Me and the ocean - friends forever.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
The Rinkers go on vacation
The Ump and I went on our longest vacation to date - five days (well, 16 hours were spent on the road).
Our honeymoon was a mere two days. We've been to Pittsburgh (two days) and Colonial Beach (four days), so this was the grandaddy of all vacations for us. No dogs, no Internet, no Woodstock.
It was nice.
We drove to Myrtle Beach where we had rented an oceanfront condo at an extremely reasonable price from a friend. My idea was for us to drive through the night so that we would get there and be able to go directly to the beach. I figured if the Ump could stay up all night driving a snow plow for VDOT that he could drive me to the beach in the middle of the night.
He did very well. It is an eight-hour trip and there was very little traffic - even on I-95.
As a show of solidarity, I stayed awake and talked and sang along with the radio to keep him alert. That worked until about 4:30 a.m. when he said he was fighting sleep too hard. So we pulled off the road and took a nap for about a half hour.
First stop - WAFFLE HOUSE in North Myrtle Beach.
Waffle House is not jut a great place to eat flat, segmented waffles. It is a microcosm of its community. That might be a little too deep - but our breakfast stop did result in some information. We got a tip on where to turn to find our condo and I was reminded that South Carolina doesn't have terribly stringent smoking laws. Of the five of us sitting in the "non-smoking" section - three were smoking.
When I was in elementary school, we went to Myrtle Beach every other year with relatives. We stayed in Litchfield which is south of Myrtle Beach. That area is now a gated-community.
We stayed in North Myrtle Beach which is a little looser with "gentleman's clubs" called things like Crazy Horse and "adult" stores and Hooters mixed right in with the family entertainment and bazillion golf courses, driving ranges and miniature golf courses.
There was a surf store on every corner along with pancake houses and Baptist churches. I am sure that this is some kind of snapshot into the southern psyche - food, religion and nakedness - but I wouldn't know where to start. We only sampled the waffles.
Our plan was to rest, lay low, eat dinner out somewhere every night, shop (my idea) and go to Broadway at the Beach to see the Ripley Aquarium (also my idea).
The aquarium was very cool. They have a moving "power walk" that pulls you into the main part of the aquarium where you can get a close look at sharks and colorful fish. There is one section where the aquarium extends overhead and you can see the bellies of the fish as they swim overhead. Creepiest the manta ray which wore an evil smile beneath its graceful wings. There was a pool where you could reach into the water to touch the manta ray, but it never got close enough for me to reach it and I wasn't about to reach out so far that I could tip right in. One of the staff told us that it happens all the time.
It was mesmerizing to watch the fish swim - sometimes in unison, sometimes narrowly missing each other like they were obeying the traffic signs on an invisible watery highway.
For me, this trip was about getting to see the ocean. I haven't been since 2002 and I was sorely missing the frothy waves and sandy shore. I don't bake in the sun anymore like I used to, but I love to sit under an umbrella and watch the changing tides of the ocean as well as the tide of people who roll by the shore.
Eventually, my parents bought an oceanfront condo in Nags Head and I came to love the solitude of that area which was not as developed as the main part of the Outer Banks. Myrtle Beach is packed. I was on the beach by 7 a.m. to stake my territory. Most folks came out late morning, so early morning was my favorite time of day.
The water in Myrtle is warmer than Nags Head and the sand is much softer. One happy bonus of this trip was smooth feet and heels. I'm thinking about getting a litter box full of sand and putting salt water in it to keep my feet in this condition.
I had a terrific time. I think the Ump did too. He had very low expectations for this trip - he wanted a change of scenery and an opportunity to rest - which he did.
In fact, he would have been just as happy to stay home with the dogs. He fretted about Peanut the entire time we were gone. He knew that Peanut's dog sitter thought that Peanut has put on a little too much weight and he was afraid she wouldn't feed him.
"We're gonna come back and he's going to look like a greyhound," the Ump said one night before we left.
The truth is we have loved Peanut with a little too much food, I told him. "Think of it like this - Peanut is going to a spa where he will be fed green beans as treats and he will get daily walks."
When Peanut returned home from his "vacation," he ignored us for a day. On the second day, when he finally jumped back up in "Daddy's" lap, the Ump told him that we would never go away again and leave him with someone else.
I guess our next vacation is going to have to be in a dog-friendly condo.
Our honeymoon was a mere two days. We've been to Pittsburgh (two days) and Colonial Beach (four days), so this was the grandaddy of all vacations for us. No dogs, no Internet, no Woodstock.
It was nice.
We drove to Myrtle Beach where we had rented an oceanfront condo at an extremely reasonable price from a friend. My idea was for us to drive through the night so that we would get there and be able to go directly to the beach. I figured if the Ump could stay up all night driving a snow plow for VDOT that he could drive me to the beach in the middle of the night.
He did very well. It is an eight-hour trip and there was very little traffic - even on I-95.
As a show of solidarity, I stayed awake and talked and sang along with the radio to keep him alert. That worked until about 4:30 a.m. when he said he was fighting sleep too hard. So we pulled off the road and took a nap for about a half hour.
First stop - WAFFLE HOUSE in North Myrtle Beach.
Waffle House is not jut a great place to eat flat, segmented waffles. It is a microcosm of its community. That might be a little too deep - but our breakfast stop did result in some information. We got a tip on where to turn to find our condo and I was reminded that South Carolina doesn't have terribly stringent smoking laws. Of the five of us sitting in the "non-smoking" section - three were smoking.
When I was in elementary school, we went to Myrtle Beach every other year with relatives. We stayed in Litchfield which is south of Myrtle Beach. That area is now a gated-community.
We stayed in North Myrtle Beach which is a little looser with "gentleman's clubs" called things like Crazy Horse and "adult" stores and Hooters mixed right in with the family entertainment and bazillion golf courses, driving ranges and miniature golf courses.
There was a surf store on every corner along with pancake houses and Baptist churches. I am sure that this is some kind of snapshot into the southern psyche - food, religion and nakedness - but I wouldn't know where to start. We only sampled the waffles.
Our plan was to rest, lay low, eat dinner out somewhere every night, shop (my idea) and go to Broadway at the Beach to see the Ripley Aquarium (also my idea).
The aquarium was very cool. They have a moving "power walk" that pulls you into the main part of the aquarium where you can get a close look at sharks and colorful fish. There is one section where the aquarium extends overhead and you can see the bellies of the fish as they swim overhead. Creepiest the manta ray which wore an evil smile beneath its graceful wings. There was a pool where you could reach into the water to touch the manta ray, but it never got close enough for me to reach it and I wasn't about to reach out so far that I could tip right in. One of the staff told us that it happens all the time.
It was mesmerizing to watch the fish swim - sometimes in unison, sometimes narrowly missing each other like they were obeying the traffic signs on an invisible watery highway.
For me, this trip was about getting to see the ocean. I haven't been since 2002 and I was sorely missing the frothy waves and sandy shore. I don't bake in the sun anymore like I used to, but I love to sit under an umbrella and watch the changing tides of the ocean as well as the tide of people who roll by the shore.
Eventually, my parents bought an oceanfront condo in Nags Head and I came to love the solitude of that area which was not as developed as the main part of the Outer Banks. Myrtle Beach is packed. I was on the beach by 7 a.m. to stake my territory. Most folks came out late morning, so early morning was my favorite time of day.
The water in Myrtle is warmer than Nags Head and the sand is much softer. One happy bonus of this trip was smooth feet and heels. I'm thinking about getting a litter box full of sand and putting salt water in it to keep my feet in this condition.
I had a terrific time. I think the Ump did too. He had very low expectations for this trip - he wanted a change of scenery and an opportunity to rest - which he did.
In fact, he would have been just as happy to stay home with the dogs. He fretted about Peanut the entire time we were gone. He knew that Peanut's dog sitter thought that Peanut has put on a little too much weight and he was afraid she wouldn't feed him.
"We're gonna come back and he's going to look like a greyhound," the Ump said one night before we left.
The truth is we have loved Peanut with a little too much food, I told him. "Think of it like this - Peanut is going to a spa where he will be fed green beans as treats and he will get daily walks."
When Peanut returned home from his "vacation," he ignored us for a day. On the second day, when he finally jumped back up in "Daddy's" lap, the Ump told him that we would never go away again and leave him with someone else.
I guess our next vacation is going to have to be in a dog-friendly condo.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
The Ump and Pea
This is how the Ump and Peanut spend their evenings. Sick, isn't it? Who would have ever imagined that this 15-pound, grumbly old dog would charm my equally grumbly husband? Maybe that is the connection. They are both grumbly. Both have greying mustaches.
Whatever the case, I love them both.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Like the corners of my mind
I had to dust off the top of the pie safe in our bedroom today and for some reason I opened the door and looked inside.
The name is a misnomer for there are no pies safely stored inside. Inside are a hundred or so CDs and my yearbooks from high school and college.
Something told me to pick up one of those yearbooks, so I selected 1976 - probably my favorite yearbook from high school.
It didn't occur to me until after I started leafing through the pages that the yearbook is 30 years old. Thirty years. How could I be 30 years away from ninth grade? It feels like - well, not yesterday, but certainly not 30 years ago, either.
Of all my yearbooks, this one is the best because the yearbook staff was led by a free-spirited English teacher - Mike Hippler - who was pretty much fresh out of college. I never had him as a teacher, but he was a friend of my mom who was a guidance counselor when I was in the ninth grade, so I got to know him a little.
Once thing that is for certain is that there was no such thing as being PC in 1976. This particular yearbook not only has great candid shots, but it is full of original writings by students on topics from why the SCA was just a big scam to what it was like hanging out in the smoking area. (Imagine that - a place for students to smoke during the school day!)
When I pulled the yearbook out I thought I would just look at the pictures of a couple of friends. Instead, I experienced a through-the-looking-glass moment. My memories received CPR from this well put together annual and the shaggy-haired guys and mini-skirted girls came to life in my head.
My ninth grade picture highlights my lack of hairstyle, my mouth of braces and my first pair of teardrop-shaped gold-rimmed glasses.
I laughed at the "fashion" section which featured platform shoes and sandals, flare-legged and hip-hugging pants and shirts with wild designs. I'm sure I saw Jessica Simpson wearing something that looked exactly like that in People magazine.
1976 was the year of the bicentennial, but that was barely mentioned. There was a double spread of headlines from that time period - Jimmy Hoffa, Olympics etc.
The Eagles were the favorite band and M*A*S*H was on both the favorite and most hated TV show lists. Everyone loved Robert Redford and Barbra Streisand. And for some reason the yearbook staff thought Monty Python had an extra "e" = Pythone.
I read a lot of the things that my friends wrote on the pages. Many were just the "stay as sweet as you are" type signatures that I garnered from kids I admired, but didn't know well. But some of them were achingly wonderful from real friends - only one I have seen since graduating from high school.
Several kids from high school went to Bridgewater College. One of the guys I had a crush on in the ninth grade ended up going to BC and we stayed friends. He frequently brought me home for the weekends when he went to Covington to see his girlfriend. His ninth grade greeting to me in my yearbook was just so nice for a high school boy. Kevin O'Dell Bailey.
My ninth grade year was also the first time I went out on a date. My first date was in September of 1975. It was wonderful. We went to see one of the Pink Panther movies. He wasn't driving yet, but we lived within walking distance of the movie theater and Grandmom picked me up after the movie.
Jim got his driver's license later and we went out in February of 1976 to a Sadie Hawkins dance at his high school. Jim lived in the city and I lived in the county, so we went to different high schools. I did not want to go to this dance because I was very self-conscious - braces, glasses etc. But he kept calling and I finally caved because I really wanted to see him.
Oddly enough, my mom was out of the state on this particular night. So I borrowed her platform shoes and wore my pink pantsuit. Very hot. I know I saw Jessica Simpson wearing it on MTV the other day. Except my pants had a very high waist and an incredibly flared leg.
It was a great date. We started "going together" after that and dated all the way to Thanksgiving of my senior year. He went to college and met some girl and they both dropped out of school. He really didn't want to go to college. I encouraged him to go because I thought my folks would let me marry him if he was a college grad. Oh well.
I could ramble on like this forever, but I will stop for now.
If you happen to be dusting off your bookshelf, I encourage you to pick up that old yearbook and take a look. There will be some sad stories and some happy ones. Some weird things and it might help you remember a time when what was important to you was radically different from the things that matter now.
Kevin and Jim, Susie and Cindy, Mark and Ruddy, Randy and Calvin. They are a lot clearer in my mind right now. I think I'll park them at a picnic table in my mind and visit them again before they take a bow and drop behind my memory curtain until the next time I run across one of my yearbooks.
The name is a misnomer for there are no pies safely stored inside. Inside are a hundred or so CDs and my yearbooks from high school and college.
Something told me to pick up one of those yearbooks, so I selected 1976 - probably my favorite yearbook from high school.
It didn't occur to me until after I started leafing through the pages that the yearbook is 30 years old. Thirty years. How could I be 30 years away from ninth grade? It feels like - well, not yesterday, but certainly not 30 years ago, either.
Of all my yearbooks, this one is the best because the yearbook staff was led by a free-spirited English teacher - Mike Hippler - who was pretty much fresh out of college. I never had him as a teacher, but he was a friend of my mom who was a guidance counselor when I was in the ninth grade, so I got to know him a little.
Once thing that is for certain is that there was no such thing as being PC in 1976. This particular yearbook not only has great candid shots, but it is full of original writings by students on topics from why the SCA was just a big scam to what it was like hanging out in the smoking area. (Imagine that - a place for students to smoke during the school day!)
When I pulled the yearbook out I thought I would just look at the pictures of a couple of friends. Instead, I experienced a through-the-looking-glass moment. My memories received CPR from this well put together annual and the shaggy-haired guys and mini-skirted girls came to life in my head.
My ninth grade picture highlights my lack of hairstyle, my mouth of braces and my first pair of teardrop-shaped gold-rimmed glasses.
I laughed at the "fashion" section which featured platform shoes and sandals, flare-legged and hip-hugging pants and shirts with wild designs. I'm sure I saw Jessica Simpson wearing something that looked exactly like that in People magazine.
1976 was the year of the bicentennial, but that was barely mentioned. There was a double spread of headlines from that time period - Jimmy Hoffa, Olympics etc.
The Eagles were the favorite band and M*A*S*H was on both the favorite and most hated TV show lists. Everyone loved Robert Redford and Barbra Streisand. And for some reason the yearbook staff thought Monty Python had an extra "e" = Pythone.
I read a lot of the things that my friends wrote on the pages. Many were just the "stay as sweet as you are" type signatures that I garnered from kids I admired, but didn't know well. But some of them were achingly wonderful from real friends - only one I have seen since graduating from high school.
Several kids from high school went to Bridgewater College. One of the guys I had a crush on in the ninth grade ended up going to BC and we stayed friends. He frequently brought me home for the weekends when he went to Covington to see his girlfriend. His ninth grade greeting to me in my yearbook was just so nice for a high school boy. Kevin O'Dell Bailey.
My ninth grade year was also the first time I went out on a date. My first date was in September of 1975. It was wonderful. We went to see one of the Pink Panther movies. He wasn't driving yet, but we lived within walking distance of the movie theater and Grandmom picked me up after the movie.
Jim got his driver's license later and we went out in February of 1976 to a Sadie Hawkins dance at his high school. Jim lived in the city and I lived in the county, so we went to different high schools. I did not want to go to this dance because I was very self-conscious - braces, glasses etc. But he kept calling and I finally caved because I really wanted to see him.
Oddly enough, my mom was out of the state on this particular night. So I borrowed her platform shoes and wore my pink pantsuit. Very hot. I know I saw Jessica Simpson wearing it on MTV the other day. Except my pants had a very high waist and an incredibly flared leg.
It was a great date. We started "going together" after that and dated all the way to Thanksgiving of my senior year. He went to college and met some girl and they both dropped out of school. He really didn't want to go to college. I encouraged him to go because I thought my folks would let me marry him if he was a college grad. Oh well.
I could ramble on like this forever, but I will stop for now.
If you happen to be dusting off your bookshelf, I encourage you to pick up that old yearbook and take a look. There will be some sad stories and some happy ones. Some weird things and it might help you remember a time when what was important to you was radically different from the things that matter now.
Kevin and Jim, Susie and Cindy, Mark and Ruddy, Randy and Calvin. They are a lot clearer in my mind right now. I think I'll park them at a picnic table in my mind and visit them again before they take a bow and drop behind my memory curtain until the next time I run across one of my yearbooks.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
It's Thursday
Thank you, Nan, for giving me a gentle reminder that there are a few people out there in the blogosphere who notice if I don't grind out a column or two.
It has been since June 20, yet it feels like yesterday.
The Ump and I have been very busy. I don't think we have had an unencumbered weekend since his birthday celebration at the end of April.
Then came the rain. I enjoy a good storm now and then. The sound of driving rain on the roof, even wicked lightning and claps of thunder so deep it resonates in my chest are a welcome change of atmosphere.
What I don't enjoy are the seemingly endless days of cloudy, rainy skies. I would not last in the parts of the globe where night rules the day. I am definitely photosensitive. I need the sun to feel good.
One of my cubemates at work enjoys the rain. Revels in it really. He's 25. What does he know?
The Valley was in desperate need of rain, so I did not complain too loudly. At least I didn't have to spend the evenings watering every plant in sight after a day of evaporation.
Today was gorgeous. One of those after-the-storm kind of days where the humidity was low, but the clouds were still plentiful. The sun made her presence known as well - darting between the clouds.
They were the kind of clouds that my brother and I used to look at and try to identify a shape. I wish that back then I understood how precious spending that kind of time with your kid brother is.
We spent a lot of time fighting and arguing and not appreciating our siblinghood. But there were moments of deep companionship - moments that will drift through the halls of memory and get caught in a ray of light causing me to examine it more closely.
I spent hours drawing and cutting out paper horses and building a castle for Scott (my brother). I made knights for the horses and created epic battles. Our dad worked at a paper mill, so we always had plenty of high grade posterboard on hand.
Recently, in an email, we discussed Myrtle Beach which is where we vacationed as children. Every other year we traveled to Litchfield Beach to stay in a house for a week of close living with various family members. In the case of some, I knew the local librarian better. But by the end of the week relationships had been established and letter writing promised. (Remember writing letters to people. Pen pals, for heaven's sake. Talk about delayed gratification. It took nearly a month to get a letter from my German pen pal.)
The Ump and I are headed to Myrtle Beach in the middle of July for some well-deserved rest. We will suffer separation anxiety over leaving the dogs behind, but I am anticipating some days of glorious freedom and beach roaming.
Maybe I'll even get the opportunity to take the Ump to some of my old stomping grounds, lo these 30 years or so.
We've never been to the beach together, so it will be an adventure to see if the Ump can actually kick back and relax if everything is removed from reach - no school, no farm, no football, no umpiring, no bus driving.
I am sure our trip will be fodder for a column. Maybe two.
It has been since June 20, yet it feels like yesterday.
The Ump and I have been very busy. I don't think we have had an unencumbered weekend since his birthday celebration at the end of April.
Then came the rain. I enjoy a good storm now and then. The sound of driving rain on the roof, even wicked lightning and claps of thunder so deep it resonates in my chest are a welcome change of atmosphere.
What I don't enjoy are the seemingly endless days of cloudy, rainy skies. I would not last in the parts of the globe where night rules the day. I am definitely photosensitive. I need the sun to feel good.
One of my cubemates at work enjoys the rain. Revels in it really. He's 25. What does he know?
The Valley was in desperate need of rain, so I did not complain too loudly. At least I didn't have to spend the evenings watering every plant in sight after a day of evaporation.
Today was gorgeous. One of those after-the-storm kind of days where the humidity was low, but the clouds were still plentiful. The sun made her presence known as well - darting between the clouds.
They were the kind of clouds that my brother and I used to look at and try to identify a shape. I wish that back then I understood how precious spending that kind of time with your kid brother is.
We spent a lot of time fighting and arguing and not appreciating our siblinghood. But there were moments of deep companionship - moments that will drift through the halls of memory and get caught in a ray of light causing me to examine it more closely.
I spent hours drawing and cutting out paper horses and building a castle for Scott (my brother). I made knights for the horses and created epic battles. Our dad worked at a paper mill, so we always had plenty of high grade posterboard on hand.
Recently, in an email, we discussed Myrtle Beach which is where we vacationed as children. Every other year we traveled to Litchfield Beach to stay in a house for a week of close living with various family members. In the case of some, I knew the local librarian better. But by the end of the week relationships had been established and letter writing promised. (Remember writing letters to people. Pen pals, for heaven's sake. Talk about delayed gratification. It took nearly a month to get a letter from my German pen pal.)
The Ump and I are headed to Myrtle Beach in the middle of July for some well-deserved rest. We will suffer separation anxiety over leaving the dogs behind, but I am anticipating some days of glorious freedom and beach roaming.
Maybe I'll even get the opportunity to take the Ump to some of my old stomping grounds, lo these 30 years or so.
We've never been to the beach together, so it will be an adventure to see if the Ump can actually kick back and relax if everything is removed from reach - no school, no farm, no football, no umpiring, no bus driving.
I am sure our trip will be fodder for a column. Maybe two.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)