Bachelorette Weekend Success Steps

I have scheduled myself in such a way that when I thought about the 600 miles between me and a girls beach weekend (i.e., fun), the solitary time in the car did not seem so bad. In fact, in an oddly bizarre way, it was longed for. Now, of course, when I use the phrase 'solitary time', we all know that meant about 14% solitary time as the rest of the miles were passed jabbering away with one companion or another. My unfortunate commuting situation has engendered quite a bit of recent anxiety behind the wheel, but this road trip would require keeping myself in check, so as not to ruin the official bachelorette weekend of H.C.O. With my 'to call' list, a book on tape, and my favorite weekly podcasts loaded on my iPod... I set sail for the forever clogged I-95... at 4:00 pm on a Friday.

And now for some advice on why the Jersey Shore qualifies as the best bachelorette weekend destination to date. (How was that for the worst transition?) 

1. Pick a bachelorette weekend destination that can be traveled by car. Now, I realize, this will not work for every bridal party. For this party, it did. The beach destination is so prime I'd go as far as to say in the event one needs to fly, the price of the plane tickets will be well worth it. When you don't fly, the overall cost of the weekend is tremendously minimized, allowing each individual breathing room when it comes to spending... and enhancing the potential for fun.
2. Settle on a new location spot. So, again, while I realize this could be difficult to achieve for certain parties,  there must be 'new locations' appealing to the majority. Since I had never done the Jersey Shore thing, this particular new destination was an added plus. If you've done this beach, pick one you haven't done. I imagine the results will be quite the same. Making memories in untrodden territory with new and old friends 'ices the cake' of any weekend. 
3. Search for a place with a good vibe. You can't always get culture when traveling stateside. In Seaside Heights, NJ we were offered just the right amount of character and attitude for the ridiculousness demanded by all things bachelorette. I'm not into the tiaras... and sashes... and penis this and that. I frankly find it all repulsive. But so goes the bachelorette class. I won't go as far as to say we fit in. Nevertheless, we were certainly in an environment where we didn't stand out. And that puts all at ease. 
4. Pick a place with a view to be admired. Lets face it: NO one feels great after the first night one out. So when your Saturday demands beach bumming, everyone can handle that. 
   
5. Choose a place where you can eat or not eat as each individual pleases. For us, this meant a boardwalk... with variety of food--albeit fried,... right beyond the beach... so there wasn’t a need to appease multiple appetites for breakfast then lunch simultaneously. There was feasting and fasting alike.
6. Find somewhere all budgets can agree upon. This is huge. Well, I guess, all my points are H-U-G-E... but this one in particular appeals to ladies in multiple weddings a year no where close to home on an entry level salary. In case you need a refresher course on what it's like to be in an entry level position, they don't pay well. They probably pay about what the position deserves... it's just seems leaps and bounds from the houses and lives our parents afford. Anyway, regardless of where you end up, you'll need lodging. And I find running water is preferable. So a cheap hotel or motel, or stuffed into a host's apartment, is usually where you'll end up... and also not likely the classiest joint. But when you're at the beach... who cares?! The room was merely a place for sleeping. (And showering!) Making the dumpy, tight quarters tolerable. 

There you have it. The many great qualities about last weekends bachelorette weekend destination.

Superstorm Sandy - 7 Months Later

There are so many voices on the internet and I know mine is not among the powerful. This is why I have a blog devoted to me and my life. And sometimes the happenings of my people. This is my area of subject matter expertise. But I was recently challenged to write about something beyond me. This isn’t to say I haven’t tried before; I have – countless times – following Hurricane Sandy, the shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary, the Boston Marathon bombings, etc. My words about ‘big world’ devastation feel void and far from cohesive, so I usually settle for not posting… and simply appreciating the process of processing. But, this weekend, I traveled to the Jersey Shore, specifically Seaside Heights, and gained a bit of perspective. For those of you unaware, Seaside Heights is home of the iconic Hurricane Sandy – ‘roller-coaster-in-the-Atlantic-Ocean’ – image. This weekend was about my friend H.C.O.; her bachelorette weekend brought me to New Jersey after all. But while celebrating, taunting me was the remaining damage and destruction surrounding us.

After only seven months, there was life on the reconstructed boardwalk. And the clubs came alive at night. To my eyes though, much seemed missing (or unavoidably still present). There were empty lots. The sand was brand new. The beach smelled not of the salty Atlantic but instead radiated scents of fresh wood (from rebuilding of the boardwalk). The roller coaster has not been replaced. The dunes were completely flattened. Though businesses had reopened, each one sold “Restore the Shore” paraphernalia, in what seemed a desperate manner. Hotels were not full – much of the town seemed rather ghostly.

The damage in New Jersey – months later – was nothing like the Louisiana I witnessed six-and-a-half years after Hurricane Katrina. So while the road to recovery will be less treacherous, or appeared that way from where I stood, it was still a blatant reminder of how small this world can make me feel. The damage done to the shore (and the gulf… and most currently, the wildfires threatening California) are entirely beyond my capabilities. How can I contribute? How do I let people know I care? How do I show I haven’t forgotten? Who’s to say another hurricane isn’t brewing? (Or this wildfire won’t devastate Yosemite National Park?)

Of the few pictures from the weekend, I was fixated on the destruction. I’m weird like that. Locals and tourist alike commented as I snapped pictures of the boardwalk where the Ferris wheel once stood. These, of course, aren’t the printable vacation pictures I’m typically after. But they are real life – late Summer 2013. I never saw the before. This was my first trip to the Jersey Shore, and could likely be my last. I was challenged in the course of my ordinary days to look for those who need to be reminded they aren't alone. Together, we just have to hold on and hang in there. There will be days of joy and peace ahead.

I SAW A BEAR!!!

After giving the play-by-play yesterday, I didn’t think it was fair to continue writing about Saturday afternoon and Sunday. The rest of the weekend went something like this: I SAW A BEAR(!!!). And, of course, I don’t have the photograph to prove it… because when I’m out there living in the here-and-now, I’m not always seeking evidence for my blog. But I promise you, there at mile marker 47 in Shenandoah National Park on Saturday around 2:17 pm, I saw a black bear with my own two eyes. It’s not that I haven’t seen a bear outside of a zoo before. Oh, I have. It’s half the reason I’m so fond of Montana: They have bears. And bear jams. So, I have seen bears before. In Yellowstone National Park. On the other side of the country. I had not, until Saturday, August 17, 2013, seen them in my own backyard. So, again, life changing: I saw a black bear. In my own backyard. And was part of a bear jam. Albeit, an East Coast bear jam.

Following that high, Boyfriend and I hiked to Rock Spring Cabin (because the triathlon definitely wasn’t enough exercise for one day). At this point, I proceeded to nap. And then read (i.e., move as minimally as possible). The remainder of the afternoon/evening was just sort of relaxed away. It helped that there was a nice enough view from the cabin. And a fire.

The rain started around midnight, though we were long asleep before then. It continued to wake me several times throughout the night – bringing back memories of the Lesotho days, when each and every rain drop could be heard pounding against my thatch roof, even in rains that weren’t that heavy. This particular case of volume probably would have been more enjoyable, if I hadn’t been so exhausted. But we were real lazy Sunday morning – serving breakfast after 11:00 am – to make up for the choppy night sleep. The rain – or rather, the lack of rain gear – prevented us from doing any hiking (besides the trek back to the car). So we took off around 1:00 pm, bound for Washington, DC… stopping for chocolate milk and ice cream along the way.  

Doing Hard Things

I like new experiences, but I’ll admit that I prefer sticking to things I know how to do fairly well. When it comes to exercise, I know my strength – it’s running. As I continue to age – hitting 26 earlier this month, I watch my friends tackle various new challenges, from rock climbing to tennis lessons. I’m envious of their willingness to put themselves out there. My unwillingness to do so is rooted in fear. I hate failing. So much. And I’m uber competitive – I don’t deal well with losing. I honestly cannot remember a race in high school where I didn’t place. But those medals and trophies have all been pitched. Those victories didn’t matter then. And they certainly don’t matter now. All that truly matters – then and now – is that I crossed that finish line, after putting in the work. It’s fun to be to be the best at my thing. But it’s also not challenging.

I am easily frustrated that learning new skills requires a bit more work. I want to be brave – and willing to swallow my pride and try hard things. So, when a friend asked me to sign up for an end-of-summer triathlon back in June, I put my money where my mouth is and took on my first triathlon. I outlined a training routine. I headed to Dick’s Sporting Goods for a swim suit and bought a membership for the local aquatic center. I fixed my road bike – that hadn’t seen miles in over a year (gulp)… and started riding. I laced up my sneakers and took off in all directions.

The race day details were far from perfect. I wasn’t sure how to dress. I wasn’t sure how to transition. I wasn’t sure what swimming in open water with 500 plus people would really be like. But it was a labor of love – being outside in my element… where every smudge was a reminder to me of how insecure it can feel to step out and try new things. Even so, there was affirmation along the way in that learning new skills takes patience, some understanding, and different types of encouragement… I could probably be a lot less hard on myself. Each competitor looked like a professional; I felt weak and out of place. I needed the friendly man zooming by on his bike to tell me to down shift – to save my legs – because I was peddling too hard. I relied on the smiling woman to shout “You can do it!” as I climbed the monstrous hill at the 25-mile mark in the bike segment of the race.

There were moments of peace and splendor. There were birds chirping. And at my pace, I had time to really notice the sun transition – as it rose to a full blown, glorious 75-degree morning. I took in each smell, even the stinky ones… and daydreamed of the serene farm life as I sped past homesteads. My muscles were working. And I had to rely on myself for inner strength.

By the time I reached the running portion of the race – the 10 kilometer homestretch – the experience had lost a lot of luster. I had heavy legs. I was tired. But I needed to find that encouragement… and recommit myself to not giving up. After a mile, I found rhythm with my stride; I found a pace that worked. Running is your thing. You got this. Just finish.

So much of my struggle seemed a reality of aging. I’m not going to argue that 26 is by any means old. But I cannot as easily bounce back in to shape as I once could. I also don't have the free time I once did. I thought two months was plenty of time to train. And had life operated according to my plan… it would have been. Between the ongoings of Summer 2013, the time to train wasn’t always as prevalent as I had hoped. Or perhaps I became the master excuse maker to avoid the treading through this new territory? I am so much more overwhelmed by hard work, than I once was. What starts as enthusiasm collides with the reality of life. I get tired. The load seems too great. My adventure is just not fun anymore. Some days I just have to keep going – remembering that I have a destination.

As I turned towards the finished, I felt revived. The end was in sight. The closer I came to the grandiose finish banner, the larger the grin on my face grew. And laughter and joy, in the form of relief, as I received my finisher medal.

The journey was challenging. I was weary, but I made it. 

Summer Sunflowers

I had the best intentions to record pieces of Summer 2013 during the month of August, assuming life would slow down as we move toward September. That is not at all the case for my life. Though August is nearly half past, it is still very much Summer. I am attempting to enjoy the remaining days of "freedom" and abundant sunshine. So it looks like all my real documenting--more than 15 inspirations for posts--probably will not happen until Fall. Also, each time I sit down to write, I stare at a blank page and waste upwards of an hour of my life. This always happens when I take a break from the blog. I have too many words, too much to say. Or I end up distracted, which is life, though never serves as a valid excuse. Bit by bit the stories will unfold here. This is a tale from the late July, still being written today.

When I returned from vacation, my relationship was in need of watering. So water we did. I dropped everything my first weekend home for quality time with my best friend. I honestly cannot remember much of what happened the first Saturday I was home. I do recall stopping by the Courthouse Farmers' Market to restock my fridge. And while I roamed the market in search of apricots and beets and black berries and kale and zucchini, Boyfriend busied himself. After my purchases were made, we regrouped. He stood holding his purchase--a sunflower, the sole clue as to what our Sunday plans entailed.

Boyfriend and I were up early once Sunday came. We crafted and packed a pasta picnic and took off for an afternoon in Poolesville, MD. After a scenic drive, we arrived at the McKee-Beshers Wildlife Management Area, where there were seven fields, totally more than 48 acres of sunflowers planted. Though the sunflowers were in the end of peak bloom, they were incredible--lively, tall green stalks with big, bright yellow faces.

So we munched and admired the afternoon away. And it was (mostly) perfect. 

One cannot look at a sunflower and be anything but happy. 

And just think when you think I have lost my ways and become a total sap, let me reassure you that is only about half true. From this wonderful day, later came misery... in the form of poison ivy. And it serves me right. As I trekked through loads of poison ivy--more than I have ever seen in one place--I boasted about never having had poison ivy and from that, concluded I am definitely not allergic. Well, now I have poison ivy. And I definitely am allergic. Horribly so, I might now conclude.

The above nastiness is oozing all over my legs. This is one location I opted to feature. The whole ordeal is rather alarming. This trip was over two weeks ago--July 28, and I am still fighting--for my life--today, August 12 as the rash continues to spread up my leg. So this discovery--the McKee-Beshers--happens to be one of the best local areas for birding... and while I would love to watch an abundance of song birds and wood ducks flutter and frolic around these wetlands, I am reconsidering revisiting.

Waffle House Win Streak

As soon as Turner Field added a Waffle House concession, the Atlanta Braves rallied behind the largest win streak in the Majors this season--the team "on paper" truly showed up on the field. Last night, I saw the Braves defeat the Washington Nationals to increase their winning run to 12. But really what I witnessed was my first (almost) baseball fight. It was everything I hope it would be.

In a perfectly logical move, for those of you who missed it, Julio Tehran drilled Bryce Harper with a pitch on his second at bat. There was a guy on second. The Braves wanted to extend their winning ways. And Harper already had one home run to deep center, in what was rumored to be the longest home run in Nationals history, in the bottom of the third, breaking a scoreless tie. The Braves certainly did not need a repeat of Harper's earlier home run, in which I guess Tehran felt Harper enjoyed a bit of a Kodak moment proceeding. So, again, this move was entirely calculated. And, again, there was an 11-game win streak to preserve. I was personally present to ensure that continued; Tehran being my assistant. The non-physical fight totally ignited me. And apparently the social media world too.

This was my favorite tweet of the evening:

And I could not help but laugh at this 'next day' statistic: 

To really ice the cake, as a Braves fan, it was nice to watch Harper register the last out of the night to pitcher Craig Kimbrel. 12 and counting. 

No Great Stories

It is Saturday morning around 10:00 am. I have been up for hours sorting through the mundane. My nagging 'to-do' list has finally received my attention. The washer and drier are going. Boyfriend is quietly job hunting on the couch. Left over pizza is still sitting on the counter--remnant of breakfast.

And again, I have a list of things I need to tackle, but I am not rushed in this moment. As much as I am a fan of adventure and making every day count, the peacefulness of this morning is a poignant reminder of the beauty of rest. (It helps that rain is falling outside, making the candle-filled indoors more appealing.)

Upon checking the mail, a task that has not been done since Wednesday, I found a letter from my Great Aunt B. It is just such a sweet letter, I thought I would transcribe it here. This letter is an alarming depiction of where I want my heart to be--finding peace in the mundane; days and nights marked by low key, good living; laughter, love, and peace being the only scorecards I care about.

Dear Samantha,

I was so happy when I received your post card. Just knowing that you are having such a great time traveling around makes me happy. 

[Great] Uncle J and I visited that part of the country you wrote about on your postcard. We thought it was very beautiful. 

It seems as though summer is just flying by. I don't want it to end!

[Great] Aunt D and I try to visit your grandparents once a week. They seem much happier in their new place. It is very lovely with plenty of room. [Grandma H] doesn't like the food but [Grandpa H] thinks the food is good. 

[Great] Aunt D and I see each other quite a lot. We cook dinner for each other once or twice a week. Sometime[s] we go out to eat. We went to a [Detroit] Tiger ballgame with a senior group. For $51 we were transported to ballpark in an air-conditioned bus, had good seats, and a hotdog and a drink were included in the price. Of course we were transported home also. 

We also go to see movies at the senior center. For $1 you see the movie and get a box of popcorn and a drink. What a deal.

[Cousin] A and J will soon be heading back to school soon... While [Uncle] D, [Aunt] J, and [Cousin] J are spending the weekend in Missouri, [Cousin] A will come here for some meals. I'm looking forward to that.   

I'm enclosing some photos of me that were taken while I was modeling some clothes for a store where I do some shopping. Don't look too closely or you will see my wrinkles.

Love, 
[Great] Aunt B

Each letter opened. Each stamped card. These gifts of handwritten word allow a window of time for me to hop out of ring and indulge in dreams on paper, wishes fulfilled, and desires satisfied. Letters simply replenish my soul. 

There are no headlines being made, no great stories of August 3rd. Yet as I look up from my keyboard, I see morning light cascading into a heart that is happy. And I rejoice as I can honestly say that it is enough.