My Best Days, Part 1

One of my college roommates has written a book that is a guide to gratitude. Conscious gratitude is supposed to improve our outlook on life and bring us joy. So in that spirit, I’m starting a new recurring feature of the blog.

Called My Best Days, it will be a recollection of singular days that in themselves might not have been dramatic or life-altering, but were memorable simply for being good. The experiences were simple but they continue to remind me of how life can be great through a collection of bright moments.

My Best Days, Part 1….LaJolla, California, 07-06-2000

I get lost in thought when I see these photos. I was visiting one of my best friends in the world (of course, a “Jen”) who was living in the San Diego area. She had a cute little apartment in La Jolla, just two blocks from the Pacific coast. We spent this particular morning hiking the hills and rocks along the shoreline.



It was misty and breezy in the morning, but in typical fashion the marine layer lifted by noon and our sweatshirts came off.

This picture was taken on a pedestrian bridge that spanned a small cove of ocean that jutted into the landscape.



The water could not have been bluer, the foliage greener, or the sun cast a more golden glow on everything. I kept looking right, then left, then ahead, and then back again…I just couldn’t take in enough of the panorama. At that point I remembered a coworker telling me that when she went to San Diego, she felt like her soul was where it belonged. That is what I felt here!

And it was so quiet, save for the water hitting the rocks, the blowing breeze, and our own laughter.

I don’t know how far we hiked, probably only a mile or two. Maybe “hiking” isn’t the best word…aerobic meandering is more like it.

We watched the seals on the pier. I saw gnarly trees that appeared to be directly out of a Dr. Seuss book.
We laughed uncontrollably when a squirrel looked at us funny. It was that kind of day, where nothing could have gotten us down.

We ate lunch at bistro in LaJolla Village, and to this day I swear it was the best sandwich I’ve ever eaten. Turkey and cheddar on rosemary bread.

Two old friends with no schedule to keep, warm sunshine, and laughter. It was a day where I can truthfully say I completely relaxed and loved every...single...minute.

I still think of that day whenever I eat rosemary bread.

Jen-eration X

When I start a conversation with, “My friend Jennifer…,” my husband immediately stops me and asks, “which one?” This is because I am acquainted with no fewer than 22different Jennifers, and without some sort of clarification the ensuing conversation will be lost on him.


The movie Love Story came out in 1970, with the beautiful and tragic main character named Jenny, played by Ali MacGraw. This Oscar-nominated actress and film spurred a revolution. I was born in 1972, which was the third year of the 15-year run of Jennifer being the most popular baby name for girls. I met at least one new Jennifer every single year of school and continue to do so even now. Generation X could easily be called the Jen-eration.

Every event of significance in my formative years has involved a Jennifer. School classes, gymnastics team, cheerleading squad, choir, roommates, one of my bridesmaids, and coworkers at just about every job I’ve ever had all included at least one Jen. I’m not comfortable if I don’t have a Jen to go to at any particular time. When I start a new job, if there’s a Jennifer, that’s automatically the first person I gravitate to, I suppose because of the familiarity. If I ever had a daughter, I could name her Jennifer and honor a couple dozen friends all at once.

I can remember wishing I’d been named Jennifer so I would fit in better. My mom tried to explain to me that while she thought it was a pretty name, she had named me otherwise in the hopes of me standing apart from the crowd. By no means did she give me a trendy name; in fact, it’s traditional with a Biblical origin. But that didn’t sit well with me at age 8. I wanted to be in the club. Being a Jennifer was like knowing the secret handshake, there was automatic inclusion. Between first and sixth grades I never met another girl with my same first name. There were only 3 of us in my graduating class of over 600. But how many Jennifers? I can name 11 right off the bat and 5 more who moved away before graduation.

A musician named Mike Doughty wrote a song called “27 Jennifers,” with the line, “I went to school with 27 Jennifers, 16 Jenns, 10 Jennies….” Yeah, no kidding, man. There was a time I could differentiate my Jennifers by their surname initials, but that quickly became outdated when I realized I knew 3 Jen Bs, 3 Jen Ms, and 2 Jenny Ms. I knew who I was talking about, why couldn’t everybody just figure it out? No, no, too easy to accidentally start rumors about the wrong person, I learned that one the hard way. Incidentally, in all my years and in all my acquaintances, never once have I met someone in my demographic who was a real-live Jen X.

We laugh nowadays about all the little old ladies with their antiquated names like Beulah and Agatha. Fifty years from now, teenagers will be laughing at Granny Jennifer and all her Jen friends meeting up to play shuffleboard at the retirement center. Those girls will have trendy names we’ve probably never even heard of yet, possibly spurred on by a movie character yet to be written. But think how easy it will be to find a friend then; we’ll only have to wander down the halls of Shady Palms Living calling out “Jennifer?” and chances are, 5 new friends will call back, “right here!” We’ll all be half-demented, nobody will know the difference.