The creepiest place our family ever visits, is our mini storage unit. We seem to always go at night, when there's not a soul around. The enormous facility is the biggest I've ever seen, and quite modern. The super long hallways are dark, and motion sensors turn lights on and off as you walk. A glance in either direction, as you pass by the multiple intersecting hallways, leaves you expecting to see a character from a horror movie, who knew you were coming and has been waiting. So last night, Steve and I were nearby, and we decided to stop in and pick up our Christmas tree. After stepping into the elevator, signs warned us that the lights were not working on the 2nd and 3rd floors, and we'd need a flashlight. We began to laugh hysterically, not knowing if we were really brave enough to continue on.
"Let us go die now, shall we?" I cackled.
The elevator dumped us off on floor #2, and I tried to hold the doors open for a few extra seconds, not wanting to give up the light. Once the doors slammed shut, we noticed an eerie glow nearby. They had suspended some kind of dim work light from the ceiling. While it did provide some light, it was mostly creepy. Then we began to walk. After a couple of turns, we realized there were no other lights provided. We had a cellphone flashlight that was gonna die any second, and expose us to the unknowns of the darkness. This atmosphere was a ghost's dream. The deafening sound of our lonely footsteps, rattling the metal flooring, was all that could be heard. After a very long walk, the faint white light from the cell phone barely revealed our mini storage number. Then it took Steve several agonizing minutes of searching to find the right key.
"Amy, Hold the light steady. I can't see what I'm doing!"
"Well, you told me to periodically shine the light in every direction!"
We couldn't see more than 3 feet in front of us, or behind us, or beside us. Soon we had our tree and I was saying, "Oh, I'll get the wreath! Grab that box of lights, too!" Then we speedily locked the unit back up and RAN as fast as we could with a big box of fake tree and other relevant decor.
Thankfully we survived our ill-lighted adventure. But if my beloved fuzzy, red cardinal ornament doesn't turn up, we'll be going back. I just hope Steve will store our stuff in the garage after Christmas, which is also very scary, but lit.
Psalm 119:105 "Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path." I am so glad that as we spin around on this crazy planet, we don't have to be overwhelmed by the darkness and uncertainty. God's Word lights our path and reveals to us all the right and wrong turns, dangers, bumps, and rocks in the road. It enables us to safely and successfully navigate the path He's made for us. It's a light that will not go out when you need it most. In fact, it is then, that it will glow brighter.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
A Late Night Visit to the Funny Pharm
**May this serve as a warning to anyone who's ever thought, "Hey, Sleeping pills sound like a great idea!"**
It all began a bunch of years ago, when my doctor starting thinking I was gonna die if I didn't start going to sleep. He was all, "Your blood pressure is going up," and bad things were beginning to happen. Then there was the other sleep disorder-- the one where I open my eyes in the middle of the night, and the spiders, and monsters, and other various and sundry things are coming for me. Or closet doors appear to open and close. And I start screaming, and fall out of bed, and then run, terrifying the entire household. (This is why I don't get to have my own gun.) Then sometimes real things would happen, like one of the kids would come in during the night, and I would think it wasn't real. I'm told it's a problem with my REM sleep. I suppose it puts us all in danger.
So then pills were prescribed.
That's when I met Ambien. My Dr warned me that eventually, this fun-filled sleepy goodness in a pill would create different problems, but he felt that we had no choice.
And then life was really good. They say you should take these pills, after you get safely into bed.. And miss the hilariousness? I don't think I ever did that, even one single time. I've heard of people being found, face-down in the garden, but no pills ever force me into sleep. They are no match for me. In fact, they actually improve my mood so much, I would wait until the ambien mellow arrived, to wash the dishes and get in a quick workout. Sure, sometimes I would accidentally walk into a wall or something, but for the most part, I found it to be a productive time. And soon, everyone noticed that I would agree to absolutely anything. The family loved it. Here's one example:
"Mom, I think we should breed bearded dragons."
"Oo0o0o that sounds like a great idea! Puffy is spayed, but we could buy NEW boy and girl lizards. We could breed them and then go to REPTILE SHOWS!"
"Yay! I'm so excited!"
"Me too! We will make lots of money..."
The next day:
"Ummm.. NO WAY. We are not bringing additional lizards into this house, or into the world." I mean, I love them and all, but people already think we're weird."
Clearly, the family took advantage of my drug induced agreeableness. On the plus side, when I'd go to bed, I'd sleep like a happy baby. I never tried to drive a car, or binge eat during the night like some ambi-maniacs do, though I do remember eating some raw meat one time. And dancing in the kitchen at 2 am... alone... with no music. But those were isolated incidents, and posed no risk to anyone. Except I could have contracted salmonella or E. Coli. Thankfully, that didn't happen.
And then I began to experience what my doctor had warned me would definitely happen-- sleeping pill dependency. Only when I describe it, I refer to it as "ambien addiction" because I think that's a little funny, but sometimes that is frowned upon by others. And then people think I have a "problem."
Well one night recently, there WAS a problem. It had been an enjoyable Friday night. Steve and I had gone to dinner, and then continued our exciting date night at the grocery store. Yes, we know how to live it up. Then on the way home, we stopped by the pharmacy to get more pills filled because I was completely out.
Then the pharmacist said, "This is a new drug, and we don't even have it in stock yet."
And I said, "OH NO! Did he prescribe the new sublingual ones?"
"Yes"
"But I don't even want those. I mean, we talked about it, but that's not the ones I meant for him to give me.. Ok, look, it's the weekend; my doctor won't be in until Monday. I've been on these pills for many years. I won't sleep for even one minute, the whole weekend, without them. Can you let me have 2 or 3 of the normal ambien, until my doctor can straighten this whole thing out on Monday?"
"No."
"Why?"
"It's a controlled substance."
"Yes, and I have a prescription for that controlled substance. Look at my info. I take these every day."
"Sorry, I can't even give you one."
-All because that little piece of paper said "sublinguals" and not "orals"... And by now, most CVS pharmacies were closed for the night. So I went home and panicked. And I called every 24 hour CVS within a 50 mile radius of our house. And they all said, "We don't have that drug yet." followed by "No, you can't have the other ambien."
Then I got THIS guy:
"Good evening, CVS Pharmacy."
"Yes, do you have the new sublingual ambien?"
"Yes."
"Really?! You do? Are you sure? Because I'm getting ready to drive there. And it's far."
"Yes, I'm looking at them right now."
"Ok. I have a prescription. Is there any way to get this process started now?"
"No. But it will only take a minute when you get here."
It was 1 a.m. now. And I promise this story gets better. I think.
We arrived, and I approached the pharmacy counter.
"Can I help you?"
"Yes, I'm here for some ambien."
He took the prescription and his slender fingers began to roll across his computer keyboard. With a dead expression, and his face locked on the screen he said, "I'm sorry. We don't have these in stock."
Now I knew immediately, there were 2 possibilities:
1. He was joking. OR
2. I was going to kill him.
I stared for a moment. Then he looked up and chuckled slightly. I calmly responded, "You have no idea what I've been through tonight. I could go insane in here, ya know."
"Well, we have pills for that too," he said.
So he was a FUNNY MAN.
And then I asked why no one would let me have the oral pills and how just a quick peak at my profile would make it clear to him that I didn't have a drug problem. I had a sleep problem. And "Couldn't a whole weekend of not sleeping kill me?" But again, all he or anyone could say was, "No, blah, blah, ..controlled substance, blah blah." CVS totally didn't care if I died. I decided not to mention that my sleep disorder was gonna bring scary space aliens into my bedroom in the middle of the night if these sublinguals didn't work. And it was gonna be his fault.
Suddenly, a loud shrilly voice filled the store, "EXCUSE ME, Are you two together?" Slowly, and nervously, I turned around, and just inches from my face was a wild-eyed woman with orange hued, bright clown lipstick covering her lips, her teeth, and half of her face. Now, if I'd already consumed my ambien, I probably wouldn't even have cared about such a display. But I was already stricken with frayed nerves. Then Steve, who is kind to all humans and creatures, sweetly and calmly answered, "Yes, we're together." Then, she lost her mind, (just like I would have if the pharmacist hadn't been joking earlier). She started yelling, "I WAS JUST ASKING! YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO ACT LIKE THAT!" And on and on the old bat (obligatory bird reference--if you normally read this blog, then you get it.) went. Steve handles nutty people so gracefully. I'm not sure how or when he developed that skill, though I have some idea. He was a senior pastor in a Baptist church for 8 1/2 years.
So then the funny pharmacist called us over to another window, in order to escape the psychotic ramblings of Clown Face, and in a low, monotone voice, sarcastically began to ramble, "Welcome to our pharmacy. As you can see, we have lots of fun here. It's like this every night, from about 2-4. Crazy people are everywhere. There's no where else for them to go. It's either here, or Wawa. And Wawa makes them leave. So then they just have HERE. We have a great time." Then he said to Steve, "I really wish you would stay. We could use a guy like you around here. We really need a bouncer. I know you could handle it." ... "Are you sure you have to leave?" "Oh, and your insurance isn't gonna pay for this Ambien. It's $20 a pill."...
So I bought 2 pills. I was surprised he considered us to be the normal people, since moments earlier I'd been all, "JUST GIVE ME THE DRUGS!!!"
On the way out of the pharmacy, I popped one of those dissolvable, sleep-promising babies under my tongue, and then quickly realized it was already disintegrating, and tasted horrible, and I wasn't gonna be able to talk. So I said, "Oh no, Steve! I can't talk now. I wanted to talk to you on the way home.. and sing." which came out all garbled. "That's ok, Amy. Just sleep now." And he reached over to close my eyes by wiping my face in a downward motion. Very funny, Steve. And then he got to enjoy boring silence for the whole ride home. I hated it.
Once we were home, the new ambien failed to work, and I stayed awake for most of the weekend anyway. So all of that happened for nothing.
I know some people don't really enjoy my prescription drug humor, with the "percs" references or sleeping pill amusements, but I'd rather laugh about fun side effects, than focus on the negative ones, or cry about the reason I need them. And my personality... it doesn't come from a pill. This is allllll me.
It all began a bunch of years ago, when my doctor starting thinking I was gonna die if I didn't start going to sleep. He was all, "Your blood pressure is going up," and bad things were beginning to happen. Then there was the other sleep disorder-- the one where I open my eyes in the middle of the night, and the spiders, and monsters, and other various and sundry things are coming for me. Or closet doors appear to open and close. And I start screaming, and fall out of bed, and then run, terrifying the entire household. (This is why I don't get to have my own gun.) Then sometimes real things would happen, like one of the kids would come in during the night, and I would think it wasn't real. I'm told it's a problem with my REM sleep. I suppose it puts us all in danger.
So then pills were prescribed.
That's when I met Ambien. My Dr warned me that eventually, this fun-filled sleepy goodness in a pill would create different problems, but he felt that we had no choice.
And then life was really good. They say you should take these pills, after you get safely into bed.. And miss the hilariousness? I don't think I ever did that, even one single time. I've heard of people being found, face-down in the garden, but no pills ever force me into sleep. They are no match for me. In fact, they actually improve my mood so much, I would wait until the ambien mellow arrived, to wash the dishes and get in a quick workout. Sure, sometimes I would accidentally walk into a wall or something, but for the most part, I found it to be a productive time. And soon, everyone noticed that I would agree to absolutely anything. The family loved it. Here's one example:
"Mom, I think we should breed bearded dragons."
"Oo0o0o that sounds like a great idea! Puffy is spayed, but we could buy NEW boy and girl lizards. We could breed them and then go to REPTILE SHOWS!"
"Yay! I'm so excited!"
"Me too! We will make lots of money..."
The next day:
"Ummm.. NO WAY. We are not bringing additional lizards into this house, or into the world." I mean, I love them and all, but people already think we're weird."
Clearly, the family took advantage of my drug induced agreeableness. On the plus side, when I'd go to bed, I'd sleep like a happy baby. I never tried to drive a car, or binge eat during the night like some ambi-maniacs do, though I do remember eating some raw meat one time. And dancing in the kitchen at 2 am... alone... with no music. But those were isolated incidents, and posed no risk to anyone. Except I could have contracted salmonella or E. Coli. Thankfully, that didn't happen.
And then I began to experience what my doctor had warned me would definitely happen-- sleeping pill dependency. Only when I describe it, I refer to it as "ambien addiction" because I think that's a little funny, but sometimes that is frowned upon by others. And then people think I have a "problem."
Well one night recently, there WAS a problem. It had been an enjoyable Friday night. Steve and I had gone to dinner, and then continued our exciting date night at the grocery store. Yes, we know how to live it up. Then on the way home, we stopped by the pharmacy to get more pills filled because I was completely out.
Then the pharmacist said, "This is a new drug, and we don't even have it in stock yet."
And I said, "OH NO! Did he prescribe the new sublingual ones?"
"Yes"
"But I don't even want those. I mean, we talked about it, but that's not the ones I meant for him to give me.. Ok, look, it's the weekend; my doctor won't be in until Monday. I've been on these pills for many years. I won't sleep for even one minute, the whole weekend, without them. Can you let me have 2 or 3 of the normal ambien, until my doctor can straighten this whole thing out on Monday?"
"No."
"Why?"
"It's a controlled substance."
"Yes, and I have a prescription for that controlled substance. Look at my info. I take these every day."
"Sorry, I can't even give you one."
-All because that little piece of paper said "sublinguals" and not "orals"... And by now, most CVS pharmacies were closed for the night. So I went home and panicked. And I called every 24 hour CVS within a 50 mile radius of our house. And they all said, "We don't have that drug yet." followed by "No, you can't have the other ambien."
Then I got THIS guy:
"Good evening, CVS Pharmacy."
"Yes, do you have the new sublingual ambien?"
"Yes."
"Really?! You do? Are you sure? Because I'm getting ready to drive there. And it's far."
"Yes, I'm looking at them right now."
"Ok. I have a prescription. Is there any way to get this process started now?"
"No. But it will only take a minute when you get here."
It was 1 a.m. now. And I promise this story gets better. I think.
We arrived, and I approached the pharmacy counter.
"Can I help you?"
"Yes, I'm here for some ambien."
He took the prescription and his slender fingers began to roll across his computer keyboard. With a dead expression, and his face locked on the screen he said, "I'm sorry. We don't have these in stock."
Now I knew immediately, there were 2 possibilities:
1. He was joking. OR
2. I was going to kill him.
I stared for a moment. Then he looked up and chuckled slightly. I calmly responded, "You have no idea what I've been through tonight. I could go insane in here, ya know."
"Well, we have pills for that too," he said.
So he was a FUNNY MAN.
And then I asked why no one would let me have the oral pills and how just a quick peak at my profile would make it clear to him that I didn't have a drug problem. I had a sleep problem. And "Couldn't a whole weekend of not sleeping kill me?" But again, all he or anyone could say was, "No, blah, blah, ..controlled substance, blah blah." CVS totally didn't care if I died. I decided not to mention that my sleep disorder was gonna bring scary space aliens into my bedroom in the middle of the night if these sublinguals didn't work. And it was gonna be his fault.
Suddenly, a loud shrilly voice filled the store, "EXCUSE ME, Are you two together?" Slowly, and nervously, I turned around, and just inches from my face was a wild-eyed woman with orange hued, bright clown lipstick covering her lips, her teeth, and half of her face. Now, if I'd already consumed my ambien, I probably wouldn't even have cared about such a display. But I was already stricken with frayed nerves. Then Steve, who is kind to all humans and creatures, sweetly and calmly answered, "Yes, we're together." Then, she lost her mind, (just like I would have if the pharmacist hadn't been joking earlier). She started yelling, "I WAS JUST ASKING! YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO ACT LIKE THAT!" And on and on the old bat (obligatory bird reference--if you normally read this blog, then you get it.) went. Steve handles nutty people so gracefully. I'm not sure how or when he developed that skill, though I have some idea. He was a senior pastor in a Baptist church for 8 1/2 years.
So then the funny pharmacist called us over to another window, in order to escape the psychotic ramblings of Clown Face, and in a low, monotone voice, sarcastically began to ramble, "Welcome to our pharmacy. As you can see, we have lots of fun here. It's like this every night, from about 2-4. Crazy people are everywhere. There's no where else for them to go. It's either here, or Wawa. And Wawa makes them leave. So then they just have HERE. We have a great time." Then he said to Steve, "I really wish you would stay. We could use a guy like you around here. We really need a bouncer. I know you could handle it." ... "Are you sure you have to leave?" "Oh, and your insurance isn't gonna pay for this Ambien. It's $20 a pill."...
So I bought 2 pills. I was surprised he considered us to be the normal people, since moments earlier I'd been all, "JUST GIVE ME THE DRUGS!!!"
On the way out of the pharmacy, I popped one of those dissolvable, sleep-promising babies under my tongue, and then quickly realized it was already disintegrating, and tasted horrible, and I wasn't gonna be able to talk. So I said, "Oh no, Steve! I can't talk now. I wanted to talk to you on the way home.. and sing." which came out all garbled. "That's ok, Amy. Just sleep now." And he reached over to close my eyes by wiping my face in a downward motion. Very funny, Steve. And then he got to enjoy boring silence for the whole ride home. I hated it.
Once we were home, the new ambien failed to work, and I stayed awake for most of the weekend anyway. So all of that happened for nothing.
I know some people don't really enjoy my prescription drug humor, with the "percs" references or sleeping pill amusements, but I'd rather laugh about fun side effects, than focus on the negative ones, or cry about the reason I need them. And my personality... it doesn't come from a pill. This is allllll me.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Shark Bait OOH-HA-HA and Other Tales from a Carolina Vacation
I wrote the following, months ago, but I didn't get it posted because my kids were home all day for the Summer. The weird cartoons blowing up my tv, fighting, and extreme noise made my brain stop working. So you're getting this now. And frankly, it's not my best work, but whatever.
In late June, we departed from Jersey, for a big, fat Carolina vacation. We visited family in eastern NC, and then the kids finally got to see their closest friends in SC, whom they'd not seen in a year.
Days later, we went to the Wilds Christian camp, which is tucked into the mountains of NC. NC mountains... pretty to look at, but kinda scary. Then we met up with the youth group from our church in Jersey, and we began our stay as sponsors for the week. I'd not stayed at the Wilds for about 10 years, so it was kind of exciting to be back. The only thing I really dreaded was meals, because I don't eat "camp" food or any kind of mysterious meat. And I've seen what a bunch of Baptists will do to save money. But I was strong and brave. And I showed up for dinner the first night.
I don't know when they started cramming 10 adults to one table on that warm, humid porch of the dining hall, but I sat there with my elbows tucked and my entire shoulder to elbow, touching the men on each side of me. Now, one of them was my husband so that was ok and all, but the other one was a total stranger. Then the power went out. At first I didn't think there was any reason to panic because it was daylight still, and I figured it would come back on in a minute. So the ceiling fans silently whirled a few final times, delivering their last fleeting moments of relief, and I sat there touching these men while trying to contort my arms in a way that would lead the last of my pizza towards my mouth without someone taking an elbow to the face. Once the meal was over I said, "I'm never going in there again. I'd rather starve."
So hours passed, and we endured the Summer heat, without power. We hadn't even brought a flashlight. We flopped onto the bed that we'd not put sheets on yet, and began to spiral into negative delusions, caused completely by the torturous heat. Here's a few statements/questions I can remember:
"I hate the Wilds."
"I hate this hard bed."
"I hate no power."
"I hate camp."
"I hate the dining hall."
"Why do they want us to suffer?"
"Even when the lights were on, I didn't like them. They were too bright."
"I hate the toilet paper."
Then I suggested that we put sheets on the bed while we could still see how to do it, but Steve said he didn't want to get up, so he'd just go outside later and turn the headlights on, and they'd shine into the room, providing a beacon of light over the bed, and then we'd make the bed. And then I laughed hysterically at his procrastination.
Meanwhile, over in the kids' dorms, we had no idea how the kids were doing, but later learned that some of the campers didn't have running water. Elizabeth's group had to bathe in the stream that night, and she was terrified because of her fear of sharks.. Yes, you just read that. My kids have always made fun of my weird phobias, not understanding that crazy is genetic. Now Elizabeth is getting a taste of her own genes.
The night grew dark on that isolated Carolina mountain, both literally and figuratively. When the power finally came back on, we were exceedingly happy! And our outlook changed completely, until we found out that the outage, involving 3 counties, was caused by a snake that slithered into a transformer, causing major damage, and another outage was expected for further repair. So we lived in fear after that, but thankfully they never had to shut it off again. The rest of the week was awesome, except for having to drive 40 minutes into town, every single day, to avoid starvation. I actually like the Wilds, but next year I will take a grill, slow cooker, cutting board, knife, toaster oven, and small refrigerator. And Steve's completely on board with this because he's slowly turning into me. He says I've ruined him.
So after a week of mountain fun, spiritual growth, and intense suffering, we were headed to Myrtle Beach. All the way from the mountains to the coast, the kids filled our heads with all of their wild stories of fun, misery, and one particular "psychotic" counselor. The heat wave that swept across the country was upon us, and I was ready to be neck deep in the ocean.
From the moment we arrived, Noah harrassed us about visiting Ripley's Aquarium for the 497th time. It's always the same, but he feels that it will offer him new excitement with each and every visit. And sure enough, the highlight of our entire trip happened at the aquarium. Elizabeth timidly stepped onto the moving sidewalk thing that takes you into the tunnel, underneath the massive tank of sharks. And then it happened. This is a story I wouldn't even tell if there had not been several witnesses. Midway through that jawsome sidewalk ride, one of the sharks slowly drifted by Elizabeth, then turned back, looked her square in the eye, and snapped it's mighty tooth-lined jaws at her! 3 times! I'm not saying it charged the glass or anything, but I think it wanted to scare her! Can sharks sense fear, through like a foot of acrylic? It was so epic! Needless to say, she was quite relieved when the sidewalk spit her out on the other end. Here's a few pics of her experience.
Later, in the ocean, some big fish bumped into my leg. It could've been a shark, but who knows? I screamed and attempted high speed underwater running/swimming/flailing, but it didn't scare me enough to get out. I still played in the waves, and watched the seagulls diving for fish all afternoon. I actually think sunscreen is far more dangerous than ocean life. It gives you a false sense of security and then you lay on the beach all day like an idiot, and leave looking like an angry lobster. It's hard to be a white girl.
And lest you think I'm crazy for suggesting that a shark could have touched me, check out this picture taken by my friend, Becky, in the exact same location, the day after we left. A few seconds later, the lifeguard cleared the people out of the water. I always miss out on all the cool stuff like this. *Cue the Jaws music*
On one of our last nights at the beach, I woke up around 4 am and listened to the soothing sound of a gentle rain coming down on the roof of our travel trailer. Then I heard thunder and began to worry. Perhaps you remember what happened last time we were at the beach? Our canopy and lights were still out, just like that fateful stormy night. I wondered if I should wake Steve. I grabbed my phone and got a weather update. "Myrtle Beach: Some Thunder in the area," which sounded like absolutely nothing, so I assumed everything would be fine. About 15 minutes later, lightning was flashing every single second, hard rain was pounding on the roof, the camper was shaking, and the awning was popping up. Steve woke up, flew out of bed (he remembered his shorts this time), and our entire family had to get up and deal with the storm. We went back to bed around 5. Thank you, phone weather people.
We made another overnight visit to my hometown, and my Mama had picked up some fresh Dixie Lee peas for me to take home. Hooray! That's my favorite vegetable in the whole world! Then we ate a lot of pulled pork ("BBQ" if you're a North Carolinian) before leaving for Jersey. It was not hard to return to our Jersey life of new friends, and where I can get an organic burger from Elevation Burger, or a real cheese steak from Tony Luke's in nearby Philly. Or just go hang out at the shore.
In late June, we departed from Jersey, for a big, fat Carolina vacation. We visited family in eastern NC, and then the kids finally got to see their closest friends in SC, whom they'd not seen in a year.
Days later, we went to the Wilds Christian camp, which is tucked into the mountains of NC. NC mountains... pretty to look at, but kinda scary. Then we met up with the youth group from our church in Jersey, and we began our stay as sponsors for the week. I'd not stayed at the Wilds for about 10 years, so it was kind of exciting to be back. The only thing I really dreaded was meals, because I don't eat "camp" food or any kind of mysterious meat. And I've seen what a bunch of Baptists will do to save money. But I was strong and brave. And I showed up for dinner the first night.
I don't know when they started cramming 10 adults to one table on that warm, humid porch of the dining hall, but I sat there with my elbows tucked and my entire shoulder to elbow, touching the men on each side of me. Now, one of them was my husband so that was ok and all, but the other one was a total stranger. Then the power went out. At first I didn't think there was any reason to panic because it was daylight still, and I figured it would come back on in a minute. So the ceiling fans silently whirled a few final times, delivering their last fleeting moments of relief, and I sat there touching these men while trying to contort my arms in a way that would lead the last of my pizza towards my mouth without someone taking an elbow to the face. Once the meal was over I said, "I'm never going in there again. I'd rather starve."
So hours passed, and we endured the Summer heat, without power. We hadn't even brought a flashlight. We flopped onto the bed that we'd not put sheets on yet, and began to spiral into negative delusions, caused completely by the torturous heat. Here's a few statements/questions I can remember:
"I hate the Wilds."
"I hate this hard bed."
"I hate no power."
"I hate camp."
"I hate the dining hall."
"Why do they want us to suffer?"
"Even when the lights were on, I didn't like them. They were too bright."
"I hate the toilet paper."
Then I suggested that we put sheets on the bed while we could still see how to do it, but Steve said he didn't want to get up, so he'd just go outside later and turn the headlights on, and they'd shine into the room, providing a beacon of light over the bed, and then we'd make the bed. And then I laughed hysterically at his procrastination.
Meanwhile, over in the kids' dorms, we had no idea how the kids were doing, but later learned that some of the campers didn't have running water. Elizabeth's group had to bathe in the stream that night, and she was terrified because of her fear of sharks.. Yes, you just read that. My kids have always made fun of my weird phobias, not understanding that crazy is genetic. Now Elizabeth is getting a taste of her own genes.
The night grew dark on that isolated Carolina mountain, both literally and figuratively. When the power finally came back on, we were exceedingly happy! And our outlook changed completely, until we found out that the outage, involving 3 counties, was caused by a snake that slithered into a transformer, causing major damage, and another outage was expected for further repair. So we lived in fear after that, but thankfully they never had to shut it off again. The rest of the week was awesome, except for having to drive 40 minutes into town, every single day, to avoid starvation. I actually like the Wilds, but next year I will take a grill, slow cooker, cutting board, knife, toaster oven, and small refrigerator. And Steve's completely on board with this because he's slowly turning into me. He says I've ruined him.
 |
| Elizabeth on the big horrifying swing. |
 |
| Noah, soaking wet. |
 |
| Think "Deliverance" |
So after a week of mountain fun, spiritual growth, and intense suffering, we were headed to Myrtle Beach. All the way from the mountains to the coast, the kids filled our heads with all of their wild stories of fun, misery, and one particular "psychotic" counselor. The heat wave that swept across the country was upon us, and I was ready to be neck deep in the ocean.
From the moment we arrived, Noah harrassed us about visiting Ripley's Aquarium for the 497th time. It's always the same, but he feels that it will offer him new excitement with each and every visit. And sure enough, the highlight of our entire trip happened at the aquarium. Elizabeth timidly stepped onto the moving sidewalk thing that takes you into the tunnel, underneath the massive tank of sharks. And then it happened. This is a story I wouldn't even tell if there had not been several witnesses. Midway through that jawsome sidewalk ride, one of the sharks slowly drifted by Elizabeth, then turned back, looked her square in the eye, and snapped it's mighty tooth-lined jaws at her! 3 times! I'm not saying it charged the glass or anything, but I think it wanted to scare her! Can sharks sense fear, through like a foot of acrylic? It was so epic! Needless to say, she was quite relieved when the sidewalk spit her out on the other end. Here's a few pics of her experience.
Later, in the ocean, some big fish bumped into my leg. It could've been a shark, but who knows? I screamed and attempted high speed underwater running/swimming/flailing, but it didn't scare me enough to get out. I still played in the waves, and watched the seagulls diving for fish all afternoon. I actually think sunscreen is far more dangerous than ocean life. It gives you a false sense of security and then you lay on the beach all day like an idiot, and leave looking like an angry lobster. It's hard to be a white girl.
And lest you think I'm crazy for suggesting that a shark could have touched me, check out this picture taken by my friend, Becky, in the exact same location, the day after we left. A few seconds later, the lifeguard cleared the people out of the water. I always miss out on all the cool stuff like this. *Cue the Jaws music*
On one of our last nights at the beach, I woke up around 4 am and listened to the soothing sound of a gentle rain coming down on the roof of our travel trailer. Then I heard thunder and began to worry. Perhaps you remember what happened last time we were at the beach? Our canopy and lights were still out, just like that fateful stormy night. I wondered if I should wake Steve. I grabbed my phone and got a weather update. "Myrtle Beach: Some Thunder in the area," which sounded like absolutely nothing, so I assumed everything would be fine. About 15 minutes later, lightning was flashing every single second, hard rain was pounding on the roof, the camper was shaking, and the awning was popping up. Steve woke up, flew out of bed (he remembered his shorts this time), and our entire family had to get up and deal with the storm. We went back to bed around 5. Thank you, phone weather people.
We made another overnight visit to my hometown, and my Mama had picked up some fresh Dixie Lee peas for me to take home. Hooray! That's my favorite vegetable in the whole world! Then we ate a lot of pulled pork ("BBQ" if you're a North Carolinian) before leaving for Jersey. It was not hard to return to our Jersey life of new friends, and where I can get an organic burger from Elevation Burger, or a real cheese steak from Tony Luke's in nearby Philly. Or just go hang out at the shore.
 |
| But I can't get this.. |
Monday, June 25, 2012
The Legend of the Traveling Turd Pants
Ok, so I wrote this first part days ago. Because that's totally not even where I am right now. Not that it matters.
.
As we head South on I-85, the sun is shining and it's a really beautiful, sweltering hot day in the glorious Carolinas. In fact, we're about to pass the water tower which our family affectionately refers to as the "peach butt," as I type. I feel a flood of mixed emotions as we get closer to the place we called home for almost 9 years.
Our daughter's gonna visit some friends for a few days, and I'm gonna stop at a roadside stand and buy some fresh, juicy SC peaches. Then we're headed to the Wilds.. which made me start thinking about the infamous brown pants I wrote about last year, which sadly have mysteriously disappeared since.. Some of my friends will remember having read this before, but this is the first time this story has appeared on my blog. It's an old favorite of mine. Enjoy...
*******************************************************
Well, it's that time of year again. Elizabeth says her annual trip to The Wilds Christian camp is how she survives in this world. It's her vacation from us. She comes home refreshed, and ready to face another hard year in the Wise household. Without it, she believes her mental state would deteriorate. For us, it's another thing entirely.
It all started one year, when Elizabeth didn't have the clothing she needed for camp. She had outgrown her summer attire from the previous year, so a shopping trip became necessary. The Wilds requires that kids wear knee length shorts that are reasonably loose fitting. So we drove to the mall, and a I knew the night would be long. Teen stores, like American Eagle and Hollister, and junior departments would not be the place to find this Wilds-appropriate apparel. I suggested the misses dept at Belk. From there, things would only go quickly downhill.
"Ok, Elizabeth, there are racks and racks of long shorts and capri pants. Have at it." ...... But she was all, "These clothes look like vomit." And I was all, "They do not. There's some perfectly good stuff here." And she was all, "I hate everything. It looks like old people." and blah, blah. I said, "Well I shop in this dept..." Soon the hideous clothing was hanging in the dressing room and the trying on was underway. She actually liked one thing, which seemed to make the ugly purchases go a little smoother.
So the next day, she began to assemble outfits, and pointed out the extreme horribleness of one particular pair of brown pants. Now there was nothing at all wrong with these pants, but in her mind, they were well below her standards for appropriate style. Now, if she had been more cooperative the night before, and even once suggested that I'm a great mom, and I'd found the perfect camp clothes, but perhaps this one pair of pants just wasn't right for her, then I wouldn't have bought what would soon become known as the "turd pants." But now, they're here, camp is only days away, the tags were already removed, so she owned the pants.
Now, I wasn't born yesterday, so I knew the likely fate of these pants. She would pack them, they would visit the Wilds, but they would never actually see the light of day. She would just double up on something else, and go around dirty for a day. In fact, there was a great chance she would wear the ONE pair she liked, every single day.
So in the days that followed, there would be many wise cracks about the turd pants, and their insane awfulness, and I began to sense that I had completely wasted money on turd pants. So, we declared that the required outfit for day one of camp, would be the turd pants. It was the only way we could be sure we would get our money's worth out of these pants. She would wear them in the car, we would drop her off, and she would wear them for at least 5 minutes at the Wilds. She thought this would be a totally embarrassing way to begin a week of camp and meeting people, but we had to be sure that the turd pants were used, so, this was the way it had to be.
I still remember the green shirt that was paired with the turd pants. She looked amazing. So we dropped her off, screamed, "WE LOVE YOU, ELIZABETH!!!!" and gave her many dramatic hugs as the others looked on. And that was how the tradition of the traveling turd pants began. From that day forth, we have forced her to wear the turd pants for the ride there, and drop off, which brings us to today.
Today, the packing and preparing for her annual pilgrimage to the Wilds, her camp of sanity, began. And the turd pants were brought out, dusted off, and prepared for the trip. I suggested she try on all the pants/shorts to make sure they still fit. Moments later, she emerged from her room, all decked out in turd pants. She walked by and these pants looked terrible. They were WAY too small. "Oh... you've finally outgrown the faithful turd pants." But something didn't seem right. There was a twinkle in her eye... a mischievous smile on her face. Suddenly Steve says, "Lift the bottom of your shirt." She nearly died laughing and revealed that she'd hiked them up to her ribs and cinched them tightly with a belt. The reality was, the turd pants still fit. The tradition will live on. I just can't decide if Sunday should be the day of the turd pants, or Monday, when they'll actually arrive at camp...
The Turd Pants
.
As we head South on I-85, the sun is shining and it's a really beautiful, sweltering hot day in the glorious Carolinas. In fact, we're about to pass the water tower which our family affectionately refers to as the "peach butt," as I type. I feel a flood of mixed emotions as we get closer to the place we called home for almost 9 years.
Our daughter's gonna visit some friends for a few days, and I'm gonna stop at a roadside stand and buy some fresh, juicy SC peaches. Then we're headed to the Wilds.. which made me start thinking about the infamous brown pants I wrote about last year, which sadly have mysteriously disappeared since.. Some of my friends will remember having read this before, but this is the first time this story has appeared on my blog. It's an old favorite of mine. Enjoy...
*******************************************************
The Legend of the Traveling Turd Pants
It all started one year, when Elizabeth didn't have the clothing she needed for camp. She had outgrown her summer attire from the previous year, so a shopping trip became necessary. The Wilds requires that kids wear knee length shorts that are reasonably loose fitting. So we drove to the mall, and a I knew the night would be long. Teen stores, like American Eagle and Hollister, and junior departments would not be the place to find this Wilds-appropriate apparel. I suggested the misses dept at Belk. From there, things would only go quickly downhill.
"Ok, Elizabeth, there are racks and racks of long shorts and capri pants. Have at it." ...... But she was all, "These clothes look like vomit." And I was all, "They do not. There's some perfectly good stuff here." And she was all, "I hate everything. It looks like old people." and blah, blah. I said, "Well I shop in this dept..." Soon the hideous clothing was hanging in the dressing room and the trying on was underway. She actually liked one thing, which seemed to make the ugly purchases go a little smoother.
So the next day, she began to assemble outfits, and pointed out the extreme horribleness of one particular pair of brown pants. Now there was nothing at all wrong with these pants, but in her mind, they were well below her standards for appropriate style. Now, if she had been more cooperative the night before, and even once suggested that I'm a great mom, and I'd found the perfect camp clothes, but perhaps this one pair of pants just wasn't right for her, then I wouldn't have bought what would soon become known as the "turd pants." But now, they're here, camp is only days away, the tags were already removed, so she owned the pants.
Now, I wasn't born yesterday, so I knew the likely fate of these pants. She would pack them, they would visit the Wilds, but they would never actually see the light of day. She would just double up on something else, and go around dirty for a day. In fact, there was a great chance she would wear the ONE pair she liked, every single day.
So in the days that followed, there would be many wise cracks about the turd pants, and their insane awfulness, and I began to sense that I had completely wasted money on turd pants. So, we declared that the required outfit for day one of camp, would be the turd pants. It was the only way we could be sure we would get our money's worth out of these pants. She would wear them in the car, we would drop her off, and she would wear them for at least 5 minutes at the Wilds. She thought this would be a totally embarrassing way to begin a week of camp and meeting people, but we had to be sure that the turd pants were used, so, this was the way it had to be.
I still remember the green shirt that was paired with the turd pants. She looked amazing. So we dropped her off, screamed, "WE LOVE YOU, ELIZABETH!!!!" and gave her many dramatic hugs as the others looked on. And that was how the tradition of the traveling turd pants began. From that day forth, we have forced her to wear the turd pants for the ride there, and drop off, which brings us to today.
Today, the packing and preparing for her annual pilgrimage to the Wilds, her camp of sanity, began. And the turd pants were brought out, dusted off, and prepared for the trip. I suggested she try on all the pants/shorts to make sure they still fit. Moments later, she emerged from her room, all decked out in turd pants. She walked by and these pants looked terrible. They were WAY too small. "Oh... you've finally outgrown the faithful turd pants." But something didn't seem right. There was a twinkle in her eye... a mischievous smile on her face. Suddenly Steve says, "Lift the bottom of your shirt." She nearly died laughing and revealed that she'd hiked them up to her ribs and cinched them tightly with a belt. The reality was, the turd pants still fit. The tradition will live on. I just can't decide if Sunday should be the day of the turd pants, or Monday, when they'll actually arrive at camp...
The Turd PantsThursday, May 24, 2012
Fire On the Poop Deck!
"I feel like we live in a mansion." -Elizabeth
It's been almost a year since we sold our beautiful home in SC, and moved to a small condo in NJ. A couple of weeks ago, we began the move to a house, in another town. We're super excited because it's really hard to find a house for rent in NJ, for under $2,000 a month, that's not gross, and allows you to have pets. And we're just not ready to buy anything up here yet. I was afraid the kids wouldn't like the new place, because they actually had huge bedrooms at the condo, but even they appreciate the roomy kitchen and extra living space. And we have a fenced backyard now, so I can shove the dogs or kids outside and say, "Get some fresh air!"
Which is what I should have done before THIS happened:
The kids were running through the house, shooting each other with Nerf guns, when suddenly, there was a great commotion. Now, I don't ask a lot of questions about what goes on around here, because frankly, I don't want to know everything. But I was soon given some information about a Nerf dart floating hopelessly in the toilet. I asked, "Who shot it into the toilet?" And a quick confession flowed freely from Elizabeth's mouth. So my response was, "She who shot it, gets it out," which I thought was gonna be the end of things, but then I heard there were further negotiations going on down the hall, which I was later told, went like this: "Noah, you are gonna HAVE to get it out somehow, because there's NO WAY I'm putting my hands in your poop." (She's never gotten over accidentally grabbing one of his poops when they were in the bathtub, when they were little) So the presence of poop was a detail I was unaware of. She'd shot him while he was on the pot. Who shoots a person mid-poo? And if his little behind was covering the hole, how did it even get in there? They explained that it happened during some process of ducking to escape the heavy rapid Nerf fire. I know how terrifying foam can be.
Soon Elizabeth walked away, and all was quiet. Noah went in for the dart. I began to listen carefully, because I know this child, and I knew to be ready for what would happen next. One might would assume that once the dart was retrieved, that it went straight into the trash. If you know Noah, you know that didn't happen. Noah's not gonna throw a cheap toy away, just because it was swimming in feces. So then I was all, "Noah, throw the dart in the trash." And he was all, "But why?? I washed it when I washed my hands." At least he thought to wash his hands. With much effort, we finally got it into the trash, but I can't be certain that it didn't find it's way out, and back into the Nerf supply. Elizabeth.. play at your own risk.
So the house is a 1969 ranch style home, which thankfully has been completely updated inside, though there's nothing I love more than a nice retro feel. There is one wall that still has brown panelling on it. I'm shocked by this, given how that's the only outdated thing here. We may change that very soon but I'm gonna be sure and ask the owner first, because I've known some people who were very much attached to their faux wood wall products, as bizarre as that may seem. And it would appear that there are no restrictions in this community because one of the neighbors doesn't like to cut their grass, and another still has Christmas lights up, so everyday we are in the Christmas spirit. "Why are you living this way, Amy?" you might ask. This is Jersey, baby! We've actually talked about buying it, if the owner decides to sell, because we really like it! And you have no idea how much thought I've given to having a few strategically placed plastic pink flamingos on the front lawn. The possibilities of how to decorate with them, throughout each season, are endless. Imagine this: Christmas comes, and I have pink flamingos in Santa hats, pulling a sleigh full of toys. Or next to a lovely nativity scene. Also, they could hang out with Pedro the turkey, for Thanksgiving... Guard nests of Easter eggs in the Spring... And can't you just see them standing proudly next to a snowman in the Winter, wearing their little knitted hats and scarves? They'd be that perfect pop of color on an otherwise rather monochromatic snowy day. It'd be like a tropical Alaska. And I'm not joking. If I find some, this will happen. I've spent too many years living in stuffy, snotty-pot neighborhoods with tons of ridiculous rules. Now I'm free to have trailer park plastic birds, and out of season decorations, and I intend to make the most of it. And fourth of July is coming... how about flamingos with bunting strung from beak to beak?? Recently, I heard on the news that you can defend yourself with a plastic flamingo, by attempting to impale a bad guy with it's wiry legs. At least that's what somebody tried. I can't imagine this need arising, but it does seem nice that these birds pull double duty as decor, and a weapon.
Before we could move in, we were forced to paint, mainly because Noah's room was hot pink, with flowers. So he chose a lovely shade of green, which he matched up to his stuffed alligator "Bob's" eyeball color, but our friend Dan realized it was also exactly the color of the Grinch. So now we call it the Grinch room, which doesn't make Noah really happy but that's what happens when you insist on a freakishly green room. And Noah kinda IS a grinch.. Then Steve told me he wanted our room to be brown, so I excitedly chose brown paint, and then they painted, and then I found out that brown was NOT what he wanted, but after seeing it on the wall, he liked it. So I was all, "Wait... You said you WANTED it brown! You're the reason it's brown." And he was all, "I meant brown like we had in SC." .... "You mean, a medium tan???" But now we both really love the brown, and I think it's also important to mention, the shade was called "Wild turkey." Clearly, it was meant to be. It looks like really dark chocolate milk, and you can't go wrong with that. And with the wall being brown, and the duvet cover being black and ivory, I decided I should bring in some color-- which I knew could be accomplished using bright pillows and PAPER LANTERNS.
Steve should probably learn to describe colors the way I do, as in these recent descriptions I gave to others about rooms in the house:
"Our bathroom is a muted limish sagey color."
"For the kitchen I chose a very soft 1950s seafoam green, because I like it, and because I thought it might remind me of the ocean, though it may be a little green for that. But it's very soothing. The lemon yellow that was there made my eyes and brain hurt."
"E's room is now a very dark plum, grapish color. Her zebra and pinks will pop beautifully."
"The garage is the scariest green I have ever seen."
See, I bet you can totally visualize all of those colors.
So anyway, we got everything painted already, except for the garage. I just won't go in there for now. And since I sold my dining room furniture to some morons before we left SC, we're gonna put our black-light foosball table in the dining room, because that's how awesome we are. I have the rest of my life to get new furniture, but my kids will only be young for a little while longer.
It's been almost a year since we sold our beautiful home in SC, and moved to a small condo in NJ. A couple of weeks ago, we began the move to a house, in another town. We're super excited because it's really hard to find a house for rent in NJ, for under $2,000 a month, that's not gross, and allows you to have pets. And we're just not ready to buy anything up here yet. I was afraid the kids wouldn't like the new place, because they actually had huge bedrooms at the condo, but even they appreciate the roomy kitchen and extra living space. And we have a fenced backyard now, so I can shove the dogs or kids outside and say, "Get some fresh air!"
Which is what I should have done before THIS happened:
The kids were running through the house, shooting each other with Nerf guns, when suddenly, there was a great commotion. Now, I don't ask a lot of questions about what goes on around here, because frankly, I don't want to know everything. But I was soon given some information about a Nerf dart floating hopelessly in the toilet. I asked, "Who shot it into the toilet?" And a quick confession flowed freely from Elizabeth's mouth. So my response was, "She who shot it, gets it out," which I thought was gonna be the end of things, but then I heard there were further negotiations going on down the hall, which I was later told, went like this: "Noah, you are gonna HAVE to get it out somehow, because there's NO WAY I'm putting my hands in your poop." (She's never gotten over accidentally grabbing one of his poops when they were in the bathtub, when they were little) So the presence of poop was a detail I was unaware of. She'd shot him while he was on the pot. Who shoots a person mid-poo? And if his little behind was covering the hole, how did it even get in there? They explained that it happened during some process of ducking to escape the heavy rapid Nerf fire. I know how terrifying foam can be.
Soon Elizabeth walked away, and all was quiet. Noah went in for the dart. I began to listen carefully, because I know this child, and I knew to be ready for what would happen next. One might would assume that once the dart was retrieved, that it went straight into the trash. If you know Noah, you know that didn't happen. Noah's not gonna throw a cheap toy away, just because it was swimming in feces. So then I was all, "Noah, throw the dart in the trash." And he was all, "But why?? I washed it when I washed my hands." At least he thought to wash his hands. With much effort, we finally got it into the trash, but I can't be certain that it didn't find it's way out, and back into the Nerf supply. Elizabeth.. play at your own risk.
So the house is a 1969 ranch style home, which thankfully has been completely updated inside, though there's nothing I love more than a nice retro feel. There is one wall that still has brown panelling on it. I'm shocked by this, given how that's the only outdated thing here. We may change that very soon but I'm gonna be sure and ask the owner first, because I've known some people who were very much attached to their faux wood wall products, as bizarre as that may seem. And it would appear that there are no restrictions in this community because one of the neighbors doesn't like to cut their grass, and another still has Christmas lights up, so everyday we are in the Christmas spirit. "Why are you living this way, Amy?" you might ask. This is Jersey, baby! We've actually talked about buying it, if the owner decides to sell, because we really like it! And you have no idea how much thought I've given to having a few strategically placed plastic pink flamingos on the front lawn. The possibilities of how to decorate with them, throughout each season, are endless. Imagine this: Christmas comes, and I have pink flamingos in Santa hats, pulling a sleigh full of toys. Or next to a lovely nativity scene. Also, they could hang out with Pedro the turkey, for Thanksgiving... Guard nests of Easter eggs in the Spring... And can't you just see them standing proudly next to a snowman in the Winter, wearing their little knitted hats and scarves? They'd be that perfect pop of color on an otherwise rather monochromatic snowy day. It'd be like a tropical Alaska. And I'm not joking. If I find some, this will happen. I've spent too many years living in stuffy, snotty-pot neighborhoods with tons of ridiculous rules. Now I'm free to have trailer park plastic birds, and out of season decorations, and I intend to make the most of it. And fourth of July is coming... how about flamingos with bunting strung from beak to beak?? Recently, I heard on the news that you can defend yourself with a plastic flamingo, by attempting to impale a bad guy with it's wiry legs. At least that's what somebody tried. I can't imagine this need arising, but it does seem nice that these birds pull double duty as decor, and a weapon.
Before we could move in, we were forced to paint, mainly because Noah's room was hot pink, with flowers. So he chose a lovely shade of green, which he matched up to his stuffed alligator "Bob's" eyeball color, but our friend Dan realized it was also exactly the color of the Grinch. So now we call it the Grinch room, which doesn't make Noah really happy but that's what happens when you insist on a freakishly green room. And Noah kinda IS a grinch.. Then Steve told me he wanted our room to be brown, so I excitedly chose brown paint, and then they painted, and then I found out that brown was NOT what he wanted, but after seeing it on the wall, he liked it. So I was all, "Wait... You said you WANTED it brown! You're the reason it's brown." And he was all, "I meant brown like we had in SC." .... "You mean, a medium tan???" But now we both really love the brown, and I think it's also important to mention, the shade was called "Wild turkey." Clearly, it was meant to be. It looks like really dark chocolate milk, and you can't go wrong with that. And with the wall being brown, and the duvet cover being black and ivory, I decided I should bring in some color-- which I knew could be accomplished using bright pillows and PAPER LANTERNS.
Steve should probably learn to describe colors the way I do, as in these recent descriptions I gave to others about rooms in the house:
"Our bathroom is a muted limish sagey color."
"For the kitchen I chose a very soft 1950s seafoam green, because I like it, and because I thought it might remind me of the ocean, though it may be a little green for that. But it's very soothing. The lemon yellow that was there made my eyes and brain hurt."
"E's room is now a very dark plum, grapish color. Her zebra and pinks will pop beautifully."
"The garage is the scariest green I have ever seen."
See, I bet you can totally visualize all of those colors.
So anyway, we got everything painted already, except for the garage. I just won't go in there for now. And since I sold my dining room furniture to some morons before we left SC, we're gonna put our black-light foosball table in the dining room, because that's how awesome we are. I have the rest of my life to get new furniture, but my kids will only be young for a little while longer.
 |
| I used the worst camera ever to take these, but notice the neutral... neutral... neutral, then BAM! Red on the ceiling! I'm still working on finding some pillows. |
 |
| And here you can see the green one too. And they're not actually made of paper. It's some kind of material. I'm gonna put flameless candles with timers inside them. Genius. You're welcome, Steve. |
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Dude, Where's My Pants?? And Other Reasons You'd Never Want To Travel With Our Family
Years ago, it was determined that when a vent cover on top of our travel trailer needs replacing, that it was my job to do it because I weigh less. They seem to last a couple of years, and then one day, one of the three will just blow off while going down the highway. So the night before our Spring break trip, as our camper sat illegally parked outside of our condo, a mere few hours before we were to leave for glorious Myrtle Beach, SC, Steve realized that one had blown off. We didn't have a replacement cover, nor did we have a camping supply store in our area, and there was rain in the overnight forecast. It was late. It was cold. We were tired. So then we were gonna duct tape some plastic over it, but we couldn't even seem to round up a measly roll of stinkin' tape. So I just went inside and covered the bunk beds beneath the hole with vinyl table cloths and said, "Let's forget it and go to bed."
And the next morning, we were off. We think we pulled out before the blonde shrew, who stomps around clutching a clipboard, monitoring everyone's activity in our condo community, was any the wiser. Of course it rained all the way to the South, because that's what happens when you have an open hole on top of your camper, with bedding protected by vinyl tablecloths that you didn't even secure. But it didn't matter, because soon, we'd be surrounded by warm sand and salty air. Six or seven hours later we stopped in my hometown, Wilson, NC, for some delicious food from Parker's Barbecue, and had a short visit with family. I ate an obscene amout of corn sticks, FRIED CHICKEN, and pulled pork, all while sucking down the best sweet tea in America. A short while later, we were at Myrtle Beach!
The next morning, I found myself on top of the camper, trying to install the wrong vent cover, which Steve had just purchased. Eternity passed, and then Steve finally believed me that it wasn't gonna work, and he hopped into the golf car, and was headed back to the RV supply place to get the right one-- something he'd have to do a couple more times! I just stayed up there and took a few pictures in between attempts to attach incorrect vent covers. It was actually a lot of fun! And people stared a me like I was some crazy person who hangs out on top of trailers, but I didn't care because it was the most beautiful day ever.
Then Steve and our daughter thought it would be a good idea to let her drive the golf car, eventhough she is unlicensed and underage. I was opposed, as was Noah. For me it was because I'm not into breaking the law. For Noah, it's more about seeing to it that his sister is never happy. So we were riding around and then an Ocean Lakes security lady jumped out at us from no where, doing a random license check. So of course we got in big trouble, fined, and almost lost our driving priviledges for the rest of the week. I tried to at least look like I didn't know the rules, but Steve, as always, was all, "Yes, we knew we weren't supposed to." Kinda like when he was pulled months ago and he responded, "Yes officer, I was speeding so I could get to breakfast before they stopped serving."
The next day, the need to leave the campground was forced upon us when my dippy dogs ran out of food. So as we were leaving the pool, Steve said he wanted to go take a quick shower before we left, and that turned out to be the best decision in the history of evers. A few minutes later, I'm sitting inside the camper, complaining about some flu-like symptoms, and then I heard, "BOOM!" We looked outside and saw our dining canopy, which had been staked into the ground, had lifted up, hit our camper, and our son was out there holding tightly onto one leg of it. So Steve immediately ran outside without realizing that the only thing between him and the rest of Ocean Lakes Family Campground was a thin pair of charcoal gray boxer briefs. I guess it wasn't a really big deal considering it was the beach, where there is often a sighting of old men in speedos and women in unfortunate swimsuit choices. Moments later, the door swings open and he says, "I NEED PANTS," and he quickly jumped into some shorts. And then shouted something like, "All hands on deck!" And I'm annoyed at this point because I'm convinced he hates me because I feel like flu and he's making me go outside to help with a stupid dining canopy. So I grumbled something and made my way over to the door and then realized I couldn't open the door! The wind was pushing it closed. So I finally got out there and that's when I found out we were experiencing a crisis. The sun was shining, there was hardly a cloud in the sky, but we were having some sort of freak wind event. Now it was lifting our awning, which is bad news because if the wind flips it over, it's destroyed. So Elizabeth was hanging onto it for dear life, and it lifted her off the ground. I'm telling you, she was flapping in the breeze like a pair of frilly bloomers hung out on the line on a sunny afternoon! Strangers ran over to help us, including a man who was just passing by on a bicycle. Then the wind actually blew me backwards a few feet! Finally Steve had the now warped, and slightly torn awning rolled up and safe from further damage. So we finished working on the dining canopy, removing broken lights from it, and got it all put away. We had broken glass everywhere, and Elizabeth and I had some cuts on our hands so we were all, "I'M BLEEDING! AAAAAGGGGHHHH!" Luckily, we had some Spongebob band aids on hand. We started taking a first aid kit on vacations, years ago, after Noah entered our lives.
My new awning lights that I'd asked for, for Christmas, were on the ground and the 60 watt bulbs inside each globe were broken. But I was happy that the fixture and globes had all survived. I didn't know at the time that the dining canopy had crashed into them, causing them to fall to the ground. We were blessed that our damage wasn't any worse, because many of our neighbors did lose their awnings and dining tents. One even flew over top of the campers. Also the kids had begged us to inflate "Pedro" the Thanksgiving turkey, because they'd missed him and thought the comedic value of a 6 foot illuminated Thanksgiving turkey on our campsite for Spring break would bring them much joy. So all I could think about that night was how glad I was that we'd not gotten around to setting him up yet because I'm sure he would have gone airborne and campers would have been shouting, "Look! It's a bird, it's a plane, ...it IS a bird!" just before it took out some children or something. There are probably few things more terrifying than seeing a giant gobbler, wearing a pilgrim hat, coming straight at your face, from the sky. And possibly we would have never seen him again, even if he'd survived.
And the new vent cover was now laying on the ground..
The next day we sat on the beach and observed children playing and swimming in a drainage pool which was surrounded by signs that read, "Do not swim. Dangerous Bacteria." But they were having a great time collecting all the zillions of dead jellyfish that had washed up that night, which Noah had claimed to spot when he was swimming in the ocean the day before, but we just assumed he was crazy. So these unruly kids were dumping them into the drainage pool so that as the afternoon passed, more children would come along, jump into that filthy water, and stand on jellyfish. I wanted to hit the nonchalant parents.
That night, Steve put the awning back out, hung the newly-bulbed lights, and we grilled out-- NY Strip, shrimp, grilled onions and peppers, and sweet potatoes. Everything was delicious. He asked what I'd prefer he do about leaving the awning out overnight and I said, "Oh Steve, please leave it out! I like to see the pretty, colorful lights while I'm sleeping. Later on, I'll check the weather forecast for overnight."
Around 3 am, we were awakened by a sudden, loud clash of lightning. I heard Steve express some unhappiness as he sprang out of bed, and out the door... in his underwear.. again... What we have now, my friends, is a HABIT. I just lay there thinking about how this could lead to us joining a weird colony of people who sell off all their clothing and live life covered only by simple undergarments. I guess it's a good thing I still have a gift card to that underwear store in the mall. I've been holding out for the next semi-annual sale. Soon the lights were snatched down, the awning rolled up, and a rain-saturated husband returned. I pretended to be asleep, hoping to avoid the subject of how I'd promised to check the weather forecast.
The next day, we plopped down in the sand near some people who were enjoying some 70s tunes. There's a song, "If You Leave Me Now" by Chicago, which for reasons that are not entirely understood by us, is REALLY annoying to Elizabeth. So now, Steve and I are known to start singing it, "Ooooooo no, baby please don't go!"♫ I guess we go a little off-key on the oooooos and become major embarrassments. I really don't even know what started it all, as this is not our typical genre. So anyway, it was playing on the beach, and this free spirited, full-figured, older woman, who was apparently concerned about developing tan lines, started dancing and singing, obviously reliving some 1970s happy moments. Also, half of the humans sprawled out along the sandy shore joined in. Sadly, Elizabeth wasn't with us, which was really a crying shame. When we filled her in on the epic beach moment she shouted, "Thank you, Jesus, I wasn't there!" I really think she overreacts. You can't beat a bright, sunny day with crashing waves, soaring seagulls, deteriorating jellyfish, colorful kites and beach umbrellas, and confident, overweight people who unexpectedly break into song and dance. I was exactly where I wanted to be.
The next day we went to my favorite zoo, "Alligator Adventures." Reptiles are hilarious to me, and I especially love the giant galapogos tortoises. Sometimes they will come to you and reach towards you and let you pet them. But they were horribly rude that day. I was all, "Hey you tortoises! Come see me." They just stood there, motionless, and looked at me. I even went back to them later, hoping they'd had a change of heart, but then one of them just walked away, and went inside. It's been my dream, for years, to own one. I would put it in the backyard and name him "Teeny Tortellini." I would build TT a house and you can even paint their shell, which I already know, would be bubblegum pink with glued on faux jewels. And he wouldn't even care that he's sparkly and has girl colors because he's a tortoise. I'd have to make him a big salad everyday, but I already do that for our pet lizard. Then Elizabeth and I touched a giant crocodile named, "Utan," that you're not supposed to touch but we found a way to do it anyway. I'm not scared of him because I've been visiting him for years, and he never does anything at all. He's pretty lazy and boring, really. Then they do a show and you get to touch alligators and snakes. So we got to pet a constrictor named, "Victoria."
One night, we planned to go to dinner with our friends, Tommy and Christy, whom we'd not seen in over a year! They were 2 campgrounds down from us. So we met at Broadway at the Beach and spent a couple of hours talking, laughing, and stuffing our faces at a restaurant, and then spent a couple more hours lingering outside. They have little kids who are amazing because they were so good and were happily entertained all night by the fun of balloon animals. My kids, at that age, would have been prostrate on the floor, consumed by delusions of horror. We were so happy to spend time together. But eventually Steve said we had to leave because he wanted some ice cream. The only way to separate Christy and me, is to physically pull us apart, and walk us in opposite directions. And that's basically what happened.
We were sad to leave the beach, but on Saturday we were back in Wilson, eating delicious barbecue one last time, and we attended a memorial service for my Uncle Johnny. I miss him. He was one of the funniest people I ever knew.
Here are a few pics from our trip. Mostly birds, because birds are so awesome.
And now I leave you with this, dedicated to our daughter, Elizabeth.
And the next morning, we were off. We think we pulled out before the blonde shrew, who stomps around clutching a clipboard, monitoring everyone's activity in our condo community, was any the wiser. Of course it rained all the way to the South, because that's what happens when you have an open hole on top of your camper, with bedding protected by vinyl tablecloths that you didn't even secure. But it didn't matter, because soon, we'd be surrounded by warm sand and salty air. Six or seven hours later we stopped in my hometown, Wilson, NC, for some delicious food from Parker's Barbecue, and had a short visit with family. I ate an obscene amout of corn sticks, FRIED CHICKEN, and pulled pork, all while sucking down the best sweet tea in America. A short while later, we were at Myrtle Beach!
The next morning, I found myself on top of the camper, trying to install the wrong vent cover, which Steve had just purchased. Eternity passed, and then Steve finally believed me that it wasn't gonna work, and he hopped into the golf car, and was headed back to the RV supply place to get the right one-- something he'd have to do a couple more times! I just stayed up there and took a few pictures in between attempts to attach incorrect vent covers. It was actually a lot of fun! And people stared a me like I was some crazy person who hangs out on top of trailers, but I didn't care because it was the most beautiful day ever.
Then Steve and our daughter thought it would be a good idea to let her drive the golf car, eventhough she is unlicensed and underage. I was opposed, as was Noah. For me it was because I'm not into breaking the law. For Noah, it's more about seeing to it that his sister is never happy. So we were riding around and then an Ocean Lakes security lady jumped out at us from no where, doing a random license check. So of course we got in big trouble, fined, and almost lost our driving priviledges for the rest of the week. I tried to at least look like I didn't know the rules, but Steve, as always, was all, "Yes, we knew we weren't supposed to." Kinda like when he was pulled months ago and he responded, "Yes officer, I was speeding so I could get to breakfast before they stopped serving."
The next day, the need to leave the campground was forced upon us when my dippy dogs ran out of food. So as we were leaving the pool, Steve said he wanted to go take a quick shower before we left, and that turned out to be the best decision in the history of evers. A few minutes later, I'm sitting inside the camper, complaining about some flu-like symptoms, and then I heard, "BOOM!" We looked outside and saw our dining canopy, which had been staked into the ground, had lifted up, hit our camper, and our son was out there holding tightly onto one leg of it. So Steve immediately ran outside without realizing that the only thing between him and the rest of Ocean Lakes Family Campground was a thin pair of charcoal gray boxer briefs. I guess it wasn't a really big deal considering it was the beach, where there is often a sighting of old men in speedos and women in unfortunate swimsuit choices. Moments later, the door swings open and he says, "I NEED PANTS," and he quickly jumped into some shorts. And then shouted something like, "All hands on deck!" And I'm annoyed at this point because I'm convinced he hates me because I feel like flu and he's making me go outside to help with a stupid dining canopy. So I grumbled something and made my way over to the door and then realized I couldn't open the door! The wind was pushing it closed. So I finally got out there and that's when I found out we were experiencing a crisis. The sun was shining, there was hardly a cloud in the sky, but we were having some sort of freak wind event. Now it was lifting our awning, which is bad news because if the wind flips it over, it's destroyed. So Elizabeth was hanging onto it for dear life, and it lifted her off the ground. I'm telling you, she was flapping in the breeze like a pair of frilly bloomers hung out on the line on a sunny afternoon! Strangers ran over to help us, including a man who was just passing by on a bicycle. Then the wind actually blew me backwards a few feet! Finally Steve had the now warped, and slightly torn awning rolled up and safe from further damage. So we finished working on the dining canopy, removing broken lights from it, and got it all put away. We had broken glass everywhere, and Elizabeth and I had some cuts on our hands so we were all, "I'M BLEEDING! AAAAAGGGGHHHH!" Luckily, we had some Spongebob band aids on hand. We started taking a first aid kit on vacations, years ago, after Noah entered our lives.
My new awning lights that I'd asked for, for Christmas, were on the ground and the 60 watt bulbs inside each globe were broken. But I was happy that the fixture and globes had all survived. I didn't know at the time that the dining canopy had crashed into them, causing them to fall to the ground. We were blessed that our damage wasn't any worse, because many of our neighbors did lose their awnings and dining tents. One even flew over top of the campers. Also the kids had begged us to inflate "Pedro" the Thanksgiving turkey, because they'd missed him and thought the comedic value of a 6 foot illuminated Thanksgiving turkey on our campsite for Spring break would bring them much joy. So all I could think about that night was how glad I was that we'd not gotten around to setting him up yet because I'm sure he would have gone airborne and campers would have been shouting, "Look! It's a bird, it's a plane, ...it IS a bird!" just before it took out some children or something. There are probably few things more terrifying than seeing a giant gobbler, wearing a pilgrim hat, coming straight at your face, from the sky. And possibly we would have never seen him again, even if he'd survived.
And the new vent cover was now laying on the ground..
The next day we sat on the beach and observed children playing and swimming in a drainage pool which was surrounded by signs that read, "Do not swim. Dangerous Bacteria." But they were having a great time collecting all the zillions of dead jellyfish that had washed up that night, which Noah had claimed to spot when he was swimming in the ocean the day before, but we just assumed he was crazy. So these unruly kids were dumping them into the drainage pool so that as the afternoon passed, more children would come along, jump into that filthy water, and stand on jellyfish. I wanted to hit the nonchalant parents.
That night, Steve put the awning back out, hung the newly-bulbed lights, and we grilled out-- NY Strip, shrimp, grilled onions and peppers, and sweet potatoes. Everything was delicious. He asked what I'd prefer he do about leaving the awning out overnight and I said, "Oh Steve, please leave it out! I like to see the pretty, colorful lights while I'm sleeping. Later on, I'll check the weather forecast for overnight."
Around 3 am, we were awakened by a sudden, loud clash of lightning. I heard Steve express some unhappiness as he sprang out of bed, and out the door... in his underwear.. again... What we have now, my friends, is a HABIT. I just lay there thinking about how this could lead to us joining a weird colony of people who sell off all their clothing and live life covered only by simple undergarments. I guess it's a good thing I still have a gift card to that underwear store in the mall. I've been holding out for the next semi-annual sale. Soon the lights were snatched down, the awning rolled up, and a rain-saturated husband returned. I pretended to be asleep, hoping to avoid the subject of how I'd promised to check the weather forecast.
The next day, we plopped down in the sand near some people who were enjoying some 70s tunes. There's a song, "If You Leave Me Now" by Chicago, which for reasons that are not entirely understood by us, is REALLY annoying to Elizabeth. So now, Steve and I are known to start singing it, "Ooooooo no, baby please don't go!"♫ I guess we go a little off-key on the oooooos and become major embarrassments. I really don't even know what started it all, as this is not our typical genre. So anyway, it was playing on the beach, and this free spirited, full-figured, older woman, who was apparently concerned about developing tan lines, started dancing and singing, obviously reliving some 1970s happy moments. Also, half of the humans sprawled out along the sandy shore joined in. Sadly, Elizabeth wasn't with us, which was really a crying shame. When we filled her in on the epic beach moment she shouted, "Thank you, Jesus, I wasn't there!" I really think she overreacts. You can't beat a bright, sunny day with crashing waves, soaring seagulls, deteriorating jellyfish, colorful kites and beach umbrellas, and confident, overweight people who unexpectedly break into song and dance. I was exactly where I wanted to be.
The next day we went to my favorite zoo, "Alligator Adventures." Reptiles are hilarious to me, and I especially love the giant galapogos tortoises. Sometimes they will come to you and reach towards you and let you pet them. But they were horribly rude that day. I was all, "Hey you tortoises! Come see me." They just stood there, motionless, and looked at me. I even went back to them later, hoping they'd had a change of heart, but then one of them just walked away, and went inside. It's been my dream, for years, to own one. I would put it in the backyard and name him "Teeny Tortellini." I would build TT a house and you can even paint their shell, which I already know, would be bubblegum pink with glued on faux jewels. And he wouldn't even care that he's sparkly and has girl colors because he's a tortoise. I'd have to make him a big salad everyday, but I already do that for our pet lizard. Then Elizabeth and I touched a giant crocodile named, "Utan," that you're not supposed to touch but we found a way to do it anyway. I'm not scared of him because I've been visiting him for years, and he never does anything at all. He's pretty lazy and boring, really. Then they do a show and you get to touch alligators and snakes. So we got to pet a constrictor named, "Victoria."
One night, we planned to go to dinner with our friends, Tommy and Christy, whom we'd not seen in over a year! They were 2 campgrounds down from us. So we met at Broadway at the Beach and spent a couple of hours talking, laughing, and stuffing our faces at a restaurant, and then spent a couple more hours lingering outside. They have little kids who are amazing because they were so good and were happily entertained all night by the fun of balloon animals. My kids, at that age, would have been prostrate on the floor, consumed by delusions of horror. We were so happy to spend time together. But eventually Steve said we had to leave because he wanted some ice cream. The only way to separate Christy and me, is to physically pull us apart, and walk us in opposite directions. And that's basically what happened.
 |
| The tall one is mine. |
We were sad to leave the beach, but on Saturday we were back in Wilson, eating delicious barbecue one last time, and we attended a memorial service for my Uncle Johnny. I miss him. He was one of the funniest people I ever knew.
Here are a few pics from our trip. Mostly birds, because birds are so awesome.
 |
| Elizabeth and the balloon hat. |
 |
| Cruising at the campground. |
And now I leave you with this, dedicated to our daughter, Elizabeth.
Monday, March 12, 2012
The Weekend We Went Zen
Sometimes I think I live to make my husband crazy.
On February 4th, we celebrated 17 years of wedded bliss. I can only imagine what an eternity this must seem like to Steve, given my ways and all. And for some reason, he gave me free reign in planning a little anniversary weekend getaway. For some time now, I've had a great curiousity concerning Bed & Breakfasts. I thought going to a stranger's home, and staying there, along with other strangers, sounded like a wonderfully horrific idea. So a week or so before the anniversary, I was googling B&Bs, looking for a good place to visit. Every single picture I saw online, totally freaked me out. From hideous wallpaper, to rooms filled with teddy bears, and lace, and doilies, and dolls, ... and GHOSTS, they all looked like my worst nightmare. Seriously, google haunted B&Bs. There's a whole website dedicated to it. Many of them proudly advertise their hauntedness.
Then I came across a place in the Poconos that was modern, beautiful, and non-ghost infested. They had a whole New Age/Zen vibe, and offered yoga, health-food breakfasts, and organic sheets. Now, if you don't know my husband, let me just say, Steve and some of the things I just mentioned go together about as well as chainsaws and tree huggers. But it looked awesome, so I booked it. And over the next several days, I would slowly break it to him how there was no tv in the rooms, no shoes allowed, breakfast at the same table with strangers, and a special departure ritual of some sort. But, it was within a stone's throw of a ski resort, so that's why he didn't kill me. Then 2 days before we left, Steve came down with some weird virus that covers you in hives. I might have been suspicious of this sudden onset of illness, but everybody knows you can't fake hives. (FYI- That was a joke. I would NEVER EVER question someone who says they're sick.) He said we could still go if I wanted to, but I really didn't want to take an itchy man to the Poconos.
The trouble was, we'd already given them our credit card info, and cancellations were not allowed within 10 days of the reservation. But I sent them this email: "We are scheduled to arrive on Friday, but my husband has come down with a contagious virus that causes your whole body to be covered in itchy, painful hives. I need to know what you want us to do. If we still have to pay, we're still coming." Within 5 minutes the lady called and said, "Don't come. You can have your money." So we rescheduled.
We decided to go to the Melting Pot for our anniversary, which was in downtown Philly. And Steve, of course, said we were taking my car, "Cherry Pie" because he doesn't like for his truck, "The Black Pearl" to go into the city because he remembers what happened on 4th of July when people were throwing icies at our car, and beer bottles were flying by our heads. He says it's just because traffic is bad and lanes are narrow. So it was $5 to cross the bridge, $30 to park, the meal, and the terror of downtown Philly. And let me just say, if I'd been driving in the traffic we encountered, I would have pulled over and started crying. If I'd been alone, I would have also called 9-1-1.
Once inside the restaurant, I wasn't happy with our table, and asked if we could have one of the "cozy tables" and they said you have to request the cozy tables when you make your reservation, but I didn't even know there were icky tables and cozy tables, until we were there. I explained how in Greenville, SC, all of the tables were cozy, so we'd never had to specify which one when making our reservation. So they did some checking, and managed to get us in to one of the good tables. Then they brought us some champagne, and we said we don't drink, so then they brought us sparkling apple juice, in a champagne flute, garnished with a strawberry, which looked exactly the same as the champagne, so I laughed about how people who love to spread rumors about our family missed the photo op of a lifetime. We'd been there 5 minutes, and had already been extremely high maintenance. They were super nice though, and when I didn't like the mushrooms inside the raviolis, they brought me some different ones. And I didn't even say I don't like gross mushrooms, but they sensed it. Steve says I make faces sometimes when I don't even realize I'm making faces.
So finally, last weekend, we made it to the Poconos. I think we drove straight up a mountain to get to the B&B, in darkness and rain, and once inside, we couldn't find any other human beings. So we just stood there, sock-footed, and waited for something to happen. And Steve chose that day to wear mismatched socks.. It was one of those eery moments where you think everyone's been killed, or all the humans of earth have disappeared or something. Finally a lady came out and showed us to our room. And then she was gone, and where she was now, was a mystery. Hours later I got thirsty and started wandering down the hall, to an upstairs fridge she'd told us about. I couldn't find any lights and I felt like a creep as I was standing right outside of someone's room, in total darkness. If they had opened their door, I'm sure I would have dropped dead. I could hear voices, and this was the first clue that there was other life inside the house. I looked inside the fridge, but there was no water, only soda. So then I told Steve I needed some bottled water from the truck, but I was too scared to go get it. So he had to get out of bed, put those mismatched socks back on, go downstairs, put on shoes, get the water, then remove his shoes once he was back inside. He happily did it because he's amazing.
Hours later, the sun was coming up over the mountain and I noticed you could see for miles down into the valley, and the Delaware River, from the large arched window. Some funny blue birds were frolicking in the trees, just outside. We got dressed as we nervously anticipated our breakfast with total strangers. It was something we had feared. We were sure, somehow, it would be very awkward.
So we quietly eased down the stairs and peeked around the corner, into the dining room. That morning, the conservative Baptist preacher and his crazy wife, sat down next to a male couple from NY, and had a lovely breakfast of puff pancakes with real maple syrup, mixed fruit, yogurt, and granola. No, the fruit wasn't on the pancakes. It was served in a glass with the yogurt and granola- sort of a parfait thing. And I think the B&B lady forced me to eat a second puff pancake. She was really a high pressure puff pancake-pusher.
And then I told Steve about the Labyrinth. The labyrinth was some stone formation that you walk through. It goes on in circles, nearly forever, until you reach the center. I think it's suppose to calm you, but I didn't find it very calming. I think it's because we made fun of it, and Steve wanted to cheat by crossing the lines the whole time. He said it was nothing more than "glorified pacing," which I have to agree is a pretty accurate assessment. We also had difficulty saying "labyrinth" so we made up a new name for it, which I'll just keep to myself. Sometimes when something bad happens, or if I'm very unusually nervous about something, I like to pace- while praying, or just totally freaking out. So an at-home labyrinth would be useful when that happens, but I think people would find it strange or think we have crop circles or something. And then we'd attract weird alien abduction people.
And then everyone left the B&B, and I started snooping through the house. I thought I was just opening a door in the yoga studio, but once I'd opened it, I realized it was a guest room. Terrified, I closed the door and ran down some stairs! But then it occurred to me that since no one yelled at me, it must have been a vacant room. So then I went back up and opened the door a little. "Hello?," I timidly spoke into the silence. Again, no one yelled so I waltzed right in. It was beautiful, and WAY better than our room. It even had an old fashion tub in the bedroom, for those who enjoy relaxing in a pool of tepid water, surrounded by their own floating filth. I'm totally asking for that one next time.
We brought our skiis, but it was almost 60 degrees that day, and rainy. So we drove down to the river, and went on a little hike instead. There were signs about not feeding the bears so then I was really scared that bears were coming. I was noticing dry ears of corn that had been nibbled on, next to a cornfield. Then we saw a fresh poo. We couldn't help but wonder what had pooped on the trail just minutes earlier. And I picked up some corn for a free souvenir.
That night I wanted to go to a Thai restaurant that I'd read glowing reviews about. We'd never had Thai food because we'd never had a good place to go. The people at the B&B highly recommended this place. So we went, and when they opened at 5:30 for dinner, people were lined up at the door, and cars started whipping into the parking lot, and we almost didn't get a table! So we sat down and they brought some multicolored styrofoam looking things to the table and we weren't sure what they were for but then we heard people crunching so we realized it was edible. I think maybe they were some kind of blown up rice, but whatever it was, it was not tasty. Then Steve seemed to develop some anxiety, which I thought maybe was because he didn't do the Labyrinth right, but then, like an unskilled ventriloquist, he quietly said, "mmmnoook ooor yyrrr lt shurrdr." "What??" "Look over your left shoulder." Casually and slowly, I turned my head, pretending that I was admiring the artwork on the wall. And then it happened.. Now, I've heard of the "crack of dawn" but this was the "crack of I-just-lost-my-appetite." I'm not talking about pants that had slipped just a little below the equator. Inside that dimly lit Thai restaurant, there was a full moon shining brightly. This man, who's jeans had apparently lost an epic battle with gravity when he lowered himself into a seated position, was exposing his entire gluteus region to the whole room. And then we started quietly "cracking" jokes. So many questions came to my mind, "Doesn't he own a belt?", "Doesn't he feel a draft?", "Are we gonna be able to eat?" Because in the words of the late Whitney Houston, "Crack is whack."
After we left the Thai restaurant, Steve drove to a McDonald's drive thru for a double cheeseburger- a meat far more mysterious than anything he could have eaten at the Thai place.
That night we watched a movie in our room, because they had these big screen dvd players and movies you could bring into your room. Well they were actually tvs with built-in dvd players, but they just called them "dvd players" because I think maybe tvs were frowned upon. We snacked on cheesy popcorn and fudge we'd purchased that afternoon at a place called "Popcorn Buddha." I don't know what popcorn has to do with Buddha, but this seemed to be a recurring theme in this small, rural, mountain town. Steve couldn't believe I'd ordered popcorn coated in a greasy, orange, processed cheese powdery substance, but sometimes cravings just come out of nowhere. We were probably annoying, as we sampled nearly every fudge they had on display, except for the red velvet one, which looked delicious, but ever since I heard that red food dye is often made from bugs, I avoid it. I'm not kidding. Look it up.
So we had a good time in the Poconos. What I liked most about the B&B is it didn't have that skeevy, germy feeling that you get at a hotel, and I could see the moon from my pillow. I liked their dog. Also, they decided to not make eggs, since I don't like them. What I disliked the most was the no shoe rule, shortage of washcloths, and the thermostat that controlled our room was located in the cold-natured guys' room down the hall. We slept with the windows open. I look forward to going back someday, and staying in the way better room I found while snooping. And hopefully we'll be able to skip out on the departure ritual, just like we did this time, since we had to leave very early. Because frankly, that sounded weird.
On February 4th, we celebrated 17 years of wedded bliss. I can only imagine what an eternity this must seem like to Steve, given my ways and all. And for some reason, he gave me free reign in planning a little anniversary weekend getaway. For some time now, I've had a great curiousity concerning Bed & Breakfasts. I thought going to a stranger's home, and staying there, along with other strangers, sounded like a wonderfully horrific idea. So a week or so before the anniversary, I was googling B&Bs, looking for a good place to visit. Every single picture I saw online, totally freaked me out. From hideous wallpaper, to rooms filled with teddy bears, and lace, and doilies, and dolls, ... and GHOSTS, they all looked like my worst nightmare. Seriously, google haunted B&Bs. There's a whole website dedicated to it. Many of them proudly advertise their hauntedness.
Then I came across a place in the Poconos that was modern, beautiful, and non-ghost infested. They had a whole New Age/Zen vibe, and offered yoga, health-food breakfasts, and organic sheets. Now, if you don't know my husband, let me just say, Steve and some of the things I just mentioned go together about as well as chainsaws and tree huggers. But it looked awesome, so I booked it. And over the next several days, I would slowly break it to him how there was no tv in the rooms, no shoes allowed, breakfast at the same table with strangers, and a special departure ritual of some sort. But, it was within a stone's throw of a ski resort, so that's why he didn't kill me. Then 2 days before we left, Steve came down with some weird virus that covers you in hives. I might have been suspicious of this sudden onset of illness, but everybody knows you can't fake hives. (FYI- That was a joke. I would NEVER EVER question someone who says they're sick.) He said we could still go if I wanted to, but I really didn't want to take an itchy man to the Poconos.
The trouble was, we'd already given them our credit card info, and cancellations were not allowed within 10 days of the reservation. But I sent them this email: "We are scheduled to arrive on Friday, but my husband has come down with a contagious virus that causes your whole body to be covered in itchy, painful hives. I need to know what you want us to do. If we still have to pay, we're still coming." Within 5 minutes the lady called and said, "Don't come. You can have your money." So we rescheduled.
We decided to go to the Melting Pot for our anniversary, which was in downtown Philly. And Steve, of course, said we were taking my car, "Cherry Pie" because he doesn't like for his truck, "The Black Pearl" to go into the city because he remembers what happened on 4th of July when people were throwing icies at our car, and beer bottles were flying by our heads. He says it's just because traffic is bad and lanes are narrow. So it was $5 to cross the bridge, $30 to park, the meal, and the terror of downtown Philly. And let me just say, if I'd been driving in the traffic we encountered, I would have pulled over and started crying. If I'd been alone, I would have also called 9-1-1.
Once inside the restaurant, I wasn't happy with our table, and asked if we could have one of the "cozy tables" and they said you have to request the cozy tables when you make your reservation, but I didn't even know there were icky tables and cozy tables, until we were there. I explained how in Greenville, SC, all of the tables were cozy, so we'd never had to specify which one when making our reservation. So they did some checking, and managed to get us in to one of the good tables. Then they brought us some champagne, and we said we don't drink, so then they brought us sparkling apple juice, in a champagne flute, garnished with a strawberry, which looked exactly the same as the champagne, so I laughed about how people who love to spread rumors about our family missed the photo op of a lifetime. We'd been there 5 minutes, and had already been extremely high maintenance. They were super nice though, and when I didn't like the mushrooms inside the raviolis, they brought me some different ones. And I didn't even say I don't like gross mushrooms, but they sensed it. Steve says I make faces sometimes when I don't even realize I'm making faces.
So finally, last weekend, we made it to the Poconos. I think we drove straight up a mountain to get to the B&B, in darkness and rain, and once inside, we couldn't find any other human beings. So we just stood there, sock-footed, and waited for something to happen. And Steve chose that day to wear mismatched socks.. It was one of those eery moments where you think everyone's been killed, or all the humans of earth have disappeared or something. Finally a lady came out and showed us to our room. And then she was gone, and where she was now, was a mystery. Hours later I got thirsty and started wandering down the hall, to an upstairs fridge she'd told us about. I couldn't find any lights and I felt like a creep as I was standing right outside of someone's room, in total darkness. If they had opened their door, I'm sure I would have dropped dead. I could hear voices, and this was the first clue that there was other life inside the house. I looked inside the fridge, but there was no water, only soda. So then I told Steve I needed some bottled water from the truck, but I was too scared to go get it. So he had to get out of bed, put those mismatched socks back on, go downstairs, put on shoes, get the water, then remove his shoes once he was back inside. He happily did it because he's amazing.
Hours later, the sun was coming up over the mountain and I noticed you could see for miles down into the valley, and the Delaware River, from the large arched window. Some funny blue birds were frolicking in the trees, just outside. We got dressed as we nervously anticipated our breakfast with total strangers. It was something we had feared. We were sure, somehow, it would be very awkward.
So we quietly eased down the stairs and peeked around the corner, into the dining room. That morning, the conservative Baptist preacher and his crazy wife, sat down next to a male couple from NY, and had a lovely breakfast of puff pancakes with real maple syrup, mixed fruit, yogurt, and granola. No, the fruit wasn't on the pancakes. It was served in a glass with the yogurt and granola- sort of a parfait thing. And I think the B&B lady forced me to eat a second puff pancake. She was really a high pressure puff pancake-pusher.
And then I told Steve about the Labyrinth. The labyrinth was some stone formation that you walk through. It goes on in circles, nearly forever, until you reach the center. I think it's suppose to calm you, but I didn't find it very calming. I think it's because we made fun of it, and Steve wanted to cheat by crossing the lines the whole time. He said it was nothing more than "glorified pacing," which I have to agree is a pretty accurate assessment. We also had difficulty saying "labyrinth" so we made up a new name for it, which I'll just keep to myself. Sometimes when something bad happens, or if I'm very unusually nervous about something, I like to pace- while praying, or just totally freaking out. So an at-home labyrinth would be useful when that happens, but I think people would find it strange or think we have crop circles or something. And then we'd attract weird alien abduction people.
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| And this was the reward for completing the labyrinth. You could sit on this bench. |
We brought our skiis, but it was almost 60 degrees that day, and rainy. So we drove down to the river, and went on a little hike instead. There were signs about not feeding the bears so then I was really scared that bears were coming. I was noticing dry ears of corn that had been nibbled on, next to a cornfield. Then we saw a fresh poo. We couldn't help but wonder what had pooped on the trail just minutes earlier. And I picked up some corn for a free souvenir.
That night I wanted to go to a Thai restaurant that I'd read glowing reviews about. We'd never had Thai food because we'd never had a good place to go. The people at the B&B highly recommended this place. So we went, and when they opened at 5:30 for dinner, people were lined up at the door, and cars started whipping into the parking lot, and we almost didn't get a table! So we sat down and they brought some multicolored styrofoam looking things to the table and we weren't sure what they were for but then we heard people crunching so we realized it was edible. I think maybe they were some kind of blown up rice, but whatever it was, it was not tasty. Then Steve seemed to develop some anxiety, which I thought maybe was because he didn't do the Labyrinth right, but then, like an unskilled ventriloquist, he quietly said, "mmmnoook ooor yyrrr lt shurrdr." "What??" "Look over your left shoulder." Casually and slowly, I turned my head, pretending that I was admiring the artwork on the wall. And then it happened.. Now, I've heard of the "crack of dawn" but this was the "crack of I-just-lost-my-appetite." I'm not talking about pants that had slipped just a little below the equator. Inside that dimly lit Thai restaurant, there was a full moon shining brightly. This man, who's jeans had apparently lost an epic battle with gravity when he lowered himself into a seated position, was exposing his entire gluteus region to the whole room. And then we started quietly "cracking" jokes. So many questions came to my mind, "Doesn't he own a belt?", "Doesn't he feel a draft?", "Are we gonna be able to eat?" Because in the words of the late Whitney Houston, "Crack is whack."
After we left the Thai restaurant, Steve drove to a McDonald's drive thru for a double cheeseburger- a meat far more mysterious than anything he could have eaten at the Thai place.
That night we watched a movie in our room, because they had these big screen dvd players and movies you could bring into your room. Well they were actually tvs with built-in dvd players, but they just called them "dvd players" because I think maybe tvs were frowned upon. We snacked on cheesy popcorn and fudge we'd purchased that afternoon at a place called "Popcorn Buddha." I don't know what popcorn has to do with Buddha, but this seemed to be a recurring theme in this small, rural, mountain town. Steve couldn't believe I'd ordered popcorn coated in a greasy, orange, processed cheese powdery substance, but sometimes cravings just come out of nowhere. We were probably annoying, as we sampled nearly every fudge they had on display, except for the red velvet one, which looked delicious, but ever since I heard that red food dye is often made from bugs, I avoid it. I'm not kidding. Look it up.
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| Does this seem odd to anyone else? |
So we had a good time in the Poconos. What I liked most about the B&B is it didn't have that skeevy, germy feeling that you get at a hotel, and I could see the moon from my pillow. I liked their dog. Also, they decided to not make eggs, since I don't like them. What I disliked the most was the no shoe rule, shortage of washcloths, and the thermostat that controlled our room was located in the cold-natured guys' room down the hall. We slept with the windows open. I look forward to going back someday, and staying in the way better room I found while snooping. And hopefully we'll be able to skip out on the departure ritual, just like we did this time, since we had to leave very early. Because frankly, that sounded weird.
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| The B&B |
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| I sat at the yellow plate. Not that it matters to anyone. |
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| Window in our room. |
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