My name is Kym, and I live in the foothills of the northern Sierra Nevada Mountains. With good traffic, Lake Tahoe is about a 2 hour drive. I have 3 cats, and live in a cozy apartment. I work from home, doing computer stuff, am an Episcopalian (raised Baptist – talk about a culture shock!) and may one day go to seminary. I collect cat things, coffee things, clocks, and Christmas trees. I am a member of Food Addicts in Recovery, a 12-step program for those of us who have problems controlling how we eat. Like AA, only for food. I fight chronic, clinical depression, and have since I was about 8. Seem to be on a good cocktail of psych drugs for now, and I hope it lasts. Medication roulette is no fun. What else? My BFF lives in Texas, near Dallas, and volunteers at In-Sync Exotics – a big cat rescue in Wylie TX, I’ve been there, and it is way cool.
Jen and I first met online in a LiveJournal group called “Customers Suck” where we hit it off pretty well, and it has just grown from there. We have only met in person once, and while I was hoping it would happen again before she moved, life intervened. We met Memorial weekend of 2011. I had been in a really bad car accident (I don’t recommend flipping an SUV), and I was in the TICU in Roseville, and she came to visit me, which I greatly appreciated. I’ve been a reader of her blogs for years. I think she is a very special, stronger than she realizes, incredible woman.
(Jen’s note: Kym baked cookies for the nurses and staff at Daniel’s NICU and sent me one of the cutest onesies on the planet — it said “got milk?”)
My Favourite Summer Memory
Actually, I’m combining several summers and their memory, because my family did the same thing every year for more than a decade. We rented a house for a week on Balboa Island, near Newport Beach. It might be July, it might be August, but we did it every year. My mom and I, my aunt and cousins (first one, eventually 3) and my uncle would come down on weekends. We played in the sand, fed the ducks, took the ferry back and forth across the bay. It was 10¢ to cross as a pedestrian and 50¢ for a carful, and the 3 ferries were named Captain, Commodore, Admiral. We’d go to the FunZone and arcades, take the harbor tour where you could see John Wayne’s house and yacht, Buddy Ebsen’s home as well. My aunt and I were almost run over by John Wayne one time. We were crossing the “main drag” on the island – it had lanes in “both” directions – and he was driving a battered old station wagon and not paying attention. When he stopped, he got out of the car and profusely apologized, and went on his way. Balboa bars (like an Eskimo Pie, but dipped in toppings, not just chocolate – my favorite was butter brickle), eating breakfast at the Pavilion restaurant, walking the circumference of the island at night, all the fun little shops – that was always such a happy time.
I remember one time, I was maybe 8 or 9, when I decided to collect clams to see if they had pearls in them. So I gathered up about 50 itty bitty (about ½ inch across) clams, put them in a shoebox and brought them home. That had been our last night of vacation. About a week later, my mom comes into my room and asks, “what is that smell??!!” Alas, all my clams had died, and not a pearl in a single one. Ah well.
I have been back to visit many times since then, but it is not the same. Some of it is just the rosy memory of childhood, but some is also that it is no longer an unknown place. UCI students have discovered it, and so now there isn’t room to breathe in the summer on the island. It kind of makes me sad, because it was so quaint and special. Progress, I guess. But when I need to go to a happy place, Balboa Island as a child is one of the places I go.
Good luck with the move, Jen.