Which is sad. Because I grew up an hour and a half away.
My mother isn't much for amusement parks. With good reason. She had an undiagnosed case of multiple sclerosis and so walking was difficult for her.
I maybe went three or four times from the time I was a child. And since then? Well, I keep planning that maybe... possibly... some day...
So awesome... I sure do love the eighties...
I even have maintained my So. Cal residency in the hopes that when I go, I can get the discounted tickets. (And really, that's just an excuse. I can't yet give up that I'm not living in California anymore).
But Disneyland isn't my happy place. No... I have a lot of happy places. I have the happy place that was the Wilton House in England. Wandering around the grounds there (Yes... they have GROUNDS in England!), I realized that maybe I was destined to live in the country. Maybe the ocean air isn't for me after all.
I have the little apartment in Spain with the balcony so close to the beach that I could taste the ocean air. I miss that apartment.
There's the little room in our first house in my hometown. In the bedroom that was mine. With the window in the front of the house so I could spy on my brothers as they played basketball. I miss that room.
But mostly, whenever I need to be reminded of good times, I just picture my parents' house in California. In fact, whenever I feel the need to find my center again that's the first place I want to go. To find the balance again.
I'm heading back there in a couple of weeks. And at this moment, that feels SO good. Just knowing that it's coming. I'll take it.
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