Dreams of Vacation

Before it gets too far away, I want to write about my impressions of the Outer Banks this year. Sure, I have been there many times before. But every visit brings a new appreciation of Place.

Like home, there are bike paths and neighborhoods to run through. However, streets and trails are bordered by sand mixed in with the crab grass. Like home, I hear the call of cat birds and blue jays as I run. But here, a quick glance at the sky will often be met with the flapping and swooping of pelicans and osprey.











Like home, houses are accented by roses, marigolds, vinca. But here, planting beds are also populated with variations of cactus and palms. Knobby pines and rosemary bushes grow wild on the roadside. Grasses sway elegantly on the dunes.

Nothing at home, however, compares to the colors and emotions of the ocean. The water was so warm and so clear this year. Each day as I watched, I was greeted with a marvelous variety of jewel tones. In the frothing surf near the shore, sparkling turquoise. Depending on the day and sunlight, cresting waves shone in tones of emerald, sapphire, jade, tourmaline, and peridot.













On calm days, tiny waves broke infrequently, allowing the transparent surf to reflect the sky. I saw clearly the sand and pebbles beneath, the color of brown sugar, on closer inspection. On rougher days, sprays shot skyward, bright white, like regularly timed cheers.













The sound - whether a lulling dull roar, or smashing relentless pounding, filled me with happiness.

I could spend an eternity taking in the colors, sounds and smell of these barrier islands. I could contentedly explore the bright middles and subtle corners of every season here. I could revel in the wildness that seems perennially ready to reclaim the land around the homes we have rented. I would be satisfied to just to be....here.

Lazy tinsel*

Last night at this time, I was standing on a deserted beach, letting the waves wash over my feet and watching the moonlight on the water. I had just returned from a perfect evening at a posh restaurant (my favorite kind), with JBL and my in-laws. I had stopped outside quickly to retrieve something (a pair of flip flops?), but felt the call of the ocean. This was our last night on holiday, after all. I suspected I might not experience it again so intimately, and didn't want to squander such a special opportunity.

My girls were nestled peacefully - the little one asleep in the top bunk in her otherwise empty room, the big one watching a movie in bed in her own room - after a day of swimming in both the ocean and our house's pool. The adults were chatting contentedly over a nightcap, so there was no reason to hurry back inside. I was certain I would not even be missed. As I stepped onto the cool sand, gratitude at my good fortune washed over me as it had so frequently during this, our big summer vacation. The night was warm with a cool breeze to keep the humid air moving. The sand was at first powdery, then more thickly textured, like miniature pebbles, as I neared the water.

I tamped down an unbidden thought - it would be so easy to walk into the water and disappear. To just be gone. But no. This night was for celebrating. For embracing all the happiness that Life was heaping upon me. I stepped up to the ocean's edge and let the water comfort me, almost bath-like in its warmth. I thought of how absolutely perfect it was, as it had been for the previous day or so: calm and clear almost like the Caribbean. I gazed northward at the old munitions station, and then south toward Kitty Hawk. I watched the moon dance on the waves that moved subtly-though-relentlessly onto the beach. I heaved a heavy sigh of contentment.

The only thing missing was JBL. I imagined him joining me and simply holding my hand. I knew he would drink in the stars and the roar of the ocean as I did. I knew he would feel the night was special, almost holding its breath for me - for us. Fall and winter would come, our lives would move forward. But this moment was real and big, and quiet and soft. After a week of smiles and great food and sunshine, what more could we ever ask for?

I sighed again, and after soaking in the night for another few moments, began the inelegant trudge up the sand, back to the glowing lights behind the windows of our rented beach home. As I neared the steps that would lead to the wooden walkway across the dunes, over the pool, and back to the house, I glanced up. There was JBL, walking towards the steps. "Hey," he called softly, "what're you doing?" I smiled sheepishly in the dark, at once embarrassed that I had been gone so long without explanation, and delighted that he had sought me out.

"I was feeling the ocean. It's still so warm!"

I took his hand and lead him back to the water's edge. We held each other softly, just as I had imagined, and I felt safe and whole in his arms. We marveled at the magic of the time by the sea. We spoke of our appreciation for the day and evening just past. We breathed in each other, and the night.

If I hold anything dear in this life, it is time like this with JBL. He will always know what makes me sparkle and shine, even if he struggles to understand what tears at me. He will always seek out both just to be with me, and for that I am more than fortunate. And I will always seek out what it is that makes him tick, too, but just because I want to experience his flame for as long as I can. God knows it's easy on a starlit night by the sea... thank you God.

*This is a reference to the book I am currently enjoying, Black Swan Green, by David Mitchell.

Glad and sorry

Here is J today at the Barnes and Noble. Yeah, she's the one looking on awkwardly as her peers drool over the latest stars and icons of pop culture. J doesn't know who most of these people are, and has never seen these types of magazines. I don't know if I should feel proud of myself, or sad for her.

The softest blanket

I went to a dinner party at my in-laws' last night. I didn't really think about the evening in advance because, A) I had just finished an incredibly stressful week, which I dealt with by cleaning the house like mad all day yesterday, and B) it's always a good time at my in-laws'. What is there to think about?

But I do sometimes find it challenging to be around people all evening. I know that's weird. Sometimes the weight of Doing the Right Daughter-in-Law Thing can make my nerves feel jangled (chatting while dinner is being prepped, making sure the granddaughter gives the appropriate affection to the grandparents and uses good manners, making a toast at dinner, offering to do the dishes).

I can also become worn-out making conversation, even with old friends. The guests were actually friends of JBL's, which is not unusual considering he and his dad have worked together for years. I have known them all as long as I have known JBL. They are practically family. And still....am I asking the right questions? Am I putting my foot in my mouth? Am I talking about myself too much?

Then of course there is the actual parenting thing. Make sure J gets enough attention in the pool, considering her pride over the recent acquisition of swimming skills. Help her into pajamas when she's done swimming. Find her a TV show to watch while her dinner is cooking. Sit with her in the kitchen while she eats (everyone else is down on the patio). Send her out to visit one last time while I make her dessert. Explain to her over and over why she can't stay up later and sit with us while we eat.

Terrible? Hell no - I am aware the evening is brimming with good fortune. Yet...

By the time dinner was over and I had asked JBL 16 times to turn the music down (the patio with its outdoor speakers sits directly below J's bedroom at the in-laws'), I became frustrated. We had chosen to bring J so we didn't have to worry about leaving at a particular time for the babysitter, and so she could visit with her grandparents. However the combination of managing her along with my normal neuroses wore me out.

But then JBL started passing around the iPhone, allowing all the guests to play their favorite songs on the Squeezebox. We heard Paul Westerberg, the Holy Modal Rounders (don't ask), and the Afghan Whigs. Chuqd and I discussed the devil-like qualities of Greg Dulli. The recent loss of Neil Young's steel-guitar player Ben Keith was considered solemnly. Everyone laughed at the concept of doing a jig. Dessert of plum cobbler was served a la mode, and some Guilded The Lily by sipping on Grand Marnier as well. The pool lights shimmered, as did the citronella candles. I tipped my head back to look at the sky through the small opening between the house and surrounding tulip poplars, and saw the most bright and long-lasting shooting star I have ever seen. Suddenly my heart felt full, and I smiled. It felt like God lifted the film of sadness that tends to cover me, just for a time, and I could see how wonderful everything really is. Life.

As we drove home, I drifted in and out of sleep, clutching JBL's hand. And as I woke this morning, I kept the feeling of clarity and simple happiness wrapped around me like the softest blanket, and I hope to rub it against my cheek all day.

Butterfly season

The past few weeks have seen untold numbers of butterflies in our local environ. Butterflies clinging precariously to garden phlox and lavender blossoms. Butterflies swooping down the hillside and up into the trees. Butterflies beating against the garage window from the inside, though the gaping, open garage door lies mere inches from their backs.

Why was something created with such beauty? For one, their enchanting markings can offer protection from predators. But those wings. They are so lovely and fragile. They allow the insects to be ensnared by cobwebs around my house. To tear them - an easy feat - is to spell guaranteed demise for their owner.

On a recent trip to the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History, J and I visited the butterfly exhibit. We listened patiently to instructions before entering - do not touch the butterflies, and if they land on you, let one of the museum staff remove them for you. Before we exited, we were encouraged to gently check our persons to ensure we were leaving without hangers-on, for surely they would perish outside the protection of the exhibit.

Butterflies, to me, are delicate tragedies waiting to happen.

When I was young, my mother told me that her sister had a special affinity for these graceful creatures. This seemed appropriate, for my aunt was at once ephemeral and lovely herself. After enduring the violent and sad childhood she shared with my mother, she struggled with alcoholism before succumbing to a strange early-onset permutation of Alzheimer's.

My memories of her, though, are still vivid. Everyone adored her and the happy aura that seemed to surround her. I can clearly picture the home movies of my mother and aunt swinging my brother - still in a swim diaper - up and over wavelets coming ashore at Ocean City. I can remember being K's age, watching with fascination the way my aunt would apply her lip gloss. She was the one who introduced the concept of the back-rub-train to our home: we'd all sit in a row on the living room floor, one behind the other, each giving the person in front of them a back rub. After a time, the person at the front of the line would switch to the back so everyone got a turn getting a massage for 'free'. Laughter, of course, surrounded her. I can recall her scent to this day.

When I look up and see the imprecise movements of a beautiful butterfly against a blue summer sky, I think of my aunt. Is she here with me? What does her heaven look like? I try not to think about my last visit with her, alone when I was 17, when I could clearly recognize her dementia symptoms. I try not to think about how by 19 I was begging my mother to let me attend her funeral (none of us were allowed to go). I think instead about something that would have made her smile. Yes, I think about the party.

When I was four, my aunt turned 40. My mother and father planned a big party for her, in part to celebrate (my mother always made a big deal of birthdays), and in part to poke fun at the ripe old age. We made posters to line my aunt's route to our house - posters that read, 'Oh no!' and 'How Old is Dee?' My father made an enormous 40 out of 1 x 2's, lined it with Christmas lights, and stood it in the front yard. When my aunt arrived on that lush August afternoon, she howled with laughter and hugged us all effusively. She was vivacious and beautiful, and not at all delicate. Isn't this how all butterflies should be remembered?

Word play

J has been chewing on words lately, what with the usual 6-year-old development of both reading, and the ability to spell based on knowledge of phonics. Yes, yes, we get all the crazy spellings in her love notes and play announcements. You can always tell the words she didn't ask for help with. "Bast friends forever!" or "Daddy, it's good youer home!"

There has been a convergence between this consideration of words, and her new-found humor. Have you seen this book? Or how about this one? Homophones as word play makes her laugh OUT LOUD. Who knew? And here I thought she only laughed at people falling down stairs.

Yesterday while we were out riding around, she tried to ping us with her own brand of word play. "Daddy, today is SUN-DAY (snickering because she knew it was really Saturday - she'd confuse the old man yet!). Get it? SUN. DAY. Because it's sunny? GET IT?" Her delight knew no bounds, even as JBL assured her he did in fact get it.

She went on to try permutations of Saturday, and other common words. But when she settled on 'see the waffle waffle' it was my turn to laugh out loud. "Wait, what? What does that kind of waffle mean?" On explaining it to her, we all shared a laugh.

So maybe this is Family Fun only a parent could appreciate, but with her word play, J made my day...

UPDATED: More funny stuff - laying in bed, doing prayers-and-songs last night, J interrupts me to point out her unicorn puppet. It's draped over the side of a box she has made into a car. The puppet's opening (along with a tail and one back foot) are facing us. J exclaims, "Momma! Look at Unicorn's hole! It's a hole that, strangely, it doesn't bleed from!" I swear, I can't make this stuff up.