Let’s Go On An Adventure

Posted on by stilllearning2b
Kayla and Tiger aka Beauty and the Beast

My friend Sarah and her daughter, Kayla, came over for a visit the other day. Kayla was no damsel in distress on this day; she was happy and giggly and eager to get to know Tiger. They played ball on the stairs tirelessly for over an hour, dog and child finding joy in the simple act of fetch and retrieve. Kayla never questioned the goal of the activity, nor complained as the tennis ball grew ever wetter with slobber. She simply delighted in the moment. It was adorable to watch this slight three-year-old learn to command the ninety-five pound pit bull as she ordered him “down” before she would release the ball, letting it tumble down the stairs. When her mom announced that it was time to go, Kayla initially protested, begging to stay and play with Tiger a bit longer. Soon, however, she brightened, and asked, “Is it time for another adventure?” Sarah responded to her daughter in the affirmative and then turned to me and said, “Actually, we’re going to the grocery store, but for her that is an adventure.”

I can’t claim that I am able to view a trip to Publix as an adventure, but I love the message from little Kayla – approach every experience with curiosity and allow for excitement even in the mundane.

Tiger after his “adventures” with Kayla.

My own adventure came a few days later, when my boyfriend and I went to visit a friend in St. Marys, a small town tucked in the southeastern corner of Georgia. It was a short trip – an entire summer in one long weekend sandwiched between writing a book (which will be released soon!!!) and my return to school. Like Kayla, my boyfriend and I found joy in the smallest details of each day. My friend, whom we stayed with, had the brilliant idea of installing an outdoor shower in an enclosed and decked-in area of his backyard. We must have showered three times a day, enjoying the spray of the water against sweaty skin and delighting in the fresh air and sounds of the birds.

Ready for adventure.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We ventured into Florida for our first beach day, enjoying the sun, sand, and surf which eludes us in our usual land-locked lives. After returning to St. Marys that afternoon (and taking another shower, of course!), we made our way into “downtown” on the city’s premier transportation method: a golf cart. It was a lovely change of pace from Atlanta’s usual gridlock. Somehow, you can’t feel road rage-ish on a golf cart. It’s scientifically impossible.

 

We made our way to an outdoor patio where Three-Fingered Nick (our “blues” name for him) was playing a couple sets with a few other musicians. Nick is so unbelievably inspiring. He was a well-known and extremely talented guitarist. After losing a finger and part of his thumb, he stayed away from playing for a time, but with the encouragement of his wife, eventually returned to the guitar. He sounds amazing. Not just amazing for a man with three fingers, but just plain amazing. I love meeting people who have persevered through difficulty. They show the true beauty of the human spirit.

 

 

The next day, my friend took us to Cumberland Island on his boat. We wove through miles of pristine marshland, the only boat on the water. My friend, a naturalist and passionate protector of the St. Marys river, answered our questions and pointed out wildlife and habitat features. It was stunning.

Cumberland Island – Be thankful that humidity and mosquitoes have not yet learned to travel via the internet.

 

 

 

 

 

He dropped us off on the island. As I had done the official tour last year, I took on the role of tour guide for my boyfriend. Cumberland Island is a beautiful blend of history and nature, with a generous smattering of mosquitoes. We walked for mile or so through the dark and atmospheric woods formed by the low, twisting branches of the live oaks, their limbs decorated with the lacy veils of Spanish moss.  The air was heavy with humidity that seemed to even dull the sounds of the cicadas that surrounded us. We were alone on the paths, making it easy to imagine being on those roads a hundred years prior. Before air conditioned. Shudder.

 

 

 

Our first destination was the ruins of the Carnegie mansion at Dungeness Point. Since I am much more educated about the sciences than Georgia history, I’m afraid I didn’t do this part of the tour justice.

We then walked along a boardwalk to make our way to the beach (all we could think about at this point was sinking into the cold waves). We spotted an alligator off the side of the path. Luckily, my boyfriend did not have to prove to the gator that he’s a black belt:)

 

 

 

The surf felt as amazing as expected. Cumberland is a different coastal experience. A special place. No more than 300 people are allowed on the island at a time, so the sands are relatively bare. There are no shops, no bars. In fact, you must carry in and remove anything you want with you. It’s backpacking on the beach.  It was hot, sandy, and humid. But it was perfect.

 

Just hanging out enjoying the sea breeze

 

The beach is home to a large herd of wild horses. There were several enjoying the beach along with us. This particular stallion stood facing the ocean for hours, seemingly enjoying the feel of the wind on his face. Or maybe he was debating about trying to swim across the Atlantic? Or, waiting for a message in a bottle from his long-lost mare ? Who knows? I just know I felt as peaceful as he looked.

Luckily not our boat

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Most of us do not get to have experiences like these frequently. However, as Kayla showed me, we don’t have to wait until we have the time or money (or the friend who bought a house at the beach!) to have an adventure. We can find thrills in every day. Even at the grocery store.

So, what do you say? Want to go on an adventure?

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Two-Faced July

Posted on by stilllearning2b

July has the potential for being ugly to me.  July is the month of tough anniversaries, from the last full day I spent with my husband (7/4/09) to the last embrace with my husband (early morning 7/5/09) to the day my marriage ended (7/11/09) and the aftermath.  Oh, the bloody aftermath. As these dates spin around on the calendar once again, it is impossible not to have them chafe.

That is only one of July’s faces; however. July has become a month of wonderful memories these last few years as my boyfriend (dubbed “Sir Beef” by one of my readers) and I have embraced the activities of the summer.  One of my favorites of these is the Peachtree Road Race, a 10K held every July 4 in Atlanta that welcomes 60,000 runners and about as many support personal and spectators.

This is the second year that Sir Beef and I have run the Peachtree, and it has now become a tradition.  The event is like no other race I have ever done.  You have everything from the elite Kenyans who complete the entire 6.2 miles in under 30 minutes (yup, that is sub 5 minute miles!) to ten-year-old kids running with their families.  Some people take it seriously and compete for time; others take part in keg stands along the way. I love running along side (and around!  there is quite a bit of zigging and zagging!) so many people with different backgrounds and stories that lead them to this race.  I always overhear conversations about people using this event to encourage their wellness journeys as they work to lose significant amounts of weight.  Others have run this race for 20 consecutive years and can tell you about the history of the event.  There are always a large number of current and former troops on the course and the support for them is deafening.

Before (not stinky)
After (with that “not so fresh” feeling)

Apart from the energy of the larger community, I enjoy participating with Sir Beef.  He makes me proud as he encourages slower runners up “Heart Attack Hill” or give a fist-bump to a kid running his first race.  He almost made me cry last year when he slowed down in the last few tenths of mile to run alongside a troop who was struggling in full fatigues in the heat and humidity.  That’s my boy:)  I love the encouraging kiss we share at the start line and the sweaty uncoordinated one mid-run.  I especially love that we cross the finish line together, hand in hand.

After the race, we chowed down (love me some veggie nachos!) and we took the beast to dog park so that he could get some exercise too.

As I continue to layer memories like these over the pain of three years ago, the painful past fades and is replaced with smiles and hope for the future. I like this face of July a whole lot better:)  And, now, all I have to say is, “Go Braves!”

Love my family:)

A Beautiful Day of Contrast

Posted on by stilllearning2b

A Road Re-traveled

The particular stretch of interstate 20 between Alabama and Georgia bookended my marriage.  In our early years, we traveled the road when we moved from Texas to Georgia.  We packed our entire lives into a 15 foot Ryder truck.  I sat crammed in the front seat, the cat, drugged into slumber, in her crate under my feet and our pug sitting on my lap, barking at every overpass.  We were young, overjoyed to be reunited after 7 months apart, and filled with excitement over our future.  We made most of the journey in one 22 hour push (slow going thanks to the governor on the truck and the car towed behind).   We finally stopped for a brief respite at the Alabama-Georgia border, stealing a few hours of sleep while we waited for the Atlanta traffic to clear.

The next time I traveled on I-20, my marriage was over and I was undertaking a journey to place one of its innocent victims, our youngest dog, with new owners.  The tone of that drive was very different; I still had a dog on my lap, but this time it was one I was saying goodbye to.  We made the transfer at the same rest station where my husband-to-be and I had stopped 11 years prior.  The same welcome center that greeted my married life signaled the loss of the same.

Today, I traveled that highway for a third time.  Today, the road held no particular meaning.  Today, the rest stop simply was a place to stretch and get a drink.  Today, the road carried me not into a new life, but simply to a new city for a weekend.  A city that is as filled with contrasts as that road was for me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Twin Tables

My first stop upon entering Birmingham was the botanical gardens.  I was immediately smitten with the naturalistic eye of the designers.  Unlike the Atlanta gardens, this park is not filled with carefully cultivated and perfectly placed plants.  The herbaceous growth was allowed to get a little wild, to grow unrestrained in places.  It was a delight to see the freely spreading phlox and trilliums ignoring the boundaries, coloring outside the lines.

I grinned in delight as I entered the fern grotto.  Ferns have always been one of my favorite plants, they seem to lower the air temperature 10 degrees simply with their presence and they always fill me with a sense of calm and peace.  On the bridge, overlooking the ferns, I met an elderly gentleman who visited the park every day.  He had lived in Birmingham his entire life and told me stories of the area and of the garden while he led me on my own impromptu tour of the park.

We came upon a large stone table.  He mentioned that this was his gratitude table and that every time he passed it, he paused to give thanks.  I was surprised to hear this from him, as he seemed to be a stoic southern man of a certain generation, who does not speak of this such as emotion.  He then proceeded to shock me further by describing an encounter he had one day at that table.  While he was giving thanks, a young nun in a full habit came up.  They entered into conversation and he mentioned his view of the table.  She laughed, and said that she had always viewed the table as a sacrificial altar where she would pause to surrender.  One table, two views.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Civil Rights & Hillbillies

In the city center and the art museum, there were signs everywhere of the city’s complicated past with human rights and desegregation.  Based upon this, I expected to find a city still stuck in the Old South.  Although I have seen elements of that, I have also been surprised at the liberal side of the city bleeding through the fabric of tradition.  I stumbled upon a lovely St. Patrick’s Day parade in the Five Points neighborhood.  It had a small town charm, with the requisite cars full of the city’s young beauties and not-so-young makers and shakers and waving at the crowd.  I roared with laughter when an Old Alabama truck came by, complete with a character straight out of the Beverly Hillbillies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My laughter was soon swallowed in shock as I realized that an exuberant drag queen was prancing behind the pickup truck, followed by Birmingham’s very own gay pride group.  The crowd’s cheers grew even loader.  My jaw dropped even lower.  This is certainly not the old South.  The civil rights movement here continues on…

Celtic Southern Vegans

I plan to end my lovely day with some further contrasts.  I am going to hear Celtic music at a vegan/vegetarian venue in this Southern town.  I can’t wait to see what I find next…

Days like this remind me that life cannot be neatly categorized.  People and places are neither black nor white, but exist in the spaces between.  It is another reminder to let go of expectations and see the world with wide-eyed wonder.