So there, the deed is done. We had lunch on the lawn with Chloe with the big Berkeley/UO football game on in the background (UO kicked major booty, and I found myself actually caring), and then took off for the coast, according to plan. We were the only parents on the lawn, and we were both pretty moved that Chloe had invited us to join her -- still, at a certain point it felt right to go, get out of the way and stop cramping her style. She was gracious. Grace is the single clearest signal of Chloe's growing maturity, and it's lovely.

The first place we stopped to stay on the recommendation of some folks we met in Cottage Grove stunk, literally, so I got online and found a place further up the coast that's pretty much perfect-o. Bill just started singing "Heaven, I'm in heaven ...", and yesterday I was doing a happy dance on the stairs leading down (and back up!) from the beach. Like minds and hearts -- Bill just did a little Fred Astaire dance sideways up and down the stairs that lead from the bedroom down to the living area -- the one with the wall of windows that overlook the coast -- and back up! He's a dancer!

The other day we were on each other's last nerve and right there in a splendid restaurant, both of us having had (perhaps?) too much wine, had an argument about table setting and I actually heard myself saying that it shouldn't be that hard to remember that the fork goes on the left and blah blah blah, with Bill telling me that most of his life table settings consisted of plastic utensils wrapped in a napkin and sealed in a plastic bag, and the other couple in the restaurant on whom we'd been eavesdropping earlier were now eavesdropping on us. They were probably suddenly glad to be them and not us, even though their conversation had been way too heavy to conceive of them ever having any fun. The moral of the story is not to eavesdrop.

Now we're waking up to the sound of the ocean and drinking coffee, Bill is reading a weighty John Grisham novel and making the big decisions -- half and half, or black? Ah. Reflecting now on that argument, I'm pretty sure that it's the biggest one we've had since before we were married, which was also at a restaurant, the Huisache Grill when it was still wonderful, before they started handing out little vibrating coasters to signal when your table was ready. The moral of this story is to learn to cook.

Now, I think it is time to shave Bill's head.