"You look like you're feeling sick."
"That's because I am."
"Yikes, I hope you didn't catch any exotic foreign disease."
"Ugh, don't even say that. I probably have the Ebonic Plague."
"What?"
"You know, the Plague?"
"No. You either have Bubonic Plague or Ebola virus. You do not have Ebonic Plague."
"Oh wow, I'm an idiot. See, it's already affecting my brain."
"You should have heard it, it was hilarious!"
"So they were shouting the horse's name?"
"Yes, over and over again!"
"And the horse was called 'Hoof Hearted?' "
"Yes!"
"Wow."
"Yeah, it was ridiculous. Hoof Hearted! Hoof Hearted! Hoof Hearted! Over and over. In their big hats and Mint Juleps in hand!"
"I can't believe you were there for that."
"I couldn't believe that name."
"Yeah, that's what happens when rednecks get money."
"Funny, I was just thinking that's what would happen if anyone in our family got money."
"Same thing."
________________
Disclaimer- I believe many good things happen when rednecks get money. I think it's a nice coincidence that most of them turn out to be entertaining.
My sister, always the athletic one, wants to start running again. She asked me to help her, to get her into some training. Maybe motivate her a little. (This is how we know we're grown up. She can ask for help, I can give it, and we both come out alive.)
So today, after my long run, I met up with her and we did a little "trial run." She needs some time to get acclimated, not just to running again but to living at six thousand feet. When you run here and you just start out, you are pretty sure your lungs are going to burst into flames. It takes a couple weeks to adapt to that- the feeling doesn't go away, but you get used to it.
We set out for three miles today, with planned walk breaks. We made it through a half mile, she was still smiling. We walked a bit, and then ran another half mile. I stood there, beaming at her with pride. A new or returning runner is always so exciting, but when it's your sister [and you're me] it's all you can do to not jump up and cheer her on with pom poms.
"You just did something 99% of people cannot do," I told her, as we took another short walk break.
"What?" she asked me, while she gulped her water.
"Most people on this planet cannot run one mile. How do you feel?"
"Dumber than most people on the planet, to tell you the truth."
This is going to be great!
"Does his shirt say I heart girls that do curls?"
"Yeah, looks like it."
"What is that? What do you say to a guy that wears a shirt like that?"
"I love you, too?"
"If Jon Stewart were here, what would you say then?"
"Why do you always refer to celebrities by their first and last name?"
"Don't change the subject."
"No really. Just say Jon, I know who you mean."
"You can't just say Jon like you're talking about your neighbor or something."
"But what if he was your neighbor?"
"Well I wouldn't just say Jon then, either."
"Why?"
"Because I'd prefer to use the term Secret Boyfriend."
I babysat a four-year-old this weekend. She has life totally figured out.
Miss Independent (the four year old, not me, duh) : "I'm going to get married one day."
Me: "Oh, you are? When?"
Miss Independent: "I don't know, sometime before I'm too old."
Me: "Who are you going to marry?"
Miss Independent: "I don't know yet. I'm still trying to choose."
Me: "Oh really?"
Miss Independent: "Yeah. There's a lot to choose from you know?"
Me: "Really? Well, no rush. You have time to think about it. Those things take time to figure out."
Miss Independent: "Yeah, I know. I will have to decide. It will probably take me at least all weekend."
I think coming back from vacation is the closest we'll ever come to knowing what our own birth was like. There we were, all happy and warm and content and then, it's all gone. And we're shoved into (or back into) a world with cold air, loud people and responsibility.
Not that there was doubt beforehand, but the gods were on my side on this one. I had busy times, quiet times, times with friends and alone time. That was probably what I needed most, though I frequently have a hard time admitting it.
Everything I might have been worried about in the beginning was nothing more than a distant thought once I stepped off the plane. It's so easy, when you leave so much of your little world behind, to just be here. To just be in a place where there are no measures, no expectations and very few people to care who you are or what you're doing. Of course, there are those there to see and be seen. There are always those. But they don't take anything from you, from your experience.
"I don't know," said our Captain, "I think the mountains are calling me again."
"How long were you there?"
"Did you see the shark?"
"It is a known fact that all troubles and cares dissolve in sea water."
"This is supposedly the nude beach."
"Doing a head stand in salt water hurts."
"One day, I promise, I will have my own boat down here."This afternoon, when packing my suitcase (hello, procrastination) I was trying on clothes just to make sure nothing fit weird or had holes in it or something else equally as likely to surprise me when I'm thousands of miles from home, or a Super Target. As I rolled things neatly into place in my bag, I came across a strange-looking wooden token. At first, I could not figure out where this might have come from or how it got into my tote. There was some lettering on it, but it was mostly rubbed off and looked like it had spent a lot of time in someone's pocket.
I looked at the token, turned it over in my hand and searched every file in my mind about when and where I could have come across the thing. As it often does, my mind wandered, and I thought about all the traveling I've been able to do over the last year. I've been with friends and family, tasted new foods, stamped the passport, stood at the top of mountains and at the edge of the sea. I've run, I've been lazy, I've taken long drives down highways that were once only a place I'd read about. I've seen the sun rise in the East, set in the West and many places in between. I've met remarkable people, heard incredible stories and have been continuously reminded that being with people, talking with them, and connecting with them is an amazing privilege.
It is truly a small, small world and also, it is a blast. I have and have had more fun than anyone ought to be allowed. For all the reasons I feel confused or somehow lost, there are a thousand more to make me feel profoundly blessed and at peace. I can't explain how the things in my life, like work, writing, running and travel balance me. To have the opportunity to be rewarded and challenged by the life you choose is a very special thing.
The last couple months have not painted a perfect picture. There has been death, anger, sadness, strife, bad news, worse news, and many an akward moment. I thought about this as I held that token in my hand today, and the memory came back to me. The token, at least as I've known it, was laying in a crack in the sidewalk as I trapsed in front of a small shop on a humid, sunny, perfect island day. In a quiet mood and waiting for dinnertime, I bent down to pick up the token. It ended up in the pocket of my shorts and a few days later, while on a boat docked in the Caribbean, the token fell out of my pocket and onto the ground.
"You dropped this," said the man who'd been intently cleaning the boat.
"Oh, thanks. I have no idea what it is, I just picked it up the other day."
"It looks like a token... I wonder what it will buy?"
We laughed a little, and joked a lot about what you could get "these days" for a token. We talked for a while but never seemed to come to any real conclusion, though I do remember laughing for a good twenty minutes about the hilarity of the word "squall." (Say it a lot of times, you'll laugh too.)
Though I still don't know what that token was meant to buy, for me, today, it bought a memory. So I'll take it with me on this trip, too. With any luck, it will buy a hundred more.
******************
I'll be away for the next couple weeks doing the token Caribbean things: sitting, watching, sailing, snorkeling, thinking, breathing... you know. There is a chance, if I take advantage of some friends, that I'll be able to post a bit while I'm away. I know that if I spend twenty minutes laughing about random weather terminology, my bloggie friends are going to want to know, right?
Heh.
So anyway, I'm off for now. Thanks for taking the time to come to my blog, both new and "old" alike. That human connection thing I was talking about earlier? Yeah, that includes you. And you... and yes, even YOU.
Scene: A suburban UPS store.
Me: Dropping off a return box of shoes from Zappos. (Do you not adore them?!)
Girl at counter: Bopping her head along to the radio.
Man across room: Tall, built, dressed in jeans and a black leather jacket. You would not want to meet him in a dark alley.
"Hi," says the girl behind the counter.
"Hi," I say, "I just have this return package."
"Okay! Cool!" She's very peppy. "Hey, do you know who this is on the radio?" she asks me and tall, built, leather man.
I do know who it is. It's George Michael, and the song is Faith.
"It's George Michael," I tell her.
"Oh yeah, I was thinking Michael Bolton!"
"Oh, definitely not," I say.
The hugely tall and now nearly frightening man in leather crosses the room toward me, bends a little closer to talk to me and says "Ma'am, not meaning anything by this, but you were really quick to answer that question."
"I know," I say, "it's my curse. Bad, huh?"
"No," he says, "bad would be if you walked out of here letting this girl think it was Michael Bolton."
I love people.
"So what's he like?"
"He's nice. Really kind, a triathlete, owns his own architecture firm, does humanitarian work in third world countries."
"Wow, does he have time to date?"
"I guess so. He has time to ask people out, at least."
"Where did you meet?"
"The office of a non-profit I work with. He was dropping off donations before leaving for the airport."
"Where was he going?"
"To visit his grandmother, and then climb Mt. Rainier."
"Oh my God, if you tell me he likes puppies and kittens, too, I'm going to puke."
"I'm watching his dog while he's gone."
"Quick, get me a bucket."
A friend and I were walking downtown around lunch time the other day when an ambulance from another county pulled over to the side of the road. A paramedic leaned out of the passenger window and asked for directions. I was, of course, happy to help.
Paramedic: Is this road the best way to get back to the Interstate?
Me: Yeah, just go up three blocks and left at the light. You'll see the signs.
Paramedic: Thanks! Oh, and where's the best place to get lunch down here?
Me: Well, you're downtown so just about anywhere. But it's busy, so you'll probably have better luck parking your rig if you take the next exit off the highway and go someplace further North.
Paramedic: Great, thank you!
And off they drove.
Me: Hmmm, he was kind of cute.
My friend: Excuse me, did you just say "rig" [full on air quotes]?
Me: What? Did I?
My friend: Uhh, yeah, breaker one nine, ya did!
Me: ...
"Hey, you didn't even say anything about how I look."
"What do you mean? You look the same."
"No, I don't. I've lost like twelve pounds since you last saw me."
"Well that's great, but I didn't notice. I thought you looked good before, too."
"That's only because you like big butts and you cannot lie."
"Well, that's true."
