Good Times Never Seem So Good (so good!)

Leavenworth, Washington, is a gorgeous Bavarian town nestled in the Cascade Mountains. With its delicious restaurants, authentic German pastries, cute little shops and cozy hotels, the town reeks of happiness. Unfortunately, for years, I associated it only with sadness.

Anyone who has ever had Depression knows how crippling it can be. You’re sad and you don’t know why. You can’t bring yourself to see anything but the damn glass half empty. Not only that, but there are physical symptoms as well. You’re tired all the time, you’ve got random aches and pains, you’ve got such little energy that you wonder if you’ve got some kind of chronic illness on top of everything else.

I used to go to Leavenworth with my mom every summer when I was in junior high and high school. It was fun and I sure appreciated what she was trying to do. But, without fail, everything that was going on in my life always caught up to me and I walked around with a cloud of gloom hanging over my head. I’m sure I wasn’t very pleasant company. I hope the good times I’ve had with my mom since have made up for my pissy teenage years.

But about nine years ago, I had a different experience in Leavenworth. My new boyfriend and I, both Shari’s employees, took a road trip from Yakima to Wenatchee to be a part of a new Shari’s training video. We were given the day off for it and thought it might be fun. But the closer we got, the more we realized what a drag it would be.

“I’ve got an idea,” said a very young Mr. W, wearing Wranglers and cowboy boots. “Want to blow this thing off and just go to Leavenworth?”

And we did. And it was awesome. We walked around the cute little shops, talking and laughing, and I found myself falling even harder for the boy.

“He looks just like Leonardo DiCaprio!” an old lady had shouted as we left a shop, pointing at Mr. W (who did, in fact, strongly resemble Leo at the time).

Then she pointed at me.

“You’re a lucky girl,” she said.

I smiled. It was the first time anyone had ever said that to me (about a boy). And even though our relationship was brand new, I knew in my heart that she was right.

As we left town that night, I told Mr. W of my bad luck with Leavenworth and how that day had been my first real happy memory of being there.

“Well, if this thing between us goes to shit, at least I gave you one good memory,” he’d said.

Every year, I had hopes of going back to Leavenworth for Oktoberfest. And every year, there were reasons why we couldn’t make it. This year, I decided to make it happen. There are a million reasons why we shouldn’t have, mostly financial, but screw it, right? You never know when you’ll never get another chance. So I booked us a VIP suite at the Enzian Inn, and we went.

What a difference nine years makes. We found ourselves more interested in wine tasting than beer guzzling and more about eating delicious Italian food (recommended by Carm) than bratwurst. And our suite was perfect for romance. There was a fireplace, a Jacuzzi tub, and I brought candles, music and a bottle of red wine. We were able to tune out the world, which between Twitter, Facebook, Gmail and the Blackberry, isn’t easy to do.

Mr. W had never slept in a bed with a European duvet.

“What is this thing, like a sleeping bag?” he asked after we turned the lights off. I heard rustling, a zipper, more rustling, and swearing. I finally turned the light on to what appeared to be my husband being eaten by a duvet. We laughed ourselves to sleep.

The next day we checked out the Oktoberfest celebration. After always promising my mother I wouldn’t tarnish the family name in such a manner, I had my first taste of boxed wine. I have tarnished the family name in many other ways, and besides, that’s all there was besides gross beer. That taste turned into four glasses and I found myself drunk by 5 pm. Mr. W and I sang “Sweet Caroline” with a German cover band, talked to a lot of people, and I danced with an old dude dressed up in Lederhosen. I also ran into an old friend from high school and made an ass of myself in typical Jessica fashion. We were back in our suite by 10 PM. Being a rock star is tough when you get old.

We headed home the next day, dehydrated but relaxed and smiling. As we lay in bed that night, Mr. W thanked me for planning such a great excursion and for being such a good wife.

I’m a lucky girl indeed.