77 Days In - Birthdays and Anniversary

The last four days have been a rollercoaster of activity and celebrations. Except Friday.

Thursday was my birthday - the big three oh - which in this day and age is an extra excuse to booze harder. Chris’ parents gave me a card that called me “mature” and “really old to teenagers”. I don’t feel either of those, but worry that I am both.

As for the celebrations, well, we timed our move out to the US so perfectly that neither Chris nor I got to share the festivities with friends. Compared to said friends, who spent their ten-thousandth, nine-hundred-and-fiftieth day shamelessly singing karaoke or informing near-and-dear that they were growing a human being in their belly, we both had pretty sedate birthdays.

Chris’ started in something of a grump, as he is woken - not to waffles - but to instructions to don trunks and follow me. As we leave, his parents (well meaning as they are) give away the surprise of alcohol that I am surreptitiously carrying. Nonetheless we have a lovely champagne breakfast on a cliff overlooking the beach, and then run into the waves to be knocked over.

My birthday morning was somewhat lazier (complete with waffles), but my wonderful husband secretly planned a trip to Raging Waters, a water park that he has been going on and on about since we got to CA. How well he knows me. How thoughtful.

Water parks as they exist here are like nothing you could ever get in the UK - because of the weather. Raging Waters is in the middle of the desert, and the sun is insistent on you remembering this fact. Forty minute queues are rewarded with blissfully cooling, thrill rides… Well, I enjoyed myself anyway. The best moments were when we got to ride in a double ring, and share our screams.

On Friday we worked.

Saturday was the women’s finals of the Hurley American Open Surf Competition; and do they take this stuff seriously here. So seriously that the two events we planned to see happen as we wait two hours in a parking queue. Huntington beach buzzed with barbeques and volleyball; there was a “festival village” where the surfing took place, with freebies abound and average music on a small stage. Making it a double-whammy we just miss the skateboarding competition, and so retreat for beers.

Sunday was our wedding anniversary. One whole year. Buying a card with “Husband” and “Anniversary” emblazoned on it makes me giggle like a small child. Somewhat disappointed by the day before, we decide to get up early and catch the men’s semi-finals of the surfing, at 8am. There are plenty of parking spaces this time. The waves were not as big as they were on Saturday, but we got to see Kelly Slater - the only worldwide celebrity surfer - do some turney things. One of the commentators babbles on about the “rad” surfing that Kelly has been up to “dude”, fulfilling the So-Cal stereotype.

As a present to ourselves, Chris and I turn to the traditional anniversary list - the most well-known being silver at 25 years. Year one is paper. So we commemorate it with a long overdue wedding album. An idea that I wish I could claim as my own, but was actually most cleverly lifted from a loved-one (thank you). Going through the pictures brings back wonderful memories, and by the time we leave for cocktails and dinner, I am already feeling pretty giddy.

The beautiful yellow flowers in my room are a sunny reminder of my family’s love. I miss them. But I was told once that I would “follow love”, which I have, to California. Sunday affirmed for me that, for now at least, I am very happy to have done just that.