Relaxing It Wasn’t

But, it was refreshing and lovely and who doesn’t like to drink a beer out of a can on a beach each afternoon?

Try taking three kids anywhere, and the idea of relaxation seems downright comical.

I’m a beach girl through and through and that will never change. I spent my teenage years living in a house on the lake in Tennessee and now I live literally in the shadow of the Wasatch Mountains. Both of those places were great for skiing, water and downhill, but there’s nothing like the Atlantic Ocean.

My family’s great love for the ocean goes back generations, but was no doubt cemented by the fact that my grandparents had a vacation house a quarter mile’s walk from the beach. Bethany Beach, Delaware was a three hour drive from our house in the Maryland suburbs, and summer was punctuated by beach trips. Mom Mould and Pop Mould’s house was one of the first on Oakwood Street so we were eyewitnesses to the growth that propelled Bethany from one of the quiet resorts to a beach town that attracted families from all over the mid-Atlantic. “Who’s staying next door?” someone would ask. “Oh, they’re renters, I think” Mom would answer. We didn’t say it to be rude, but just to remind ourselves that we were the lucky ones. The ones that didn’t have to wait to rent a house from Saturday to Saturday -we could roll up to the house on a Tuesday night if we wanted. We didn’t have to rush down to the beach all pale and wide eyed after driving all day on a Saturday. The ones that knew all the kids on the street who stayed there all summer.

Now, the tables are turned on us. We’re the renters now and, after unloading our cars as fast as we can, we race to get down to the beach late in the afternoon for that first satisfying dip into the great Atlantic ocean. Yes, we’re pale and wide eyed and anticipating a week of relaxation while cramming all the stuff we want to do into a single week. Delaware has given way to South Carolina, but it’s the ocean and we’re there and that’s what counts.

The dress code and menu are simple- bathing suits are the norm for eight hours a day, and you’d better plan for a least one bag of sour cream ‘n onion potato chips per day. Yuengling is the beer of choice… the Coach likes to ride the silver bullet, but has to do so by himself.

Walks are taken often- exploring the early morning beach or watching a late afternoon storm form over the island.

I watched a lady catch and release this shark. Hope I don’t meet him next year.

Since we are beach experts and also parents, the amount of equipment that we lug down the street to the beach each morning is absolutely ridiculous. Toys, umbrellas, chairs, coolers…

But the view from the blanket is excellent.

Like any proper seven year old, the Bear made friends with another little girl.

She hardly ever got out of the water.

The Llama had a great time.

And Bee took a few minutes from chasing birds to relax.

We all had a great time. Even me. Even though the moments of relaxing time with a book and a diet coke are few. Even though my hair looked like this for most of the week.

So, the relaxing time has gone by the wayside, at least for now. There are seagulls to be chased and waves to ride and holes to be dug. It’s hard work at the beach, but a new generation of beach lovers must be bred.

See you next year, Edisto. We’ll be the ones that show up on a weekend afternoon next July, pale and excited.

 

Relaxing It Wasn't

But, it was refreshing and lovely and who doesn’t like to drink a beer out of a can on a beach each afternoon?

Try taking three kids anywhere, and the idea of relaxation seems downright comical.

I’m a beach girl through and through and that will never change. I spent my teenage years living in a house on the lake in Tennessee and now I live literally in the shadow of the Wasatch Mountains. Both of those places were great for skiing, water and downhill, but there’s nothing like the Atlantic Ocean.

My family’s great love for the ocean goes back generations, but was no doubt cemented by the fact that my grandparents had a vacation house a quarter mile’s walk from the beach. Bethany Beach, Delaware was a three hour drive from our house in the Maryland suburbs, and summer was punctuated by beach trips. Mom Mould and Pop Mould’s house was one of the first on Oakwood Street so we were eyewitnesses to the growth that propelled Bethany from one of the quiet resorts to a beach town that attracted families from all over the mid-Atlantic. “Who’s staying next door?” someone would ask. “Oh, they’re renters, I think” Mom would answer. We didn’t say it to be rude, but just to remind ourselves that we were the lucky ones. The ones that didn’t have to wait to rent a house from Saturday to Saturday -we could roll up to the house on a Tuesday night if we wanted. We didn’t have to rush down to the beach all pale and wide eyed after driving all day on a Saturday. The ones that knew all the kids on the street who stayed there all summer.

Now, the tables are turned on us. We’re the renters now and, after unloading our cars as fast as we can, we race to get down to the beach late in the afternoon for that first satisfying dip into the great Atlantic ocean. Yes, we’re pale and wide eyed and anticipating a week of relaxation while cramming all the stuff we want to do into a single week. Delaware has given way to South Carolina, but it’s the ocean and we’re there and that’s what counts.

The dress code and menu are simple- bathing suits are the norm for eight hours a day, and you’d better plan for a least one bag of sour cream ‘n onion potato chips per day. Yuengling is the beer of choice… the Coach likes to ride the silver bullet, but has to do so by himself.

Walks are taken often- exploring the early morning beach or watching a late afternoon storm form over the island.

I watched a lady catch and release this shark. Hope I don’t meet him next year.

Since we are beach experts and also parents, the amount of equipment that we lug down the street to the beach each morning is absolutely ridiculous. Toys, umbrellas, chairs, coolers…

But the view from the blanket is excellent.

Like any proper seven year old, the Bear made friends with another little girl.

She hardly ever got out of the water.

The Llama had a great time.

And Bee took a few minutes from chasing birds to relax.

We all had a great time. Even me. Even though the moments of relaxing time with a book and a diet coke are few. Even though my hair looked like this for most of the week.

So, the relaxing time has gone by the wayside, at least for now. There are seagulls to be chased and waves to ride and holes to be dug. It’s hard work at the beach, but a new generation of beach lovers must be bred.

See you next year, Edisto. We’ll be the ones that show up on a weekend afternoon next July, pale and excited.

 

Sweater Day, Mr. Rogers Style

March 20 will mark the 80th anniversary of Mr. Rogers’ birth and, to commemorate it, PBS is having a multi day celebration culminating in a drive for everyone to wear a sweater on his birthday.

I loved Mr. Rogers although, as a child, I had in retrospect some very valid questions about what went on in his house when he wasn’t around.

First, was the house where Mr. Rogers visited each day and where he would change his shoes and sweater empty save for that half an hour?  How come he had extra clothes there?  The trolley was definitely my favorite part- where it parked at night- in the land of Make Believe or in that house somewhere?  So many questions that probably won’t ever be answered. I loved Mr. Rogers and would have liked to have known where he went after he changed his shoes and sweater again at the end of the show.  

He sang at the end of the show “it’s a happy feeling to know that your alive, it’s a happy feeling to know we’re friends.” I really think that he would like to know that all the children that he sang to and took on field trips from 1968 until 2001 are remembering him and his cool stop light that he had in his house. 

We could all do with a little more Mr. Rogers in our lives, and I will think about that when I grab a cardigan on March 20. 

 

My Very Own Flask

My Very Own Flask

Originally uploaded by benevolentdictator

This little gem sits in my closet and once in awhile it gets dusted off and used. Its hard to justify using a flask when you have three little kids.

Anyway, back when I had a “real” job, I supervised a group of people that were honestly the best at what they did. Our jobs in child welfare/social work were often wrought with just plain old bad stuff. People acting badly is a minimization of the problem, but it sums it up quite nicely. The people on my team were awesome, and they did their jobs so well that it made my job as easy as it could have been.

Its been three and a half years since I left. I moved across the country and have had two babies since. They all have moved on too: Brad and Michelle got married and had a baby, Emily and Anne both went to graduate school, Brit moved up and on…etc., etc. But, when I think back to that time, I am so happy that I got to do that job with them. I am all the better for it.

So, yesterday, when I spent the day at Alta skiing the awesome Utah powder, the MOD and I enjoyed some peppermint schnapps on the lift up the mountain. Everytime I pulled that flask out of my ski jacket, a smile came across my face. And, its not just because my flask says “fuck.”

 

The Mistress of Entertainment

Originally uploaded by benevolentdictator

There was an episode of Friends a long time ago where Ross & Chandler were excited to see an old college friend; they were getting together all the stuff they needed to hang with Gandolph for a weekend- passports, fresh socks, and foreign currency.  It was just in case they ended up boating in Nova Scotia or some other obscure adventure. 

I have my own version of Gandolph, and she swept into town on Tuesday rolling with an entourage per the usual. 

I met Chandra in Tennessee when we were waiting tables at Calhoun’s on Bearden Hill, and after awhile, we became friends.  Twelve or so years later, she is still one of my best friends.  We are very alike in some ways, and extremely different in others.  We both like people a lot but have little tolerance for nonsense, we mostly think the same socially and politically, and we both are up for almost anything at anytime.  At one time, she and I could drink just about anyone we knew under the table.  On the other hand, I craved marriage and children.  She has, mostly I think, eschewed the idea of marriage and prefers short stints in monogamy.  Being four years older than I am, Chandra taught me a lot on a variety of subjects.  From her, I understood the concept that someone could be an extremely moral person in the absence of religious beliefs as well as the importance of doing nothing on vacation without a beer in one’s hand.  Very different lessons, but very important. Chandra is fun with a capital F.  I have jumped out of an airplane with her, chased Leonardo DiCaprio around Miami with her, and watched her kiss a bird.  I was pretty grossed out.  Road trips, spring break, Mardi Gras, its a long list of stuff that I did with her. 

I’ve been married for a long time and now I have three children.  She has a very professional job, but I think her real desire is to have the most experiences that life can offer and she is breezing through without trying the 1000 things that you should do before you die. 

Except climbing Mount Everest.  Probably because doing that with a beer in your hand would be hard.

 

A Tribute to Bob

I wish I had a picture to share, but I don’t at the moment. 

Bob & Delores were our neighbors in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin.  We lived in a cool old neighborhood with little houses and big trees, and they lived next door.  In their 80s, they had never had their own children and, therefore, never had grandchildren or great-grandchildren like my own grandparents who are about the same age. 

They were old, but fiercely independent refusing to move out of their own house.  Delores had never driven, but Bob still cruised around in his burgandy Buick.  They would come over and sit on our patio watching the neighborhood kids play and talking about the weather or whether the Packers would be any good this season.  I would shovel their snow or rake their leaves once in a while, and, in the fall, the Minister of Details would clean out the gutters on their house.  They were kind to us, loving to watch the Bear play in the yard and enjoying little visits.  They would sit on their front porch and kept a close eye on who was driving down the street and general neighborhood happenings.  In the summer evenings when we all had our windows open, the sound of Wheel of Fortune would drift over to our house from theirs like clockwork at 7:00. 

Bob had loved the Milwaukee Brewers and would go down in his basement and watch the games on a little TV down there.  He also had a great fondness for bringing over bottles of champagne, no matter the occasion.  Backyard cookout, two year old’s birthday…no party was complete without Bob’s bottle of Asti Spumante.  And, we were always the better for it. 

Bob died yesterday morning.  He had had a hard year, losing part of his leg due to diabetes (I think), and had been in a nursing home for at least six months. I hadn’t seen him in two years since the last time I visited Milwaukee.  I hope that he is in a good place, having birthday parties galore and watching baseball games and walking on two legs.  And, of course, popping open bottles of champagne. 

 

I Guess Its Just A Memory Now

St. Ambrose School- Cheverly, MD

Originally uploaded by benevolentdictator

Once a year or so, when I go back to visit my parents, I like to cruise through Cheverly, MD where I lived until I was twelve. We drive past the old house, past the Cheverly pool, and my grandparents house and marvel at how small everything seems. I suppose twenty years of perspective shrinks those streets that I used to walk down on the way home from school. This time though, on Christmas Eve, I pulled into the parking lot between the church and school where I attended grade school. This parking lot was the scene of recess, the ubiquitous Maryland crab feasts, and lots of sledding. The parking lot boasted a very steep paved hill perfect for sledding and, sometimes if we were good at Church, Dad would drive down it- for some reason we loved that.

As a kid, we were sure to get one or two good snowfalls enough to cancel school. Days were spent, like all kids do, getting on snow pants, playing in the snow and drinking hot chocolate. But, the best part was when dad got home and he would take us up to the school with the sleds to that steep hill. It would be freezing, but it was worth it because that hill was the best. We went two on a sled and someone was sure to fall out before it stopped and it was a long way down. Dad is a big guy so if you jumped on his back when he laid on the sled, it was sure to be an even scarier ride as you zoomed down faster than it seemed even a car could go.

Imagine my surprise when I pulled into that parking lot and saw this sign. OF ALL THINGS. Its like whoever put up the sign had a camera into my memory. There wasn’t a sign prohibiting drugs or weapons on school property, but a sign letting you know that the simplest and most innocent of childhood pleasures is not allowed. The steep hill isn’t paved anymore and the playground that was once devoid of playground equipment making it perfect for kickball and double dutch has grass and a fancy slide/swing combo.

For some reason, that made me so sad.  I could tell that my brother and sister were sad to see that sign too.  I guess that No Sledding sign might as well have said “You are old and that was a long time ago.” 

UPDATE:

My Mom is upset with me because I mentioned Dad as the one that I remember taking us sledding.  She actually grew up in Cheverly as opposed to my dad who grew up in Silver Spring.  She has her own memories…in her own words:

“I’ll have you know I was the sledding queen of St. A.  Way back when Andy Sullivan brought a old car hood and we could fit about 10 people on it going down the hill.  We had a fire in a big 55 gallon drum at the top of the hill, and Mr. Vendemia drove his Jeep around the upper parking lot doing doughnuts in the snow while kids hung onto the back of the
Jeep.   Long before Dad ever hit the Cheverly scene.  Those were the days….”

I told her that it was a shame that kids just can’t ahold of a good old used car hood these days.