Just keep it off the garage floor

My BF was a great guy. We were both each other's "firsts" and as a result of that, we very much liked to experiment with that activity. A lot.

The first time we were "caught," my mother said something to me in the deli line at the local grocery store. I lived in the barn at that time, and didn't really see my parent's all that much! This was during the summer and I had a full-time job at the same place as BF. We had sex pretty much every morning after he finished his cooking shift in a small, dirty and gross room over the kitchen. No one ever thought to look for us there!

But we also had sex in the barn. A lot.

So when I bumped into my mother at the grocery store, I did not expect her to say, "I found your condom on the garage floor this morning."

Geesh.

First off, what was it doing on the garage floor? (Later I would investigate and realize that it slipped between the floor boards and fell there.) You can imagine who got in trouble for that! (Take your damn condoms off and don't throw them on the floor, got it?) How embarrassing to have to deal with this conversation in the damned deli line at the supermarket. Okay mom. Fine. It won't happen again.

It was used. She said.

Yes, I know. Please just order your damn ham!

We stood there in silence for a while. And then I remembered the good news! Oh, I told her, I am going to go on the pill. I just have to get down to Concord to pick up the prescription.

Not really the information she was looking for! Hey, listen, mom, other mother's out there that think your children aren't having sex. You pick up the phone, make an appointment, and you can have birth control pills almost immediately. Should you consult with your mother first? Never occurred to me, but maybe she would have had an easier time with her shopping list that day if she hadn't had to check off: talk to Lisa about used condom found on garage floor.

I don't know. In my mind, she just wasn't paying attention. What did she think I was doing when I went to visit BF at his school for the entire weekend? Well, let me tell you, we were seeking out the cheapest hotel rooms we could find and using them, liberally. I could write a manual on how to have sex on the cheap in northern Mass. Or, where to go "parking" in the town I currently live in!

Yeah. To this day when I walk my "loop," I go by three places that we regularly parked the car on the way to and from our houses. Dark back roads. Do kids even do that anymore? Hell, with these SUV's -- it would be sheer luxury. I am talking compact cars in my time! And not for one second did it stop us!

Not even the time his parent's sat us down at the kitchen table and said that they had found condoms in his backpack. (Could you NOT think of a better place to hide them I yelled at him later!) What was it with this guy and leaving his condoms all over the place? You can understand my urgency to get on birth control HE wasn't in charge of!

So yeah. Two teenagers sitting at the kitchen table, the sun streaming through the windows, wondering what was going to come out of the mouths of these rather conservative and NOT laid-back people.

Not that, let me tell you. They then launched into a whole long blah blah blah about pregnancy and STD's that convinced us, as we ran out of that house, that we would NEVER have sex again. Nope. Too dangerous. We didn't even make it past our second favorite parking spot before we were ripping each other's clothes off. You know. To have sex for the last time.

Here's the thing. The entire experience drew us even closer. The horror of that conversation bonded us! I can vividly recall standing in the yard just staring at each other! How would we face those people again! Together, that is how! We were united in our badness -- in high risk this and that. We could even ::::gasp::::: TOTALLY RUIN OUR LIVES!

How cool was that?

From Here to Eternity

My meditations of late have been like strolling down memory lane. Each one seems to dwell on a certain segment of my past, and then I am left thinking about it for the next few days. Which then leads me to different conclusions based on the same event.

Such as?

Well, when I was a junior and senior in high school, I entered my first serious relationship. I was absolutely in love, no doubt about it. How did I know? Because one day I was in the check-out line at the local grocery store and I happened to see someone weaving through the cars in the parking lot. All I could think was, wow, that guy is so cute! And then when he came into full view, I realized it was my boyfriend! All these things happened ... my stomach zipped around and my entire body tingled and I just smiled and smiled. That is love, right?

So at 17 and 18 I was determined to have it all. You know, the never-ending love story replete with all the perfect scenes from all the great movies of all time.

From Here to Eternity ... the waves crash upon them ... I couldn't live another day until I had recreated this.

So for my birthday I arranged for just this to happen. When you turn 18, you should do special things, right? So we booked a hotel on the beach and BF was more than happy to comply.But there were a few details. One, my birthday is at the end of May. In N.H. that tends to be cold. But who cares, right? That was not going to stop me, absolutely not. We checked into our hotel and it was the only thing I could think about ... let's go already! We headed out to the beach and there was another small detail I hadn't considered. Other people. Were we actually going to throw ourselves down on the beach and start making out with an audience?

No. We weren't. We strolled the beach, hand in hand, and I thought, okay, this is good! This is nice. Then BF got cold. Did I want to go back to the hotel room? You know, there was a bed there. A bed! I did not want to use a bed! How tacky. We needed to DO IT ON THE BEACH. Okay, he rolled his eyes. Fine. It's your birthday.

That's right! It was my birthday! It was my party and I'd do what I wanted to. Eventually we returned to the room to take hot showers ... because we were freezing. Traipsing about in a bikini in 60-degree weather after the sun goes down is ... chilly. But ... the good news was that it was growing dark! So the bathing suits were gone, but the beach was still there, and no, there wasn't a full moon, but the beach was still there!

I dragged reluctant BF down to the beach and tried to get him to run in the water. He was a willing participant and the next thing you know, we were wet. And cold. This needed to take place, and take place FAST before we got hypothermia.

I compromised and laid down in the softer sand away from the water, and instructed BF to ravage me as only women are ravaged in the movies.

Okay, here are a few things you DO NOT see in the movies. Sand. Sand everywhere, in all crevices, surfaces and parts of your body. Sand hurts. Soon we were eating sand as the breeze picked up. As things progressed, it became obvious to me that if things continued, it might be possible I would be ruined for life. I gave up.

"You know," my BF said, relief written all over his face as we ran (at last, we were running!) towards the hotel. "Movies are fake. They don't even really kiss."

I stopped and panted from the exertion of running, bent over and spit some last remaining grains of sand from my mouth. "What? What are you saying?"

"It's all fake," he insisted, nonchalant. Not the least bit concerned with the knowledge of this.

"How do you know?"

He shrugged. "I took a class, they never actually have sex and they don't even really kiss. They just put their lips together and then move their heads back and forth. Did you really think they kissed?"

Damn right I did! As I stood there, covered in sand and freezing, it seemed as though my romantic vision of the world came crashing down upon me. What I had wanted: the most romantic night of my life! Had turned into one of the greatest disappointments -- upon discovering that all those movies were FAKE!

What about Gone with the Wind, I asked.

What about it?

Fake?

He laughed. "It was a movie, Lisa. You get that, right?"

I will admit it, here and now. I was a very naive 18-year-old. I had grown up, as the last blog hinted, amongst horses, not boyfriends. I buried myself in bodice ripper novels -- I dreamed about being ravaged as though that was all any girl wanted. Yes, I got that they were books and movies, but didn't they portray real life?

At all?

We returned to the room and showered (again!) and then shivering because we were cold to the bone, we climbed under the covers and tried to get warm. The TV was on and BF began watching that.

Ahem, I politely coughed. Weren't we DOING something? But did he really have a chance in hell? How do you please someone who thinks that the fake part is really the meat of the event?

Later I went out on the beach and sat there and tried to get it all into perspective. BF came and sat down next to me and apologized.

For what, I asked.

For not making you happy.

Hmmmm. I wasn't unhappy. I was perplexed. We held hands and sat there, listening to the waves crash upon the beach, and before we froze again, I felt something along the lines of what the movies and books portrayed: Except mine wasn't fake.

Once upon a time there was a horse ...

When I picked up Charlie from school last night, I went by a field where there were two horses, and something had apparently just scared them, because they were running around with their ears pinned back and sort of bucking, hopping and running all at the same time.

It was like they served as a door to all the memories I have of having horses. The one closest to me also looked like my horse. And I wondered, could it still be alive? I can't for the life of me even remember how old he was when we got him. Not that old, I don't think, and they can live upwards of 30 years. But it's been longer than 30 years since I've had him. So he's probably no longer driving someone insane.

Because seriously, that is all he ever did to me!

But that's not true, of course. All stories have different facets, and while Tuppy (he was a registered appaloosa and his full name was Medicine Boy's Tuppence) was certainly one of the most challenging horses in the universe, he provided me with a great number of wonderful times (to say the least) but as I watch my son, who is the age I was when it was all about horses for me, it was certainly a much better way to while away the hours than say FACEBOOK is, spending hours exchanging innate sentences with a girl.

To have a horse means you have to work. If you are going to show that horse, then you have to ride them constantly to get ready. Winters were sort of lackadaisical because I rode in an indoor ring to keep in shape, but dear Tuppy just hung around in his barnyard pooping. Yes, that is pretty much all he did. I would shovel out paths for him to walk around said barnyard, and he would poop in them. Then I would go shovel that poop up and throw it over the fence. And I would clean out his stall, often using a pick to chop at the frozen pee in the corner. Oh yes, good times.

He would also become quite hornery if left in his stall for too long. But that was all year long -- not just winter! As I became older and found more exciting things to do than stay home and take care of my horse (or as puberty hit me full bore and I had to struggle to wake up in the morning) I would wake to him knocking about in his stall. I had a bedroom behind the garage of our house, which was right next to the barn. I could hear him snorting and snuffling and when he'd start kicking the walls, I knew I had to get out there.

It was scary. He was not in a good mood at these times, so the first thing I would do would be to open up the top door of the stall. The barn itself was built as two stalls that opened up onto the barn yard. There was a space inside between the stalls where the grain and hay were kept (and the saddle, shavings, etc.) but you had to reach it via one of the stall doors, which meant, if there were two horses in residence, you had to deal with a horse to get inside.

Okay, so I would open up the top door and then run away as his head would come flying out. He had a mad glint in his eye at these times, and if memory serves me correctly, he bared his teeth and growled. Yeah, he was the DEVIL HORSE.

He always did this thing where he would spin around in his stall after he'd thrust his head out, and as soon as his butt was facing me, I would open up the door and smash it against the wall of the barn, pinning myself behind it. I am pretty sure I screamed too, because it was gawdawful scary wondering if this would be the day your horse would eat you.

He would spin around and charge out like the barn was on fire, and I would fly into the stall, slamming the door behind me. It was all of about 10 seconds before his head would be hanging back in the stall, smoke breathing from his flared nostrils, and I would cower for a moment in the safe space in the middle of the barn, shaking from the exertion of trying to stay alive.

I would throw out a sliver of hay and he would go for that, while I poured the grain in his bowl. Then I would open the stall door and run back to my safety spot inside, panting. He would nose open the door and stride in, master of the barn, and go to the grain and start inhaling it. While he was doing that, I would go fill the buckets outside with water, and as soon as he came out for a drink, I'd fill the one inside. Depend

ing on his manner, I might or might not give him a pat. Moody beast of a gelding he was.

Then I would go back to bed. Of course, Tuppy wasn't happy -- because the barnyard corral was just dirt. In the months where it made sense, I would put him into another pasture so he could graze. But that meant more water, blah blah blah, so I would wait until later (you know, while I caught up on my sleep!) Sometimes my mother would do it, but not always. I felt quite the slave to that beast in the backyard, I truly did.

But ... we had some good times. He was my boyfriend, after all! Because believe me, he was quite demanding of my time and attention. One of my favorite memories is when I would go out and clean the stall in that time of night where it is still warm after a nice day of sunshine, but it is cooling down and the crickets are starting to chirp.

I would put on the radio and sing as loud as I could as I shoveled manure into a wheelbarrow, then after that chore was done and the stall was fresh and sweet smelling with a new bed of shavings, I would invite Tuppy to jo

in me, and I would climb up on to his bareback and just hang, singing along with the radio and pretending we were dancing at times. And if he wasn't in the mood, the rake was a perfect dance partner too! You haven't lived until you've slow danced in a stall with a rake.

Now horse shows are a whole 'nother story, and since I just spent the better part of an hour searching for these photos, I will have to save that for another time.

But here I am with a horse named, interestingly enough, Charlie. This horse was the most docile beast on the planet, unless another horse decided to get in front of him. Then watch out! He could take off like a bullet and run ... well, like I said, another time! I could tell horse stories all day.

But like I did to poor Tuppy, I am going to leave you pawing at the stable door ... just waiting.

And waiting!

Meandering thoughts

I've read through the health care reform act and because I am not a huge user of health care to begin with, I don't see how it will benefit my family personally since the only thing to go into affect immediately is that insurance companies can no longer ban people with existing conditions.

And isn't that good?

I also don't see how it will affect my family negatively either -- as a small company owner, insurance coverage is astronomical -- and that's not for any cadillac plan. The issue of the cost of insurance has been a problem (in terms of affordability) my entire adult life, and the current system was not going to lower those rates any time soon. The unknown is sometimes better than the known, right?

I am just happy to see SOME type of movement in Washington and Obama needed some kind of positive thing to happen for him -- he lives in a shit storm NOT of his making, and I just can't imagine what it would be like to try to get change rolling in such a back-ass system of Just Say NO because We are of THIS party and they aren't.

Bleh.

I don't feel as though this touches me (or my children) because they are being raised to believe that they are personally responsible for their own health. And the care of it. And that starts with living a healthy life and eating healthy and organic foods and staying in shape and using alternative methods with which to maintain a healthy immune system.

And as long as you have a certain income, you will always have access to the health care options you desire. Money does indeed buy a lot. The government hasn't changed that ... yet! Though they might have to since their current monetary system is all but worthless. Hope there is gold in them thar hills!!!!

The government is a huge machine that moves in a turtle like fashion as it goes about its business. No, I don't think this is a positive thing in terms of this huge change that will change people's lives instantly. In fact, I don't have a very strong opinion of it one way or another, which must mean it's not all that monumental. It is just an illusion.

Last night I happened upon this show Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution, or something like that, and this poor guy is trying to create healthy food and serve it to kids in school. First he has to deal with some government bureaucrat who tells him that his meals must be broken down into X amounts of bread, X amounts of protein, etc. and then he meets the lunch ladies, who use their can openers and that's it. They are serving pizza (oh, don't you just remember the cardboard pizza of school lunch days?) and he makes marinated chicken drumsticks, rice and a salad. As he helps one of the lunch ladies make salad dressing, he asks her if she has ever made it before. "Not here," she says.

Then the children can choose between pizza and chicken. Geesh. Which ones do you think they chose? We already know that children make poor choices just because they can. This isn't Jamie Oliver's fault; he was just trying to be courteous with the system. Why? The system doesn't even know what that word means. He is accused, when he presents his beautiful and colorful plate (against the pizza bland plate) of not having two servings of bread. He can't believe it! But the lunch ladies say that the pizza dough is two servings of bread. He has rice on his plate, but that doesn't count!

Welcome to the government lunch plan! Where Reagan declared ketchup a vegetable.

I felt so bad for the guy I was in tears. Because I know how he feels. I know what he is trying to do, but he is trying too big. You can't use children as your method of change because they just won't go home and beg for healthy food. I am not saying I have any answers -- but it's a tough, tough job to try to change people's minds.

He did empty out the refrigerator and freezer of this family who lived on crap. C R A P. And he piled it all on the table so that it looked like it was -- pure garbage. The woman saw nothing wrong with it in the packaging; she saw nothing wrong with it individually, but when he heaped frozen pizza upon corn dogs upon nachos and chicken fingers -- he asked her, now can you see that you only eat brown food? Garbage in, garbage out. Then he took the family out and they buried their fry-a-lator.

One family at a time, perhaps? This was a family all headed toward type-3 diabetes, and undoubtedly candidates for this new health care reform package.

But maybe they won't need it. Maybe they will eat healthy food and all of their health care concerns will dry up.

If you don't like a certain system and believe that it is bad. Then don't rely on it. There is an enormous amount of freedom in constantly striving to be self-sufficient. Not realistic to many people, no. But truly I believe it is our future.

Skiing, continued

Oh! Oh! oh!

Or should I say OUCH!

I woke up this morning with every muscle in my body aching. EVERY. Single. one.

I think even my nose ached. And the hairs on my head.

But. It was a ski day.

So off we went, and we were first on the slopes. And we skied.

And skied.

and Skied.

and skied.

OUCH.

Ouch,

OUCHO!

Every time we tried to quit, due to the fact that our bodies were no longer capable of supporting this crazy habit, we would go down a trail and the combination of the snow, the blue skies, the overall SPRING SKIING EXPERIENCE, would cause us to go for another one.

And another.

And another.

Until we cried UNCLE!

I am sitting here and almost relishing the fact that my butt muscles hurt; my calves are screaming and (well that's really all, the rest of the body is cool) because I EARNED every single bit of it. I skied like I have always skied -- uninhibited and in pure joy -- and then we basked in the sun on "BBQ Beach."

And on the drive home, as visions of sleeping late ran through my head, and perhaps reclaiming my body before all this ache, in the hot tub, Maddie said she wanted to ski tomorrow. And I just looked at the forecast, and it's not supposed to rain until later.

Shall I?

I think I shall!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Gawd, I love to ski

Ski day!

OH! OH! OH!~

What an AMAZING and fantastic ski day today. We were on the slopes by 9:00 and the sun was shining and the conditions were amazing.

And we skied.

And skied.

And skied.

And skied.

Finally at about 11:45 I had to go in for a bathroom break; but we made it quick because we were SO AFRAID that the conditions would get worse. As each hour passed, it got mushier and mushier, but it was still so awesome!

Yes, AWESOME!

Then the legs started to go. As we plowed through mashed potatoes, it was obvious that it was either carry on and risk serious injury, or go for lunch and a beer.

At quarter of two, that is what we did. And sat out on the deck and basked in more sun.

I am so impressed with the fact that I haven't skied for a month, but was able to maintain crazy fast speeds right until the last run. I attribute it to the long walks on the beach, but most especially to the BIKE RIDING! Woo hoo, if that isn't a tribute to cross training I don't know what it is! My legs held up like champs. I skied as though I have been skiing every day since I left.

What a great, great day. I would rather have been where I was all day, then on the beach. Seriously.

Everyone once in a while you have to be reminded why you live somewhere.

Today it was loud and clear!

Over and out!

We, the People

On the ride home today I was listening to Rosie Radio on satellite and she was interviewing Jesse Ventura, former governor of Minnesota and who has recently written a book on conspiracy theories.

Come to mamma. That is right up my alley. Love, love, love conspiracy theories -- they play right into my love of hatin' the man and my sure fire belief that greed outwits love any day.

So, they were discussing the 9/11 conspiracy theory which centers around the notion that steel can not burn or melt or whatever it did just with a little jet fuel alone. It needed massive amounts of assistance, and the theory is that the twin towers were rigged with explosives that took them down. I've always had a niggling feeling that they way they went down was suspicious, and so I lapped up the conspiracy theory with great relish. Also, the REASON that the U.S. would take such measures is that in the Project for the New American Century, we (as in We, the People) would not agree to a war unless something big happened on U.S. soil -- something really big, Pearl Harbor big. (It is also theorized that the U.S. lowered their guard and ignored all threats so that those threats could take place.)

Hmmmmm. As in things that make you go hmmmmm. But I don't want to get into this argument or discussion -- it doesn't matter. One thing our government is REALLY REALLY good at is lying, and once you lie once, you need to cover that lie up and so on. So there really is no truth at this point and time. There just is. I do not have the slightest doubt in my mind that a whole lot of scary shit has been going down through the years, and I find it interesting that I was just standing in Thomas Jefferson's home two days ago, and I'll tell you right now, I wasn't feeling it. He was so not there. Thomas Jefferson has checked out. He has rolled over in his grave so many times he is 30 feet under.

And why is that? Because everything he believed in, and all that he worked for, has been compromised and obscured by such things as the Patriot Act. And the media no longer stands as the watch dog of society -- it is the lap dog of whomever holds the purse strings. It fetches only for those that throw it a bone.

As a result, we have no fricking idea of what is really going on in this country. I just pulled up the coverage of the rally in Washington, D.C. that we happened to run into yesterday. It was crazy repetitive, considering there were SO MANY camera people and photographers. Why do they come? They aren't doing anything. Are they just ordered to go? It wasn't news AT ALL. It was a seriously pathetically small gathering of people with home made signs, but all the camera shots were short, so that the actual size of the crowd was impossible to tell. I will tell you. It was a pathetic showing of outraged people. But no one reported that.

Also, there was a HUGE response in terms of security in that they closed down roads and there were bomb sniffing dogs all over the place. Why? You telling me our intelligence departments can't figure out how many people are going to show up at a rally? If not, then let that give you an idea of how SAFE we are.

And my other blog yesterday I mentioned feeling uneasy. I thought about this quite a lot today; and here is what I think. I felt like I was in another country. A dictatorship -- where We, the People have no rights, or freedoms and we are just a wrong look away from being thrown into the pokey. I FELT THIS in my bones, and now I know that is why. The security detail do not interact with you; they pretend you don't exist. Why? At 8:30 in the morning there was NO ONE around. If these guys can't ascertain that my son and I are probably not high risk then they aren't that good at their jobs. Oh, EVERYONE is a high risk. Really? Why? Because WHO said so?

It's fucked up. It's TOTALLY FUBAR and you might ask yourself someday why I never put tags on any of my blogs. I will tell you why -- because ALL things on the internet are watched and all things on the internet are fed into programs that flag certain words. Oh, I don't censor myself -- and I don't think that I am on any watch list .... yet. But there are no freedoms, only the sense of it.

Of course you sound like you are a total paranoid psycho when you start saying such things. And for the most part I try to tamp down that part of me that KNOWS ... KNOWS ... KNOWS, because it then fuels a complete sense of inadequacy because there is NOTHING I can do. I can't even convince people that the public schools are killing their children (if not physically, then spiritually) and often they even agree. But they don't DO anything about it.

So what do you do?

I don't know. Been asking myself that my whole life.

I just spent the last month on the soil where slaves spent their entire lives as slaves. I toured ruins of plantations; I learned how forward-thinking Thomas Jefferson was (and yeah for him, he was obviously in love with a slave and fathered (ahem, allegedly) many children with her). I also read about the Revolutionary War, and the Civil War -- and we passed through the fields of those crazy battles where brothers fought against each other.

And what is different? Are we not slaves to junk food and technology and shitty education and out of control consumerism ... and a list of afflictions that begin with ADHD and end in Z? I stood at the edge of a garden in Monticello and I said to Charlie that these slaves had a better view than the majority of the free American population do today. There is a peace unattainable in no other part of the world than the top of a mountain -- and they had it every day. They weren't free, true.

But are we?

Road block

Oye, what a day.

We were in our car, along with all the other people in their cars headed into D.C. to work, bright and early. The cheapest parking I could find was in a garage near Union Station. I parked and then we went into a stairwell that said it would open on the street. Uh. No. It didn't open ANYWHERE. All the doors closed and locked behind us. We were stuck like lab rats in a stairwell. It was a bit freaky, and then a guy came out of one of the doors and I pounced on him. He was SO UNSURE of what to do (seriously, no one has ever been trapped in the freaky stair well before this?) and he kept looking over his shoulder like I was going to jump him.

What the hell. He finally found a door he felt comfortable letting us in -- and I happened to glance at the ID around his neck. Siemens. Ahh yes, super duper confidential government work. Where suburban moms and their teenage sons come to spy.

The door we were let out of was creepy scary. A bunch of people hanging by it smoking, all a bit leering and wondering what the hell we were doing. Getting the hell out of dodge!

So we were sitting on Capitol Hill by 8:30, and I was humming "I'm just a bill, yes I'm only a bill, and I am sitting here on Capital Hill." But back in the School House Rock days, there weren't secret service agents with AK rifles (that is what Charlie said they were, all I know is they were scary guns) and all of these chains and fences keeping you from getting near anything. I didn't like it.

Not one bit.

In fact, the entire time we were there, despite pristine blue skies and the sun shining down, I felt uneasy. There was a rally forming in one of the parks, and Charlie and I skirted it to check it out. It was about the health care bill and it was very anti-Obama. A young man and woman in their early 20's were approaching people and handing out a piece of paper that would buy them a free meal in return for their lesson on how to become an effective activist. The young man approached me and asked me if I would like to join their conservative effort ... and I stopped him and said that he lost me at conservative. The cop on a bike nearby chuckled but then gave me a good once-over look.

Seriously.

There is no joy in Washington, D.C. It's not a place I felt I needed to be.

After we went to the Air and Space museum, which Charlie loved, I was happy to get the heck out of dodge.

My intent was to hit the highway and get a few hours in so that the ride tomorrow wouldn't be so long. We left around 2:00 and proceeded to drive for four hours. Not because that was my intent, but because the next thing I knew I was headed into NYC at rush hour and did not want to pay a fortune to stay in a city I didn't want to be in! So we kept going. And going and going, because suddenly I was not in a get-off-the-highway-easily friendly area. Geesh.

I was getting weary and the traffic was getting worse. Then it was getting really bad, and so I pulled off the next exit and into the parking lot of the first hotel. It seemed like a huge party was going on, there were tons of people in the parking lot and so crowded. I went in and they said they had no rooms.

Seriously?

So then I went to a ginormous Marriott further down the road, and THEY had no rooms. What was going on, I asked the clerk behind the desk, and he explained that no one in the area had any power. All rooms had been taken since Saturday.

Seriously?

I mean, there was a slight clue. On the highway we had passed close to 50 power trucks from Georgia. But I was so tired!

We got the last room at a Holiday Inn (in Stamford, Ct.) and the long day came crashing down around me. I poured myself a glass of wine (a staple when traveling) and decided that room service was in order because I didn't think I could walk downstairs! We had walked all over the city -- once we considered getting a cab, but it was such a nice day! Couple that with sitting in a car NONSTOP for five hours, and, well, it can catch up.

I was caught.

So tomorrow my month-long oddessy will be done. I will miss it.

Highway ramblings

There is an ease in traveling with a GPS system in that you just punch in an address and go. But on the other hand, you need an address.



Last night we were in Richmond, Va. and we were headed to Monticello. I had that address, but I didn't have one beyond that. I mean, I could always punch in home and just head in that direction, but we wanted to check out D.C. But you can't just punch in Washington, D.C. because then you are just stuck at the edge of town feeling like a fool.



You need a concrete address.



The best way to accomplish this is to have a hotel to direct yourself towards. Except that last night at 9:00 I couldn't find one under $400. Screw that.



I went to bed thinking I'd deal with it in the morning. Great. I woke up this morning not too happy to have to go through the rigamarole. And rigamarole it is. First I seek out cheap hotels in said area. Then I find names and then I go to Tripadvisor.com and read the reviews. Then I go to half a dozen different places looking for the best price. This is for one hotel. Only to find out is full. Or $569 for one night, not including tax.



What a pain. One hotel after another -- scribbled down on a sheet of paper, crossed out, starred, seek, search and repeat.



Bleh.



Tonight was a wine night. Meaning, I found my hotel, after trekking through downtown D.C. at rush hour (well, it wasn't hideous, but it was going on 5:00 and seriously, what the hell was I doing?) and parking in a garage that barely fit my beast of a car, hauling up stuff to said room and plunking it all down and struggling with the screw cap of a very expensive bottle of wine. Good bottle though, halfway through and I was feeling fine. Red teeth and all.



Anyway, it occurred to me hours later that I had no definitive plan for tomorrow. I could just plug in my home address, but I have some other ideas. Which requires more research.



Bleh.



Being organized is and isn't my thing. I can go either way; but there are times when I realize that a simple address is going to make my life a whole hell of a lot easier.



I do love to travel. Everyone I knew kept saying Do NOT go through Washington, D.C.



Why not? I didn't find it that hard. Ahhh, true, I messed up on one traffic circle, but the wonder of those buggers is that you can keep going round until you get off. Love that. Love driving by all the sights and taking pictures (yeah, while driving!!!!) and getting my city driving groove on. I have a big car and don't mess with me. I am no country mouse wimp, oh no sireeeeeeeee. I will u-turn anywhere and I do not blush when I need to get in the right lane at the last minute. Nope. I have driven in just about every type of condition imaginable; snowstorm; wrong side of the road; city driving galore, small, winding country roads, straight down hills of ice. I have no fear.



This may not be a good thing, but it is what it is.



It's a good feeling to know that I can drive anywhere; and it's a lot easier with a GPS system, even if I have to prepare the night before. Tonight I am trying to figure out if I want to make a straight shot home on Wednesday or make some more stops. I really enjoy being on the road.

A lot.

Beach ramblings

I love to take pictures. Yesterday evening I had the opportunity to take advantage of the sweet sunset light and I took loads of pictures of these birds. I was patient. I was persistent. And I was able to get really close to these birds as they went about their frantic task of pecking at the sand feeding on whatever it is they eat as the tide goes out. I have taken my daily walk half a dozen times at this time and would think to myself, IF ONLY I HAD A CAMERA. What is so special is that their little white bellies shine in the last remnants of sunshine and the water reflects the pink hues. It is so special and beautiful and I am humbled to be able to witness it night after night. This picture is merely a taste of what I have captured.

In addition to birds at sunset, I have enjoyed being on the beach with Charlie. He is so diligent in his sand castle building -- he patiently builds them and slowly carves away the sand, grain by grain, to create bridges that span between his castle creations. I was especially impressed when I returned from my stalking of the birds to find him entertaining a three-year-old and her mom, who explained that he had been more than happy to share his sand toys with his daughter. As the mom and I engaged in conversation, the little girl slowly but deliberately began to dismantle his master piece. And he was good natured and laughing as she did so. I thought to myself, what a good kid. By the time the sun had set good and solid, the little girl and Charlie had managed to decimate the sand castle and he even let her help him stow away the sand toys in the bag. She was so proud of herself, and he complimented her on her helpfulness. What a guy.

Earlier in the day we had biked around and had climbed up the 114 stairs of a "light house," and I put this in quotes because it was there purely as a tourist trap. You pay $3 and you get to climb it. Fine. And you first get to a gift shop on top!

It screams tourist trap, but it also gives you a bit of a view. As someone who enjoys climbing mountains, it reminded me how long it has been since I have been up! This is low country, and while I love being here. I also miss a good view from the tippity top.

This was definitely a treat. It was also fun to have time to spend with Charlie much along the same lines of the quality time that I spent with Hallie earlier in the stay. They are both good natured and willing to hang with their mom, and it's something that we will always have.

This is an alligator, as you can surely see, but it was an alligator that was very close to me! This area is well-known for its alligator population, but it is still a bit of a surprise to find them so close to, well, to where you are! This guy was right on the bike path ... just a few feet from where we would have rolled right by, except that we saw him. And I seemed to think it was fine to take his picture. I told Charlie to keep a close eye on him, and if he seemed to make the slightest move other than the eye blink we kept seeing, to yell and I would hop on my bike and get the hell out of there. Doesn't he seem to be thinking "sure take my picture, I'll eat you later?" My brother kept insisting that he was fake. But he was not, I assure you. And besides, isn't it crocodiles you have to worry about? Yes, I am sure it is crocodiles. Alligators are harmless.

This is the damn sunset that gets me up every m0rning. I have no idea why -- especially considering it is 12:30 right now and I am wide awake, but no matter what time I go to sleep, I wake up right before the sun is ready to rise. Some mornings, like this one, I have to get up and take pictures. They are so fricking beautiful I can't stand it. This morning I walked the beach shortly after the sun rose and the light is incredible. Between the pelicans humming by and the piping plovers scurrying about, the gentle lapping of the waves and the occasional sand dollar peeping out of the moist sand, I feel as though I have gone to heaven.

And look at that sunrise.

Would you argue?

Somewhere between the sun and the moon

Today I asked myself which I prefer more -- the mountains or the ocean. Last year at this time I was in Sedona, Arizona and it was an entirely different experience. I had gone to Sedona with a different purpose than I did this year; how I would explain that purpose I am not sure -- all I knew was that I was searching for something. I went on a spiritual retreat and engaged in something called journey work.

I think in Manhattan they call it therapy, but in the mountains of Sedona it is so much more chic to call it something else! Either way, the end result is the same. You think. Which, after more time thinking I realized you don't really want to be thinking at all.

So ... a year later it is interesting to me to see how different I am in terms of where I am (and not geographically speaking.) As I sat outside listening to the ocean and the birds chirping, I realized I was getting a little chilly. I then flashed back to last year, sitting out in the back yard of the house in Sedona, always dragging the chair to whatever corner of the back yard had the most sun, and laughed at what I was reading back then versus what I am reading now.

Last year it was so much more serious business. This year I am reading Diana Gabaldon's latest -- which is a three-inch thick hard cover and then I am listening to a "bodice ripper" novel on my iPod when I walk the beach. Total immersion in "smut" versus seeking answers.

Do I have all the answers now, a year later? Well, no. I don't think so, but I am in such a different place (and not geographically speaking!)

Which is really, really, really cool if you think about it. One thing that sort of freaks me out is the thought of stagnation -- I want to always be constantly evolving, constantly growing, always moving from point A to point B. I don't think that at any point in my life I could be so confident that true growth has actually happened than between last year and this year. When I returned from Sedona last year it was very hard -- I had a hard time melding back into my life because I wasn't sure that that is where I wanted to be. When you go out seeking answers to your questions, you don't always find any sort of peace. I didn't find ANY sort of peace last year. It was hugely about seeking, seeking, looking, wanting, asking, wondering, feeling, not feeling, being, not being. It was a whirlwind. Not to mention that the entire time we were there, I never slept. Every time I went to sleep in my bedroom, I felt as though I was in a vortex. No, I was in a vortex. The room spun and threw me around in dreams and whatever and I never had a full night's sleep. I often woke up feeling as though I never had any sleep at all.

Every night I sleep like a log here. Right from the get-go. I am so happy to lay in bed and stare out through the screen porch and see the moon over the ocean. Each morning I awake, as though I know I must, to the vision of the orange ball of sun rising. Actually, I usually wake up before that; and to see the pink of the sky before the sun rises is so amazing. I am struck by how exact a sunrise is to a sunset. Except in reverse! And yet, when the sun rises it looks exactly as it does before it sets. It is a huge orange ball on the horizon -- and you can't do anything but stare at it. And you stare, and realize bad things happen when you stare at a sun ball, and then before you know it, it becomes a normal yellow ball and the magic is gone.

This morning I went out to the beach to meditate. I did this because I was being pulled to do so. As I lay in bed with the sun pouring into my eyes, I could feel a pulsing in my body. I was being drawn there. I quickly pulled on some warm clothes, grabbed a warm jacket and a towel to sit on and went to the beach. Spectacular.

I found a spot and sat down indian-style and before I closed my eyes, I looked to the left to see the sun drifting upwards in the sky, and then I looked to my right, and saw the moon -- a little more than half of it in the same alignment as the sun.

Somewhere between the moon and the sun. That is where I was. It was where you would want to be. The gentle sound of the ocean before me, the wind gently blowing about and my body instinctively breathed with the wind and the retreat and unfolding of the waves as they licked toward me. Deep breath.

Anyway, as I sat by the pool and listened to the birds chirp, I thought about last year and sitting in the back yard in Sedona and listening to the birds chirp and it occurred to me what a difference a year makes.

I was more than happy to be sitting in that backyard last year, don't get me wrong. But I was even happier to be in this place at this time in this state of where I am, because whatever has changed within me over the course of a year is a good thing. It's a really good thing. Everything is different in terms of going someplace for a reason. The reason I went away this year was completely different from the reason I went away last year in terms of what it means to go away at all.

I have actually re-read all of these paragraphs and realize they sound a little bit repetitive and ... oh you know, maybe the writer has had a few beers? LOL

No big deal ... I will read this tomorrow and see what it says and if it's not here tomorrow after that then we will know that I changed my mind! Hahahahaha.

Cheers.

What a difference a day makes

No, seriously. Yesterday morning it was all sunshine and roses (well, a little early in the season for roses) and last night the sky was amazing with the near-full moon in the sky framed by palm trees.

I woke up to a lot of NOISE -- the waves are crashing on the beach -- big ones -- and the rain is pouring down. The birds are not chirping, they are yelling. Yes, birds yell. Listen some time. Chirping is akin to singing in the shower; what they are doing out there now is screaming "WHO STOLE MY UMBRELLA." Bird brains and all.

My brother and his entourage left Chicago yesterday at noon, and we were texting each other around midnight as they were driving through the mountains of Georgia and Tennessee (he said it was a winding road and the state kept changing ????) I finally said I needed to get to sleep because I envisioned they would arrive at dawn, loud and wired from being on the road for 18 hours. In fact, I dreamed as much, and the group was huge and arrived en masse and paraded around the living room for a bit and then insisted that we go out and see their caravan, which was like half a mile long and held together by rope, dragging boats, golf carts, trailers, you name it. I woke up to all the external crashing and went to go to the bathroom and noticed the other bedroom door was closed. Were they here?

They were, I looked and saw their vehicle in the driveway (no parade, just the only truck) and they came in quietly no less! I guess I didn't expect them to go directly to bed. Though I suppose you would be tired if you drove or rode shot gun. So that's a tad anti-climatic -- my rush for sleep not necessary for here I sit, the only one awake in a house full of people.

And so I blog.

The ocean has been very calm the entire time we have been here, which is now over a week, and I am enjoying watching the waves. I would love to go walk the beach, which I did for a few hours yesterday, but it is pouring out. And I am sure it is cold, though I don't care enough to check, perched as I am in my warm, cozy bed. It is hard to take pictures from indoors to out, but this sort of depicts my view. I am enjoying every minute of it -- can't imagine another place I would rather be right now. I don't mind that it's not hot and sunny -- I like a good rainy day every now and then. When the tide goes out later I am going to don my raincoat and walk, despite the wind and the weather.

Yesterday as I walked along the beach, I began to spot sand dollars. They are quite rampant in these here parts, but they are mostly kind of brown -- what they look like when they are in the stages of dying. So when I actually began to spot white ones, like the ones we find on beaches at home, I of course had to start collecting. Beach combing is one of my most favorite things to do; and while I prefer to scour for rocks, there isn't even the rogue pebble on this beach. It's actually quite devoid of anything "normal," like seaweed, shells, rocks, etc. There are sand dollars up the yin yang and a few shells, but that's it. Which is why the beach always looks like a desert at low tide. Just sand as far as the eye can see.

This is an interesting picture -- when Hallie and I were riding home, we saw this group walking in front of us. I commented to her that we should move further inland (so to speak) to avoid the "cowboys." I was sort of joking, but from a distance they looked quite odd, not menacing exactly, but certainly out of place. As we came closer, I realized they were three Amish teenagers. I am going to play with this picture when I get to my "real" computer, but it was kind of cool to see them. I wondered if they were on their journey where they go into the real world for a bit to see if that is where they want to go. It is referred to as "rumspringa" and begins when an adolescent turns 16. They can choose to wear non-traditional clothing, swear, have sex and drink, among things. And then they make the choice to be baptized within the Amish church, or not. These were definitely teenage boys, but they weren't trying to fit in by a long stretch! It is so crazy to think that there is a society that exists RIGHT HERE where they shun all things modern. I don't think they are right, or wrong, but it is certainly different.

And so ends another episode of ... as the waves turns!