Chaos and Star Treatment

Yesterday was just one of those days when everything started later than it should have and took longer than was reasonable. I was constantly behind, never catching my footing. JG was excited to fire up the grill for the first time of the season and I had the best of intentions to have tossed and pasta salads ready by the time JG got home from his night class. However, my plans were dashed to pieces when he called to say he was leaving school and I was still in the check-out line at the supermarket. Once home, my grocery bags broke in the kitchen, I couldn’t find a matching pair of flip-flops in my dark closet, and I dropped an egg while I tried to make brownies. JG found me making a ruckus as I washed dishes; I was not friendly at all. I know I get way too frustrated when small things go wrong, but when it seems like nothing goes right, it’s more than I can handle gracefully. I went on to burn the French fries and turn a pot of pasta into overcooked mush; much to my chagrin, I had to toss out all of that food. In what turned out to be slight consolation, JG accidentally over-parsleyed the pasta salad so that it tasted of burning. And then he made me a cosmo.

Good man.

Anyway.

From the department of More Interesting Things, I offer what I would have written upon my return home on Saturday had I not been A) so freaking exhausted, B) busy making chili and/or C) running the combo chili cook-off/square dance that evening. My chili tied for 2^nd place and then I proceeded to sleep for over twelve hours on Sunday.

- - -

On Tuesday, the staff of my small organization was set to meet for an all-hands dinner, but my immediate team met for happy hour a bit earlier. (I ordered a lemon drop before I realized that the special that day was 2-for-1 and I had two yummy martinis sitting in front of me without warning. Needless to say, I tried to avoid talking and standing up.) I looked up and saw a girl walking to the restaurant next door on the arm of a short-ish guy. “Hey,” I whispered to my neighbor, “That girl really looks like Hillary Swank.” She looked at me and said flatly, “That is Hillary Swank, RA.”

What!

The rest of my table craned and whispered, “Why didn’t you say anything?!” I didn’t even realize it was her until it was too late! Conveniently, we were sitting on the patio, so we staked out Hillary and her date (her agent, we wondered?) until they came out again. Cue more whispering and gasping.

Then, on Saturday morning, I was standing at baggage claim in Philly with a few of my officemates when I spied a small woman across the way with red hair. I looked once. Twice. I nudged my nearest co-worker and said dubiously, “Is that Kathy Griffin?”

“Oh, my gosh, yes. Let’s get a picture with her!”

“Uh, would you want your picture taken with random crazy people after a red-eye?”

“She’s probably used to it! She’d probably like it because she’s so D-list.”

“I’m not doing it.”

“Fine. We’ll just stand here and stare, then.”

And we did. Not as glamorous as Hillary Swank, maybe, but it brought my celebrity sighting count up to a big TWO! I call that a successful L.A. trip!

- - -

I booked a shuttle to and from the airport for this trip and I relish the luxurious rides in town cars. The ground transportation person called my name and I walked out to meet the driver … who was standing next to a white stretch limo. What in the world!

And so, on my way home from my trip to Hollywood, I rode all alone in a limousine. I sat across from empty decanters, tiny television screens, and wine glasses in their own holders. I put my feet up on the seat stretched before me and watched where I had been through the back windshield. I saw people’s eyes linger on the car, just as mine usually do, and I realized that I could see them, but they couldn’t see me. It was very surreal. And very L.A.

Weirdsburg

Williamsburg, Virginia, Day 4: (retrospectively)
JG and I finished up our trip to Williamsburg with a relaxing day of vacation-y activities: sleeping in, shopping, and playing mini-golf. We expected a rather ordinary day, but we got a healthy dose of Williamsburg oddity, instead.

In our hotel’s “Welcome to Williamsburg” packet, I saw a bright ad for a place called Williamsburg Pottery. I thought it might be fun to wander around and buy a new dish to take home as a souvenir, and maybe we could even see them making the pottery. I don’t think I can accurately capture the peculiarity we encountered there. We drove up to a collection of steel warehouses that housed a random assortment of chintzy stores like Totes/Sunglass World, Stained Glass and Collectibles, and something called African Gallery. Since I was on the prowl for actual pottery – imagine that! – JG and I wandered to a larger building that appeared to be the main event. Picture the many aisles of Ikea crossed with bizarre goods from Big Lots in massive quantities, separated into departments like “Oriental” and “Kitchen Gadgets.” This main building (which went on for miles) was slammed up against the largest garden supply store this side of the Mississippi with a collection of statuary to match. Next door, another steel building was labeled, “Hardware, Wine, and Cheese.” With every new step that did not reveal a large pottery-manufacturing site, I wondered if I would be A Total Tourist by asking, “Could you point me in the direction of the pottery?” But seriously! The place is called Williamsburg Pottery, for goodness’ sake. JG now wonders if the site used to be the home of pottery production but has now been accosted by these strange stores in the warehouses. Whatever the case, words can not express the weirdness.

After a cute lunch and some outlet shopping, JG and I set out for a round of mini-golf. We followed our usual routine:

• I accept the fact that I will lose and choose a golf ball that matches what I’m wearing that day.
• JG makes sure I have a putter that’s small enough for me; in this case, it was a child’s large size.
• I remember that I have no sense of aim or speed.
• JG, ever the teacher, tries to give me a few tips to “make it a lot easier.”
• I cheerfully refuse the tips because the frustration of trying to improve my nonexistent game will take away from my enjoyment of how many times I can chase the ball past the hole.
• JG putts cleanly, with maybe one occasion of 3 shots or more.
• I celebrate anything at par, but spend my time mostly craning my body to will the ball to curve left or right, because, you know, that totally helps.
• JG wins by a landslide and all is right with the world.

This time, the mini-golf routine was upset by a few rounds of turtle-watching because our mini-golf course doubled as a turtle rescue center. Seriously. They had signs all over the place about their mission, how the turtles gave joy to their patrons, and NOT to feed them, because so many guests smuggle in turtle food, I guess. Additionally, the waterfalls and little ponds in the course were all dyed a bizarrely unnatural shade of turquoise. Isn’t that kind of bad for living things?

At the end of the day, JG and I agreed that even though we couldn’t have predicted what we experienced, it was fun to get a glimpse into the strangeness in Williamsburg. It’s not just colonial history, folks.

Revolution, Thrills, and a Food Coma

Williamsburg, Virginia, Day 3:
We had amazing weather yesterday for walking through Colonial Williamsburg: 60 degrees, partly cloudy, with a slight breeze. I slung my camera over my shoulder and prepared for a good old educational experience. The trouble is, when you buy a ticket, it’s hard to know what you’re getting. Williamsburg is still a city; the whole thing is not officially “colonial.” So, if we hadn’t bought a ticket, we could have walked around, visited the shops, and had lunch with no problem, but there would have been no tour of the governor’s palace or visits to various tradesmen. In that light, I’m glad we bought tickets for all of the exhibits, but I’m not sure it was worth what we paid. I do think that all of the “character interpreters” we met were incredibly knowledgeable and friendly, so the entire experience was very pleasant and informative. I snapped far too many pictures of flowers and farm animals, but JG and I had a good time being outdoors and stopping in to the little stores. All told, we probably walked about five miles, which is five more than a usual day in my life. I felt like I got some exercise and learned a thing or two, and at the end of the day, JG even commented, “I wasn’t sure if I’d like that, but it turned out to be really fun. Good idea, kid.” Aw.

We spent most of today at Busch Gardens, which was a lot of fun. Unfortunately, the day started with insanely inefficient processes for parking and ticketing and I got a bad impression from it all. During the worst of it, JG and I were trying to redeem our pre-paid, turnstile-ready tickets that we had printed at home. The ticket readers were machines that were supposed to scan a bar code, take your fingerprint, and let you through. Evidently, they needed a person to assist with the bar codes and fingerprints, which totally defeated the purpose of the automation. When my bar code didn’t scan, the woman at my station punched in a 16-number code, very slowly, after she said, “See, the printer makes the bars too close together. Looks like you need a new printer.” I really wanted to fire back with, “No, my printer is fine. If the ticket prints out incorrectly, it’s the fault of the system and any convenience I thought I had was totally shot by your inefficiency and incompetence.” Instead, because I knew it wasn’t only her fault, I chose to stare daggers at her. I was good and worked up after that, but JG got me walking at a trot – each of his steps is about 2.5 of mine – and my mood burned off quickly when we rode a giant coaster twice in a row with virtually no wait. Woo! Going to an amusement park is one of my favorite things to do with JG because we’re both so focused on a strategic route that will result in minimum wait time. It sounds super-structured, but we have so much fun once we actually get to the rides. Going roller coasters for five hours is such a departure from my workday and I really felt like I was on vacation when we were there. It was very nice.

Oog. I’m typing under the influence of an incredibly filling meal from Pierce’s Pitt, a Williamsburg fixture where you order and pay at the register and then pick up your food when your number is called over a tinny intercom. We had plenty of time to pick our poison since we were in line behind a group of teens from a Baptist church in Ohio who arrived, just before we did, in one of those truncated school buses. JG and I both decided on the Barbecue Dinner, which consists of a half-pound of pulled-pork barbecue and a choice of three (!) sides. We both chose fries and mac-n-cheese, but JG went all-carb with the addition of hushpuppies and I chose collard greens, you know, for a balanced diet. Well, our friends weren’t kidding when they billed Pierce’s as “old-school, cheap, and a ton of food.” Oh, my goodness. The barbecue was comforting, stick-to-your-ribs, and full-flavored with just a tiny kick at the end. The meat seemed to expand in our stomachs alongside the side dishes that complemented the sweet-sour tang of the sauce. It was one of those meals that made me sorry that it would be over at some point, but no matter how much I liked it, there was no way I could have finished it all. JG cleaned his plate, but he practically rolled himself to the car and then collapsed as soon as he got back. I did my best, but I was only able to eat all of the barbecue and the mac-n-cheese. It’s about prioritizing, right? That said, I wish I had already brushed my teeth before I started to type because, man, standing up is going to be rough.

Traffic and a Full Belly

Williamsburg, Virginia, Day 1:
Right now, JG and I are sprawled out on the wide expanse of a king-sized bed; he’s watching the UCLA/Florida game and I’m clicking away happily on a laptop. We’re enjoying a night of leisure after a less-than-smooth day of travel.

JG calculated that the trip would take us about five hours. We’d leave at 10am, stop for lunch after getting past DC, and arrive at our hotel around 3pm. That would leave time for an early dinner and he could catch both of the semi-final games tonight. No problem. We packed the car, loaded up the CD player, and we were off. Yay for vacation!

Well. Several spats of traffic, including one 15-mile stretch that took over an hour to cover, left us roasting hot, starving, and cranky. We grabbed fast food for lunch, but the fatty, fried fakeness made us even crankier because we felt like tubs of lard. And then we hit more traffic. Ugh. Five hours stretched out to seven.

Thankfully, our hotel room is comfortable – if a little brightly botanical for my tastes – and the internet access is free! Yes! To top off the night, for dinner, we found a fabulously local Italian place within walking distance. It was crammed full of people and JG overheard a guy at a neighboring table saying that he was waiting for a certain waitress because she’d been serving him for 30 years. The food was so tasty (and cheap!) and we were grateful for the brief walk back to the hotel. The ride down here was tiring and frustrating at times, but now that we’re settled in, I’m excited for everything we have planned. The weather should be gorgeous and I’m armed and ready with my camera.

Bring it on, Williamsburg.

Waiting for the Red-Eye

San Francisco International Airport, Gate 28:

I am waiting to board my flight in a quilted vinyl seat facing the tarmac. Distant runway lights shimmer in the distance, obscured by finger-printed glass and those fold-up walkways. Caravans of luggage trundle down below. I wonder if I’ll see any of those guys with the light sticks who guide arriving planes. A light bulb over my head flickers irregularly. The stark fluorescence casts sterile light on an already subdued troupe of travelers.

We’re a motley crew, this red-eye bunch. With many rows of vinyl seats between two gates, we’ve spread out strategically so that each person has at least three seats to himself. Two young families with toddlers and babies play in the pod of gates. The toddlers admire the planes and while other little ones fuss. People shift uncomfortably, silently hoping that they don’t share a cabin with the children. There’s really nothing anyone can do if it’s the case. We all know we’re in the airport for the same reason and a good night’s sleep is a characteristic of an ideal scenario. We’re all going to board a plane, receive a blanket and pillow of doubtful origin, and hope for a decent amount of rest in what is inevitably a restless situation. Perhaps, like me, the people in this gate did not savor the idea of leaving the city the next morning, only to arrive at home about eight hours later. At least this way, uncomfortable seats and cramped quarters notwithstanding, I have the prospect of a good lunch and a relaxing afternoon and evening at home. The weekend will be only slightly shorter.

I look around. I’m not the only one who has dressed for the occasion, sporting comfy layers. It is evident that some unfortunate ones have come straight from their workplaces and their business casual attire is bound for a night of obtaining new wrinkles. I yawn. It’s a good sign that I’ll manage to rest during this flight, despite my middle seat placement.

I’m almost home.

Over the Top

On Friday, JG and I found ourselves on the top of the stairs of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, the ones made famous by Rocky and his gray sweatsuit. No, we didn’t run all the way up the stairs; we accidentally drove across them. In a car.

It all started out very innocently with a trip to the museum. I had never been there, so JG was humoring me and two of his friends came along for the ride. We followed signs for the parking lot, winding around and around the building at what I thought was a curiously high altitude. “I feel like we’re driving on top of the museum,” I commented, and of course, the rest of the car just laughed at me. RA was worrying again, as always. Then, the scenery opened up to reveal the stairs falling down to the right and columns of the museum’s façade rising up on the left. We were on top of the stairs, staring down at the Benjamin Franklin Parkway. What in the world?

The friend in the driver’s seat paused as we reached the center of the patio and said jokingly, “Do you want to take a picture?” We yelled to get off the steps and we zoomed into a less visible side parking lot. As the car pulled into place, the ridiculousness of the whole thing settled in. We were on the steps! If Rocky had been there, we could have run him over. We might even be in people’s pictures of the museum. Crazy.

JG would later describe the episode as the highlight of his weekend. At least the trip to the museum (that I loved, by the way) was worth that much, I guess.

Philly Weekend

I’m taking the afternoon and tomorrow off! We’re going to Philly with friends! Yes! Oh, and meanwhile, JG and I are chaperoning a pack of kids.

I shouldn’t complain. The trip is almost free for us, not including the minor task of accompanying 45 high school students to participate in their Model United Nations fest. We’re all staying in the same hotel where the kids do their UN thing (compromise, treaties, resolution, etc.) so I’m told that this chaperoning gig is really more like checking off names on a list than babysitting. According to the faculty advisor, the kids are the “nerdy, well-behaved ones”, so hopefully, they’ll snap to attention if I ask them to do something. Being an authority figure for these students makes me uneasy. I’m not a teacher and, more importantly, over half of them are bound to be at least a head taller than I am. Much to my chagrin, this will be a situation where respectful students will call me Mrs. Married Last Name and I need to make a conscious effort not to wince every time that happens. I am just not used to that yet.

Between the art museum and the orchestra (yay!), the plan this weekend includes a lot of reading. As of right now, the reading resolution is completely unrealistic thanks to my current book that has me in a headlock. I can’t fail in the first month! It’s a matter of pride right now; I have to at least get through June. I’m going to finish my book and get at least halfway through the other one in my bag, darn it.

Regardless of students, married last names and sub-Arctic weather, I’m sure I’ll enjoy myself. Time off from work is always a good time!

Musings on Flight

Sometimes, I let myself think about air travel and it boggles my mind. How does the plane lift off? Is it the sheer speed that makes it take off? The same one that sucks everyone into their seats? Is there a rocket involved? And then, how does landing work? That bump-bump-ROAR of the landing always makes me draw my breath in all at once while wringing my hands. What is that learning curve like? And then parking afterward? I can barely pull into a space with my little car (forget parallel parking). I do not understand it. It doesn’t behoove me to ponder these lingering questions when I’m a passenger on a plane, but sometimes my curiosity gets the better of me.

At other times, I can see why people back in the day wanted to fly, resulting in funny bicycle-powered contraptions from those speckled, black and white reels with tinny piano music playing in the background. As my plane dropped down from cruising altitudes, I saw glimpses of the sunset over the San Francisco hills, burnishing the passengers on the left. Everything had tinges of gold – graceful, sloping bridges, straight, shiny skyscrapers, and seemingly miniscule cars on the freeway. I held my breath on the inhale, dazzled for a few moments. I couldn’t have seen all of this as a pedestrian in the street. Sometimes, the best view is from the top.

Then there are other times when I am absolutely sure why taking a train is my favorite mode of long-distance transportation. There are lots of trains, a short waiting period, and – most applicable today – no middle seats. There were only middle seats left on my flight when I booked it, so I picked one at random because being small means that I can fit into pretty much any situation coach seats throw at me. Unfortunately, I ended up next to a heavyset French woman who decided to forgo the armrest and essentially spilled onto my seat. It took all I had to maintain some semblance of courtesy as I gently nudged her chenille sweater to the left, brought the armrest back down while she was at the restroom, and shimmied to the right to give myself as much space as I could without getting all up on the man on my other side. I’m as affectionate as the next guy (with close friends and such, ahem), but for public situations, I definitely need my personal space. When the people on both sides of me took up the whole armrest and more, the bubble got a lot smaller and the six-hour flight seemed much longer.

In any case, thank goodness for fun co-workers, a yummy (and only $2!) cocktail, and a plateful of pasta. I won’t be good for much for too long. I can feel myself fading… Darn you, jet lag…

Avalon Reflections

After a weekend away and a ride home that was thankfully light traffic-wise, I can muse about all of high points from the weekend, in bullets, no less, because that’s how I roll.

• I went into the water voluntarily this weekend – several times, even! On Friday, the water was nice and warm, and I didn’t even cringe as it lapped around my swimsuit. I even braved depths higher than my knees to jump around waves and stand on a sandbar. When I had had enough, I sat at the shoreline to let the waves push me around and watch JG bodysurf: "Three belly scrapers out of four waves!” he crowed. It was something close to paradise.
• I’d never seen those little jellyfish that wash up on the shore, and I tiptoed around the minefield of transparent blobs, trying to get a good picture. I jumped when I felt something crawly; then I saw the abundance of little clams at my feet. JG showed me how they try to dig back into the sand once they’re exposed, and I was transfixed at the sight of dozens of tiny orange, purple, and white shells propelling themselves into the sand.
• JG and I had a rousing game of Scrabble on the beach because, yes, we are that cool. I’m proud to say that I ended up on top, despite JG’s bingo word (uses all seven letters and earns you fifty bonus points), “poaches”, and racks like WOOEEEU. Low point of the game: I had a bingo word of my own (“gleaned”), but had nowhere to put it, and I ended up having to play “nodal”. High point: I managed to double-letter the Q in a double-word spot with “quite” for 48 points. This is the part when my geekiness is unavoidable.
• At our friends’ recommendation, JG and I took a jaunt to the free zoo at the Cape May County Park, and it was a lot of fun. In addition to the run-of-the-mill, barnyard animals and caged birds, there was a reptile house and a Pathway to Diversity that led to zebras and giraffes. It was very well-done for our five-buck donation. Plus, the excursion doubled as economy birth control, as JG and I have zero urge to push around small children in strollers, make sure they don’t walk into strangers, or purchase animal-shaped sugary drinks from the tiki hut-like drink stations, and all of that was confirmed in this morning trip.
• We strolled down the main downtown area in Avalon and I loved seeing two separate shops dedicated solely to cheese. How great is that? There were white lights intertwined in all of the trees on either side of the street and a gazebo-ish thing in the middle of a square where I pictured barbershop quartets or horn groups gathering on the 4th of July. It was sort of like Stuckeyville or Stars Hollow, both places where I would like to live if they existed…

I have emerged refreshed and “as brown as a Brazil nut”, as one of my co-workers would say. I have a greater fondness for the beach than I did previously, perhaps due to the lack of many rowdy family members and the loan of a fantabulous house. Or maybe I’m just getting used to the idea of spending time at the beach, and the shorter break made me more grateful for the time away. Who knows, but I’ll take it anyway.

Are We in the Right House?

Greetings from Avalon, NJ!

JG and I have taken a pseudo long weekend away (Friday afternoon through Sunday night) thanks to the generosity of our friends with a beach house here. The weather’s great and a seafood dinner is on tap for tonight, but, oh, let me tell you about the house.

Our friends are pretty well off and they’ve always been really great about sharing what they have, like hosting fun parties and helping people move (i.e. yours truly). When they heard that I was concerned about not having vacation time with JG by myself, their first reaction was, “Borrow our beach house! Let us know when you want it!” Needless to say, we were stunned at the offer, and gladly took them up on it.

When JG and I drove up the street to look for the house, we were expecting one of those single-story, we’re-just-sleeping-here-in-between-beach-trips houses, because honestly, even though our friends live comfortably, beach property, even a couple of blocks off the water, is freaking expensive. Plus, we know that they don’t rent the house out, ever, so it wasn’t like they were bringing in extra money. We crawled along the street, craning at house numbers, and oh my goodness. There was #249.

A beautiful, yellow house with its own driveway welcomed us, and we gaped at the wide, wrap-around porch and picturesque wooden rockers. JG unlocked the door, and we explored what we learned was a 5-bedroom, 5.5-bath house, complete with a full kitchen (granite countertops, gas range, pull-out trash bin, oh my!), outside shower, one-car garage, two living rooms, a wet bar, and master suite perched on its own third story. Our room, the “green guestroom” was leaps and bounds nicer than our room at home, with a king-sized bed and full bath with a double sink (!). Best of all, the house is decorated with fish of all kinds – ceramic, glass, wind chimes, tile mosaic – local art of Avalon scenes, and family photos. It is Beach House to the nth degree, and it is unbelievable that we get to use it.

As we walked back out to the car to grab our stuff, JG breathed, “I feel like we’re on Cribs…” We had no idea what we were stepping into, and it is by far the nicest place we have ever stayed. I’m not sure what this place is worth, or when it was built, but there’s a house next door for sale, and they’re asking for a cool $2.8 million. Oh my goodness.

So, what’s the appropriate thank you gift for friends who let you borrow their several-million-dollar house?

Vacation: The Numbers

So! JG and I are back from our vacation in Ocean City, NJ, more tan than when we left, and definitely rested. I am so glad to be home again, but it was great to have a real break from work and normal life.

Here’s the round-up of my beach experience:

• People staying in our house, maximum: 20
• People staying in our house, minimum: 15
  

• Books read: 4
  - Sense and Sensibility (okay, I was already reading this, but I finished it), The Devil Wears Prada, Julie & Julia, and The Joy Luck Club
  

• Games played: 7
  - Apples to Apples, Dutch Blitz, Sorry!, Outburst, Blackjack, Guesstures, and Dance Dance Revolution
  

• Trips to the boardwalk taken: 2
  

• Slices of Mack & Manco’s pizza eaten: 4 (in two sittings, don't worry)
  

• Holes-in-one made in mini-golf: 6!!!
  - This is an all-time, never-before, unheard-of record for me. I can’t even remember the last time I played mini-golf, much less got a hole-in-one. Plus, our team won overall, in a field of four teams. I can't believe that I helped a team win at something! Involving a ball! I can never play again – quit while you’re ahead, right?
  

• Shells collected along the shoreline: 67
  

• Souvenirs bought: 8, I think
  - Salt-water taffy for my office, a big red bucket for collecting shells, a beach hat that made me look senior citizen-like, a beach chair with optional canopy that added to the senior citizen impression, pretty shells that I couldn’t find on the beach, postcards, an Ocean City t-shirt, and cotton candy (but I ate it – does it count as a souvenir?)
  

• Occasions actually spent in the ocean: 1
  

• Sunrises watched: 0
  - Okay, we all knew how unrealistic that one was, especially since one of my major objectives for this week was to wake up sans alarm clock everyday.
  

• Pictures taken on our camera: 293
  
• Pictures taken of me: 17

All in all, I’m glad I went, and I am definitely rested up. I was able to try and experience a lot of new things, some of which I wouldn’t mind doing again (rocking the house in mini-golf) and others that I will do my best to never to repeat (going into ocean water that is higher than my knees). Best of all, this experience was a new window into JG’s childhood, and I really enjoyed watching him reclaim a part of it in an environment where I’d never seen him. My favorite pictures are of him running full-force into the ocean, washing up on the shore after bodysurfing, and going all-out in a game of four-square. Maybe that’s why I stayed behind the camera so much; I just liked observing. Who knows – maybe next time, there will be a lot more pictures of me. For now, I’m content to archive my hundreds of photos into albums, figure out which ones make the cut for framing, and recall the salty smell of my first beach vacation.

"We’re on V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N!"

"…and we’re having a ball!"

That’s the song JG’s dad would sing when his family went on their vacations, and JG has continued on the tradition. We haven’t determined whether it’s an actual song or just a Dad Original, but either way, it’s fun. So yes, we’re on vacation! Tomorrow morning, JG and I are leaving to drive to the Jersey shore to meet up with the rest of his mom’s side of the family:

• 1 grandmother
• 2 sets of uncles and aunts
• 6 cousins
• 2 parents
• 2 siblings

Yes, that’s at least 15 people (including us), plus an undefined number of significant others and friends who will be dropping by. We’ll all be in one house for a whole week, and it’s a tradition that goes back at least thirty years. Yes, I am stepping, for the first time, into a tradition that is older than I am.

I grew up with New England beaches, which were very cold, rocky, and inhospitable, so when JG describes Ocean City to me, I just stare back and say things like, “Sand? You go into the water? The boardwalk is on stilts? How does it support businesses and people walking on it?” And then he just laughs at me … I still don't completely get it, but I assume it'll make sense when I see it.

This trip will also be my first time spending an entire week lounging on a beach, which is completely foreign to me. See, my childhood vacations involved exhausting a city of every tourist attraction it had to offer. My engineer father would put together an itinerary that took us from museum to aquarium to historic restaurant for lunch to landmark gardens to probably another museum to city-specific-cuisine dinner to the ballet. In one day. Throw in some frustration over getting lost and thereby being late according to the itinerary, and it was a lot to take for at least five days. I usually felt like I needed another vacation to recover from my vacation, and it’s not that I didn’t learn a lot and gain a lot of culture. I was just tired out. In that sense, I am looking forward to a week where I could possibly read the nine books I packed, but I know that I’ll feel oddly guilty about it.

I know this trip will be interesting, but I have high hopes for its being fun. From what I hear, Mack & Manco’s Pizza, the Shell Museum, mini-golf, donuts from Dot’s Bakery, the Clam Bar, and Hoy’s Five and Ten are all in my future. I’m looking forward to spending time with the bevy of family members, and we haven’t seen them since Thanksgiving. There will be a lot of games played – Catchphrase, Apples to Apples, and Dutch Blitz, to name a few – and I always love games. With a lot of reading and picture-taking, I think I can reach my main goal: by Tuesday or Wednesday, I want to be singing,

“We’re on V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N, and we’re having a ball!”