Sacramento

We were a little sad to leave Palm Springs.  In both South Padre and Albuquerque, I had a "thanks for all the fish" mentality, and I might have even uttered the words "see ya - wouldn't want to be ya" as we drove away.  Palm Springs was different - sweet, fun, and a little magical.  But adventure was calling and, more importantly, our lease was up.

Out plan had been to spend May and June in West Seattle, basking in the cooler weather of the Pacific Northwest. But life, as it does, threw a curveball in the form of a medical emergency involving the previous tenants. They asked if they could stay an extra month to recover, and we—being decent, Midwestern sorts—said yes, of course, take all the time you need. And then promptly realized we had nowhere to go.

Seattle, it turns out, is not a city that welcomes last-minute housing arrangements unless you are a tech billionaire or a raccoon. So we pivoted to Sacramento, which we chose because Elliott has friends there and it's between Palm Springs and Seattle.

We stayed for three weeks, which passed in a blur of sunshine, socializing, and mild discomfort. Our Airbnb was about a mile from the city center and had all the charm of a waiting room at a dentist’s office. It was one of those places that looks like it was furnished entirely by someone who typed “minimalist starter pack” into Wayfair and clicked “Buy All.” There were exactly four forks, two towels, and a couch that seemed to resent being sat on.  Sally agreed and peed on it the first chance she got.

The flora in Albuquerque and Palm Springs, while beautiful, was dominated by browns and grays. It was so nice to see color in nature again!

It’s called a “Loquat”.

We kept seeing these fruit trees lining the streets of Sacramento. When I stopped briefly to point one out to Elliott, an older lady on a nearby porch tottered down to us. She didn’t speak English, but she indicated through gestures that we should pick one of the fruits and eat it. When I did so, she grabbed it out of my hand, threw it aside, chose a different one, and handed it to me, again gesturing I should eat it. It was delicious!

Now, I’ve stayed in homes that feel lived-in—South Padre, Albuquerque, Palm Springs. These places had character. They had quirks. They had three half-sets of knives, a drawer full of batteries of unknown origin, and a plastic bag filled with other plastic bags, which is the universal sign of a real home. I love that. It’s comforting. It says, “Someone has spilled soup here.” Our Sacramento Airbnb, on the other hand, said, “No one has ever exhaled in this room.”

To be fair, I used to own an Airbnb, and I understand the impulse. People are, frankly, disgusting. It’s easier to furnish with things that are cheap, wipeable, and emotionally distant. But still, I found myself wondering if the owner had ever actually sat in the chair or tried to cut an apple in the kitchen.

Sacramento itself was lovely, I think. I say “I think” because I remember almost none of it. This is due to something called stability bias, which is the brain’s charming way of saying, “Don’t worry, you’ll forget all of this soon.” It was also a short 2-week visit due to some required work travel. But enough excuses. I’m now keeping notes about our experiences.

Crocker Art Museum

These ladies took a break from “Grown Up Prom” to reflect on the displayed art.

My favorite moment was delightfully unplanned. We walked to a local art museum—something I adore and Elliott tolerates with the patience of a saint—and found ourselves in the middle of what appeared to be a prom. For adults. People were dressed to the nines, slow dancing among the sculptures, sipping wine near the impressionists. It was magical in a way that made me think, “Why don’t we do this in Evansville?” Would my friends and family don formalwear and attend a grown-up prom at the local museum?  I like to think yes. Now who is going to plan it? 

Soccer!

Sacramento FC played Indy 11 while we were Sacramento, so of course we had to go! Do I remember who won? Not a chance. Do I remember the delicious burrito I ate. Absolutely.

Next Stop: Boston!