Picnic...

"We need to do this more." - Us.

We live a mile from the Pacific Coast, and we find ourselves rarely taking advantage of it, especially during the winter months. Just like everyone else, we get wrapped in our lives and the stresses each day can bring. We talk about stress as if most of it is out of our control. I feel we get set on auto-pilot-mode, letting others dictate our decisions. The emotional toll that stress brings allows us to get lazy. It is easy to sit on the couch after a day at work to watch something mind-numbing, order some food from whatever food-delivery app has the best deal of the day, and pass out. Our laziness can be a vicious cycle.

I had a rare Saturday night off, and instead of going to a happy hour somewhere, getting tired, and crashing on the couch, Jamie and I decided to do a beach picnic. I raced home from work and kicked off my shoes - exchanging them for my flip flops - and we rolled down the hill to the beach in our comfortably converted VW Vanagon. There was almost no one on the beach, so we picked a spot to spread out and enjoyed the sunset. The summer breeze was coming in from the sea, and the sounds of the ocean crashing down on the sand played softly in the background as we dug into our dinner.

It is nice to put the phones down and have a conversation. I love technology as much as anyone; however, unplugging can help clear your head and get back to the scenery around us. Beauty is everywhere; you don't need a beach picnic to realize it - not to say that it doesn't help. There is always something beautiful around if we take a second to notice it. As the sun set and disappeared behind the Santa Monica mountains, I almost wanted to clap as if a band had just finished their encore.

We stayed on the beach for an extra few minutes to finish our drinks and snap a few photos; not a bad little Saturday night. We both committed to doing this more often. If I could, I would eat every meal on the beach. Take a second to see if you can find something worth pausing and admiring today.

It might just change your mood.

-YourFriendMatt

Grandmom...

"Why are you crying?" - Me.

Over the years we have put a lot of miles on our second-hand, black, '00 Eddie Bauer Edition, Ford Expedition. Grandmom, as we called her, has taken us across the country multiple times. She has gotten us up and down the mountains in Colorado and guided us through deserts in Nevada, Texas, and California. We have been through the Great Plains together. Grandmom has made it through more National Parks than I can remember, down alleyways she could barely fit through, been parallel parked in spaces that mathematically didn't make sense, all while hauling our small enclosed trailer. Grandmom has been packed with musical equipment, as well as accidentally passing through a close-set movie filming. Grandmom does what Grandmom wants. We were just there for the ride.

Since moving back to Santa Monica, the old girl has been sitting for over a year collecting parking tickets. It is unfair for us to keep her stationary. Grandmom is a road-dog. She needs to get back out there to explore. She needs to stretch her legs and adventure. She has done a lot for us, and now it is time to pass her on to the next adventurer who can get her back on the road. We will miss you old girl.

It was not an easy decision to put Grandmom up for sale. The mean streets of Santa Monica and the greed of the city have put us in the tough position of downsizing. Santa Monica and the greater LA area makes it impossible for anyone to park on any street, at any time. Grandmom was getting parking tickets weekly on our residential street. We were spending more on her just sitting there than we had in the past 5 years on repairs, gas, and traveling across the country.

We never thought we would get this upset over selling an inanimate object. I was actually quite happy to post her "for sale" ad on Craiglist. I was fueled by the hate of paying never-ending parking tickets, but once someone actually responded to make a cash offer, the sale of Grandmom became real. At first, I was glad to get rid of her, but when I cleaned her out for the last time coming across nicknacks that had been lodged under the seats from the different hotels we had stayed at, or various gas stations we filled up at, it hit me. This was the end of our time together. As we drove to drop her off to her next owner, I was fighting back the tears. An overwhelming wave of gratefulness and guilt washed over me. It didn't help that Jamie was sprawled across the foldable-bench-seating in the rear bawling, I mean really ugly crying. Full on moans and sadness poured out of her, she was inconsolable. And, so was I - on the inside.

Handing over her title and signing over our liability of Grandmom was tough. My ears were hot, and my throat had swollen shut. It took everything in me not to cry. I patted her on the hood on last time and quietly whispered my thank yous to her for all she had done for us. She had essentially protected my family like it was her own. She had made sure we always got to our destination safely. I am glad we spent the last few years together, and I hope I treated you as well as you treated us.

Take care of your new owners like you took care of us, and I look forward to seeing you soon in auto-heaven.

Thank you, Grandmom.

-YourFriendMatt