Sometimes the best thing about winter in Iceland. . . is to escape. The screaming wind, the too-dark days, the waist-high snow drifts, we had to flee – all the way to Southern California, to my city of angels.
And there, under the gloriously warm sun, I breathed in ocean air, ripe with honeysuckle and lavender. There, I ran on the soft sand, built sand castles with B & M, and skipped along the shoreline of the Pacific. There, I sat on my parent’s back porch amidst my aunts and cousins, eating California cuisine and showering my sister. From there, I escaped to Ojai, my happy place, with my oldest and dearest girlfriends. And from there, Mr. G and I stole away too, to my favorite hotel in the world.
And too the kids were pampered: a sleep over at Aunt MeMe’s, an early morn dash to the donut store with grandpa, morning snuggling with Nana. We cruised around town in the Prius, from Hollywood to Malibu, lunches, parks, museums, and more beaches. And all the while, from the car seat in the back, we listened to B belt out every word to Regina Spektor’s hit:
It may have been a song about heartbreak, but it made our hearts swell. This, our warm weather escape, was the perfect antidote to an Iceland winter.