I snuggled up on you because I love you and sometimes I am just so stinkin’ happy that I get be yours.  That you get to be mine.

Sometimes I forget to be thankful, and I spend my energy nagging, or pouting, or pushing Shane away, and I’m sorry for that.  Because, really, my man in the bee’s knees.  Cases in point:

He makes me laugh.  Probably every day.  I was sitting in the living room last night blog-surfing and he was downstairs in the office hackin’ around (my phrase for his complicated technological exploits), and suddenly, in the midst of the quiet, I heard him belt out the lyrics to some old-school Rage Against the Machine song.  I poked my head into the office and he started playing the air-drums and wildly shaking his head from side to side.  He had his headphones on, and the fact that I couldn’t hear the music made it even funnier.   He may or may not have been singing for me, but I don’t care – I’m just glad to bear witness to his unabashed silliness.

He’s my #1 fan, my loudest cheerleader and strongest advocate.  He shares in all my greatest joys, never hesitating to tell me that he’s proud of me and remind me that I have the potential to do anything I want to do.  And he often tells me that I’m hot.  That’s awfully nice.

He’s a rock.  He’s steady under pressure, cool in the midst of chaos, affirming when life starts to feel kinda…ick.  And he never ever lets me feel like I’m going at it alone – even in tough situations that don’t directly involve him, he insists “We will get through this”.  Sometimes I’m bugged by the “we” that so often replaces “I” once you get married, but sometimes that little two-letter pronoun holds so much comfort.  We got through the stress of my licensing exams a couple of years ago, we carry each other’s burdens in work and finances and relationships, we figure out how to do life together.  His contribution might be as simple as picking me up from work when I’ve had an especially long day, but sometimes that’s all it takes for me to be reassured that he’s not expecting me to fly solo.

So…thanks, baby.  Edward ain’t got nothin’ on you.