Monthly Archives: July 2011

Florida to South Carolina, My Morning Drive in Pictures

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I dropped the baby sister off at the airport at 4:45 a.m. (She’s headed to upstate New York for a week and then back to the Island to get married.) After leaving her on the curb, I returned to the hotel and slithered back under the sheets for at least another hour or so. Then I remembered the free breakfast downstairs in the lobby and the prospect of those little cheese danishes got me really excited. Thus, I couldn’t go back to sleep. So. Up I was for danishes and juice. Free danishes and juice. Even better. Once completely satiated, I decided it best to head home.

It was such a beautiful morning. And such a beautiful drive. That Florida to Georgia to South Carolina span of I-95. And of course crossing the bridge from the mainland to the Island gets me every time. Blues and greens for miles.

Although the whole taking pictures while you’re driving thing is a little tricky. Particularly with a zoom lens. Objects in glass are not quite as close as they appear.

Happy Weekending!

5 Things That Happened Today

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Five things that happened today:

1. A dragonfly wing–a whole and completely intact dragonfly wing–fell out of the sky and landed at my feet today. I have decided that this is good luck.

For me.

Not the dragonfly.

2. I took a really long nap after work.

One of my favorite lines in the movie Letters to Juliet (which is a lovely, wonderfully romantic movie up until the last 15 minutes when it then becomes horrible. It’s like the writers lost their words at the very last second when it mattered most.) is when Clair says to Sophie, “One of life’s great joys is having one’s hair brushed.” True. Very true. (It’s such a beautiful scene.)

Well–I have decided that one of life’s great pleasures is an afternoon nap.

3. The baby sister and I drove to Jacksonville tonight. We’re staying in a hotel by the airport because she flies out at the buttcrack tomorrow morning. Like 4:45 a.m. Ooof. But I thoroughly enjoyed the drive. We talked wedding plans. And I love her. So very very much.

4. I didn’t eat any meat.

I decided about three months ago that I was going to be a vegetarian. If you want to avoid a similar fate, do not–I repeat, do not–watch the documentary Food, Inc. For almost 90 days now I’ve not eaten one ounce of meat. It’s been pretty easy, although I think about BBQ’d ribs a lot. And I don’t think I’ll stay vegetarian for the rest of my life–I’m too much of a foodie. But it’s made me think about my food–where it comes from, how it’s prepared, and how balanced and healthy my food lifestyle is, or rather–wasn’t.

Oh, and if you have a great vegetarian recipe, please send it my way. Bean and cheese quesadillas get real old real fast.

5. I took a swig of a caffeine-free diet Coke and gagged.

I do realize that it seems counter-intuitive that I would go off meat, but still drink the poison carbonation. But I’ve never claimed to be rational. And despite being off soda for years, I can’t seem to curb a recent craving for the fizz. But anyway. I would suggest avoiding caffeine-free diet Coke. It serves absolutely no purpose. No sugar. No caffeine. No taste. In short–it’s disgusting.

8:26 a.m.

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So much of the last year was accomplished with my head down, simply plowing through. Although–the word “plow” is debatable. I suppose it was more of a “clomp.” But that’s neither here nor there.

What I wish to say is that despite the head-down-often-didn’t-brush-my-teeth-till-noon-(or later) life I led, every now and again, the world around me would stop me in my tracks. Would catch my gaze and catch my heart. In truth, they were fleeting moments. But significant bits of hope during the monotony of gray nonetheless.

It was,

the way the light glinted off the lake and settled pink upon the mountain. The way a flower popped, bold and red and open to the world. The way the wind exhaled over my skin–blowing the pulse and breath of life my direction–like a Hale Mary from Mother Nature.

Such moments never fail to render me helpless with a total intoxication of beauty. I am. Temporarily inebriated whilst my senses absorb the colors.

And this morning, as I rounded the corner on my way to the oyster-shelled stairs that lead to the ramp that points to my daily perch, one such moment occurred when the blues and the greens and the yellows of an 8:26 a.m. sun just about knocked me over.

The water was like glass, unbroken, as of yet, by the comings and goings of boats. The air was warm, yes, but with the freshness of a new day. And the birds called down from the trees, buzzing and humming with their songs of salutation.

I opened my lawn chair, happy to be early on this particular morning, and sat. So quiet and so still.

So full of color.

Totally alive and present.

Completely connected to the life around me.


Yet Before Me

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I love rainy days. Which is funny, because I love sunny days too. But a wet, gray day is–so often–just the right amount of melancholy for me.

I sat on the dock today while the clouds loomed dark overhead. Occasional rain drops fell into overlapping ripples on the harbour surface–a soft patting of the sea.

I cozied into my lawn chair with my first Jane Austen. Blasphemous to some, I know, to say such a thing. And I don’t know why I’ve never read Austen–they seem like the kind of books I would’ve devoured–but I just never have. And I’m interested to see–will I like it? That, is the question.

I find it interesting to note that Jane’s first novel, Sense and Sensibility, was published when she was 36.

Only a few years older than me.

And did you know, similarly, that Louisa May Alcott, although she published two slight works in her twenties which brought modest success, her great work Little Women was published when she was thirty-six.

I don’t know why I find this interesting–perhaps because I, so often, feel as though I’ve wasted so much time and that my primest of opportunities are behind me.

But then I look at these women, and countless others like them, and I can’t help but wonder …

Is the best still yet before me?

A bell, deep within me rings–it is.

Missing

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Things I Miss About Utah When I’m in South Carolina:

1. Frit

2. Sunsets over the mountains & Lake

3. My girls at Church

4. Fry Sauce

5. My super cozy bed, sheets, and pillows

6. My house

7. My space

8. My neighbors/hood

9. Driving up 800 West to get home and passing all the horse pastures & old homes

10. Kneaders fruit tarts (I want one now.)

11. Summer parades (4th of July and Pioneer Day)

Things I Miss About South Carolina When I’m in Utah

1. The ocean

2. Familia

3. The marshes

4. Spanish moss

5. y’all and the drawl

6. The feeling here…there’s a distinct feeling in the Carolina Lowcountry–a slow sweetness. And it’s palpable.

7. Our Church congregation

8. The way the humidity makes my skin so soft and wrinkle-free

9. My tan

10. The trees and greens

11. The seafood. Oh, the seafood.

12. Pop-up thunder storms

Things I Do Not Miss About Utah When I’m in South Carolina

1. Road construction

2. Rude drivers

3. The lack of diversity

Things I Do Not Miss About South Carolina When I’m in Utah

1. The way the humidity forces sweat streams into my eyes and stings them with salt

2. Bugs

3. My bed

4. Tourist traffic

5. The sound of the boat phone ring tone

Back

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I was home in Utah for about ten days. It was heaven being back with with my Frit. I miss her so much when I’m away.

There’s an episode of Grey’s Anatomy where Cristina says to Meredith, “Mer, why do you care what I think?” And Meredith looks at her and says, “Because. You’re my person.”

In another episode Cristina, speaking of Meredith, says, “She’s my person. If I murdered someone, she’s the person I’d call to help me drag the corpse across the living room floor. … She’s my person.”

I get that.

I totally get that.

Cuz Frit’s my person.

She has my back. Always.

And I have hers.

Always.

And I hate being away from her.

So. Leaving sucked.

But there are still some things for me here on the Island.

Still some things I need to figure out.

Still some things I need to unearth.

Still some things I need to dedicate myself to.

And so I’m back.

For Part II of my Island Summer.

At Home

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I lifted the window shade and looked down. From the bright blue sky I could see the straight street blocks of the city below. We circled for landing and then I could see the familiar swirls of salt, algae and mud in the great lake that sits beside that very city. And off in the distance I could see the big, white “B” painted on the mountain beside my home.

Home?

Wasn’t I just there?

Yes. It’s true. Not more than 48 hours ago, I was sitting on a lawn chair while sea water slapped the dock below me, the wet air settling on my skin as subtly as the flood from a fire hose. At home.

But here I was, getting off the plane and I couldn’t find my phone fast enough. “I’M HERE!!”

She came rolling up to the curb and I couldn’t squeeze her tight enough. “Welcome home!”

We stopped for lunch and she asked, “Do you want to go in to eat or just go through the drive through?”

“Drive through please.”

I couldn’t get home fast enough.

It seemed like I’d never left, and yet I’d been gone nearly two months.

There we sat, side by side, on the blue denim couch, with our feet propped up, the blinds wide open, and the light pouring in. Sandwiches on the plates in front of us, fruit tarts in hand.

Everything smelled the same, tasted the same, felt the same.

Here at home.