I had a bright idea: the sun was out and the tulips were in bloom. We canceled other plans - sorry Lord - and headed to the Wooden Shoe Tulip Farm.
Our day didn't have a strong start. What began as a 'I think I'll find a bathroom first' comment on the winding roads there, soon became a quest when it took well over an hour to creep two stinking miles to the entrance. I may or may not have leaped out of our idling car, with my pants undone and walked the rest of the way in, putting aside all social niceties because at 38, I've never been so desperate for an outhouse in my life. I almost cried, best beloveds, and then I peed. I know you are cringing, but crying for heaven's sake. That's ugly.
Once I could think straight again, I realized I didn't bail with my phone or purse or GPS chip. I was relieved, yet in a wash of sunburnt palefaces and strollers. I counted two Boston terriers, but couldn't spot my people.
And when I did find my family and my beleaguered husband - did I mention this was all my idea? - we settled in a long line for tacos. I tried to make funnies about fast passes but he was not humored. He may or may not have said the next time he wants to see tulips, he will fly to Amsterdam because it would be faster and at least he could get stoned while he was there.
[See? The funny was back.]
We entered the wine tasting gardens while the kids took over the exclusive bounce house.
We oohed and ah-ed over flowers, and bought a case of wine from the Naked Winery, out of Hood River, Oregon.
It was a fine spring day, dressed in July and time well spent together.