*****NOTE: photos will be posted separately on a later date*****
My vacation plans included several wonderful intentions. One of them was to compose a spectacular one year anniversary blog entry that would be ready to post on 9/16/06, the day of our return from 10 days on the northeast coast. That didn’t happen. As terrific as our trip was, my reading, writing and concentration efforts were thwarted by an ugly case of poison ivy or poison oak – I don’t know which. In order to refrain from scratching my arm off, I had to be actively doing something: jogging along Commercial Street, riding bikes amid the sand dunes, walking the beach, perusing art shops, eating excellent food, talking with my mom and her friends, or participating in a long list of other gerunds – or are they present participles? I always get those two confused – perhaps "Tenacious Teacher", who commented on my last blog entry, can help me out here? We sat by the pool and on the beach a few times but I couldn’t even concentrate on reading the books I had brought along with me, let alone write a blog entry. Doc. B. suggested I try her Sudoku puzzles for a while which did help me focus long enough to enjoy some of the sun’s rays. An added plus - the sun felt good on my forearm where most of the poison ivy/oak juice was concentrated. Don’t look for this in your grocer’s freezer.
Sadly, this is not the first time Doc. B.’s been on vacation with me when I’ve been under the influence of nature’s wrath. Thank goodness this time I was not on a tapering dose of Prednisone. That stuff literally makes me crazy with mood swings. It can cause suicidal ideations for the affected person as well as homicidal ideations toward the affected person. I’m exaggerating of course – well, maybe I better ask Doc. B. if I’m exaggerating about the latter. I made it through the vacation with over-the-counter medication and, upon return to Atlanta, promptly took the fat of my left hip to the dermatologist to get me a cortisone shot. So far so good – no mood swings and no changes into the Incredible Hulk yet. Guess I better not enter any professional sporting events over the next two weeks. That’s how long the physician’s assistant said the steroids would be in my system. I wouldn’t want my name on the cover of any local papers for doping.
Okay, enough about the dang poison ivy/oak, well, other than how I got it. Before we went on vacation, we took an extra few days off of work to spruce up the yard. This included trying to save the beautiful, old, oak tree in the alley behind our house. It’s half ours, in that we split the alley with our neighbors, and it provides some much needed shade for the hostas my dad so lovingly gifts us. Not knowing what was back there in the alley, but knowing how deathly allergic I am to poison leaves, I covered every inch of my skin with a most attractive (HA!) work in the yard "outfit" – some might refer to it as a "get up". One of our neighbors is famous for saying: "that’s not poison oak, it’s just Virginia Creeper". And another neighbor is famous for telling her: "you roll around in it naked and then tell us if it’s just Virginia Creeper". During the entire time we were out there cleaning up brush, Doc. B. only saw one little bit of poison ivy. It was never knowingly touched by me as Doc. B. took great caution to ensure it was carefully placed way in the bottom of a leaf bag. I guess my new routine now will be to simply come in from doing yard work, do not pass go, and head directly to the shower. And it wouldn’t hurt for me to go ahead and put on some of that ivy block lotion before venturing into the yard. All of you out there, stop saying "duhhhh".
Despite the bubbles of itchiness on my arm, the vacation was still relaxing and fun. Day one took us to Martha’s Vineyard for the first time via numerous modes of transportation: car (ride to the airport from the second of the two famous neighbors referenced above), airplane, car rental shuttle bus, rental car, ferry boat and taxi. We stayed in a cozy bed and breakfast for two nights where we awoke to the smell of freshly made bread each morning. We motored around the island on a $6.00 bus pass and saw the three major towns plus the starfish-covered beach and clay cliffs of Aquinnah, my favorite part of the visit there.
Then it was on to Cape Cod where we had done a time share trade to a converted motel in Provincetown. The place was small, but our sliding glass doors opened up onto a patio deck that overlooked the ocean. Can’t beat that even if we did have to cook our breakfast while standing in the bathroom (okay, I’m exaggerating again). I really don’t know what to say about Provincetown without sounding like a Jehovah’s Witness talking about "The Watchtower" – I’d recommend it to anyone. Hmm…sometimes I think I sound that way about yoga. Anyway, Doc. B. and I love it there and have visited three times in the last 5 years. If we could afford it, we’d probably live there. The highlight of this trip was the synchronicitous fact that my mom just happened to be vacationing there at the same time. She gets together with three of her high school friends every year for a "girls’ week out" and this year they picked Truro, just 5 miles from where we were staying. One of her friends has access to a family beach house so they arranged to stay there for a few days. We arrived on Saturday and my mom and her friends were to call us on Monday night when they got in. So when Monday came around, we went on to one of our favorite Provincetown restaurants, Napi’s, for some seafood. As we were finishing our meals, guess who walks in - my mom and her friends. She said "oh, you got my message!" And I said, "what message?" She had left me a voicemail on my cell phone to tell us they had arrived and were going to eat at a restaurant called Napi’s if we wanted to join them. I had not yet listened to my voicemail. Another synchronicity. We had the true pleasure of dining with my mom and her very cool friends two more times during the week.
Now we’re all back home, safe and sound, ready to face the world in a much more relaxed fashion. Let’s hope the effects of vacation last for a good long while…
p.s.
Favorite bumper stickers seen while in Cape Cod:
1. "Where are we going and why am I in this handbasket?"
2. "Bush’s last day: 01.20.09"
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Get me to the Concert on Time - and with a nap, please
"The best thing you've ever done for me (MARTA) is to help me take my life less seriously, it's only life after all" Indigo Girls (Emily Saliers), "Closer to Fine".
Our neighbors somehow managed to reserve a table for four at Eddie's Attic this past Thursday night and invited us to join them. How they got coveted tickets to hear the Indigo Girls at this sold out show, I'll never know. We sat at a table right next to one of our City of Decatur Commissioners, who was there with her girlfriend. At the table next to her was our City Manager. And beyond her was one half of the Indigo Girls, Emily Saliers, who was at a table enjoying the opening acts. Behind us was one of our favorite yoga teachers. In other words, we were in good company.
Doc. B. and I had a plan for Thursday. We would both try to get home from work early, fix a healthy dinner, and relax a bit before the concert. I even had in the back of my mind that I might snag a cat nap since we'd likely be out late. We were also going to do our part to save the environment by both riding MARTA home. You would think by now that we would know better than to make any of our plans rely on MARTA. Don't get me wrong, MARTA has it's good qualities. Reliabilty just doesn't happen to be one of them.
So I leave work around 4pm and as I'm walking into the MARTA station, I see that way too many people are exiting the premises. I'm expecting the typical loudspeaker announcement of "ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please; we are currently experiencing delays in our east-west rail service...". But what I hear instead is that the east-west rail service is just plain closed somewhere between where I was standing and where I was needing to go. I was being directed to join hundreds of people at a nearby bus stop where we would all wait in the sweltering heat to be shuttled to our final destination.
I knew Doc. B. would not be pleased to discover this once she arrived at the east-west transfer station from her north-south rail line. So I dug my cell phone out of my backpack and was able to reach her before she parked her car and boarded a train. We agreed that I would ride north to the Lindbergh MARTA station where she would pick me up.
The train I caught was as crowded as any Peachtree Roadrace morning and just as hot and stinky. At first I passed the time by listening in on the conversation of two Woodward Academy students. These cute 12 year old boys were intelligently discussing Harper Lee's "To Kill a Mockingbird". They thought it was cool that there was an 80 year old woman character who was addicted to morphine. I guess the teachers have to hone in on something that might actually get the students to read a classic?
Unfortunately, these two boys got off the train and were replaced by two VERY drunk, extremely smelly, likely schizophrenic, white guys. They were talking non-stop as they attempted to squeeze themselves and their trash bags of goodies onto the already crowded train. This was all while trying to keep track of their Burger King plastic cup - likely for making sure they didn't have to both drink from the next bottle of Mad Dog they were lucky enough to find.
I was impressed with the smaller and smellier of the two men in that he was able to get from "Lindbergh" MARTA station to "Johnny Depp" all in one long stream of consciousness....It went something like this:
"Okay, we need to get off at the Lindbergh MARTA station, right? Ha! Lindbergh, sounds like Limberg cheese. But I like feta cheese. MMMMM...Greek salads. With calamari. MMMMM can't have calamari without Red Stripe beer. But then again Red Strip is Caribbean. I liked "Pirates of the Caribbean II', didn't really like the first one. But Johnny Depp is sure to win all the Academy Awards for the second one."
Pretty impressive, huh?
We all finally arrived at Lindbergh. I tried to let the drunk, smelly, schizophrenics depart first so that I could be sure to walk the opposite direction. But no; they insisted that it should be ladies first. So off I went to find Doc. B. When she arrived, we decided that neither of us wanted to cook after our harrowing commutes. We grabbed dinner at a Taco Mac and made it home in time to meet our neighbors for the concert. No healthy dinner, no nap, but an adventure nonetheless.
The concert was incredible as expected...
"The less I seek my source for some definitive (or count on MARTA to get me there on time), the closer I am to fine". Indigo Girls (Emily Saliers), "Closer to Fine".
Our neighbors somehow managed to reserve a table for four at Eddie's Attic this past Thursday night and invited us to join them. How they got coveted tickets to hear the Indigo Girls at this sold out show, I'll never know. We sat at a table right next to one of our City of Decatur Commissioners, who was there with her girlfriend. At the table next to her was our City Manager. And beyond her was one half of the Indigo Girls, Emily Saliers, who was at a table enjoying the opening acts. Behind us was one of our favorite yoga teachers. In other words, we were in good company.
Doc. B. and I had a plan for Thursday. We would both try to get home from work early, fix a healthy dinner, and relax a bit before the concert. I even had in the back of my mind that I might snag a cat nap since we'd likely be out late. We were also going to do our part to save the environment by both riding MARTA home. You would think by now that we would know better than to make any of our plans rely on MARTA. Don't get me wrong, MARTA has it's good qualities. Reliabilty just doesn't happen to be one of them.
So I leave work around 4pm and as I'm walking into the MARTA station, I see that way too many people are exiting the premises. I'm expecting the typical loudspeaker announcement of "ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please; we are currently experiencing delays in our east-west rail service...". But what I hear instead is that the east-west rail service is just plain closed somewhere between where I was standing and where I was needing to go. I was being directed to join hundreds of people at a nearby bus stop where we would all wait in the sweltering heat to be shuttled to our final destination.
I knew Doc. B. would not be pleased to discover this once she arrived at the east-west transfer station from her north-south rail line. So I dug my cell phone out of my backpack and was able to reach her before she parked her car and boarded a train. We agreed that I would ride north to the Lindbergh MARTA station where she would pick me up.
The train I caught was as crowded as any Peachtree Roadrace morning and just as hot and stinky. At first I passed the time by listening in on the conversation of two Woodward Academy students. These cute 12 year old boys were intelligently discussing Harper Lee's "To Kill a Mockingbird". They thought it was cool that there was an 80 year old woman character who was addicted to morphine. I guess the teachers have to hone in on something that might actually get the students to read a classic?
Unfortunately, these two boys got off the train and were replaced by two VERY drunk, extremely smelly, likely schizophrenic, white guys. They were talking non-stop as they attempted to squeeze themselves and their trash bags of goodies onto the already crowded train. This was all while trying to keep track of their Burger King plastic cup - likely for making sure they didn't have to both drink from the next bottle of Mad Dog they were lucky enough to find.
I was impressed with the smaller and smellier of the two men in that he was able to get from "Lindbergh" MARTA station to "Johnny Depp" all in one long stream of consciousness....It went something like this:
"Okay, we need to get off at the Lindbergh MARTA station, right? Ha! Lindbergh, sounds like Limberg cheese. But I like feta cheese. MMMMM...Greek salads. With calamari. MMMMM can't have calamari without Red Stripe beer. But then again Red Strip is Caribbean. I liked "Pirates of the Caribbean II', didn't really like the first one. But Johnny Depp is sure to win all the Academy Awards for the second one."
Pretty impressive, huh?
We all finally arrived at Lindbergh. I tried to let the drunk, smelly, schizophrenics depart first so that I could be sure to walk the opposite direction. But no; they insisted that it should be ladies first. So off I went to find Doc. B. When she arrived, we decided that neither of us wanted to cook after our harrowing commutes. We grabbed dinner at a Taco Mac and made it home in time to meet our neighbors for the concert. No healthy dinner, no nap, but an adventure nonetheless.
The concert was incredible as expected...
"The less I seek my source for some definitive (or count on MARTA to get me there on time), the closer I am to fine". Indigo Girls (Emily Saliers), "Closer to Fine".
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