My weekend was Friday and Saturday. On Friday, my parents drove us down to Monterey, where we attended the wedding of my neighbors. (It was a really pretty ceremony, in which the role of "flower girl" was played by the couple's dog, who had the basket attached to her collar.) After the reception, we retired to our Mission-style hotel room (in which nearly every flat surface was covered with red tile) to play a bit of Hanabi.
After breakfast at the hotel Saturday morning (at which I found that--not unexpectedly--vanilla yogurt really doesn't make a good substitute for mayonnaise), we went for a drive down to Big Sur and spent some time looking out at the ocean. On our way back, we stopped briefly in Carmel, where we shopped at a toy store and a cheese store.
As we were returning, we were curious about all the traffic headed in the opposite direction, so we turned on the radio to find out if there were some kind of event or festival going on to attract so many travelers. That's when we heard the news about the plane crash on the runway at SFO that morning. I am really grateful that I wasn't at work when it happened, though I am a bit concerned about how it will impact the airport today.