September 20, 2011 § 14 Comments
When I think of the rolling golden hills around Palo Alto, I think of broccoli salad. Not estates complete with horses, not perfectly tanned and perfectly fit weekend riders stopping for a cappuccino while their carbon fiber bikes rest along the decorative fencing enclosing the cafe patio, not the vast expanse of ocean just off to the west. Nope, I think of broccoli salad. The heavy mayonnaise-loaded kind with bacon, cheddar and raisins. The kind that really belongs at a church potluck in the midwest.
It’s because of the darn way I have a near full-on emotional break-down if I get overly hungry or overly tired. And you don’t want to see what happens when I’m both. It’s not pretty.
Last summer when we were in California for a friend’s wedding, I had, shall we say, a little more trouble adjusting to the three hour time difference than anticipated. The fact that on the day I arrived in the Bay Area, I had gotten up at 4am Eastern Standard Time to catch my flight, didn’t actually make it to San Francisco until 14 hours later because of delays along the way, and then didn’t get supper until nearly 10pm West Coast time (which my body still strongly believed was 1am, and took great pains to remind me of this) somehow didn’t set me up for an auspicious start to the weekend.