Mountain Mama

Just got back from a glorious trip to Banff where I stayed at a friend's home on the corner of Elk and Squirrel. Seriously. You can't make this stuff up. (There's also Beaver and Cougar but they don't intersect.)

More on my life as a wild mountaineering woman later. For now, I simply bring you Elk and Squirrel.

Summer Vacation: Stop #3 continues . . .

Our week-long stay at Ocean Isle Beach, NC was so awesome. Church on the beach. Swimming in the waaaaaarm ocean. Swimming in the pool. Renting bicycles. Relaxing. Learning about sea turtles and their nesting patterns. No pressure. No laptop. Just the chance to hang with my NC brother and his adorable family for the first time in a couple of years.

My sister-in-law found a great little condo right on the beach. Here is our backyard.

Here are some men fishing on the sound (on the other side of our condo) taken from where Grannie and I were sitting on a bench and meditating (or chatting, you decide).

So peaceful. Actually, the entire island was fairly deserted. Probably because schools in the South start earlier than those of their northern kinfolk. Possibly because of the impending hurricane. Either way, it was great.

My kids got a chance to spend time with their youngest cousin. So blinkin' cute. They also got a chance to hear his sweet lil' Southern accent and learn some new phrases of their own. "Don't you backjaw me boy."

The best part for me, other than being all snugly with the family, is always the beach.

Goodbye Ocean Isle Beach. You were very good to us.

Summer Vacation: Stop #3

Next stop: The beach. La playa. Just like heaven.

But, for today, heaven (and blogging) can wait.

Hallelujah

Last night, due to a boss-related snafu, I had to drive back to work through the frozen tundra and grab a document from the fax machine. As I was driving home, the streets were quiet and blanketed with snow -- and Jeff Buckley came on the radio. Powerful song but even more gorgeous in the dark of night with the snow falling and Christmas lights twinkling everywhere. I heart Christmas!

Room with a View

Cabin Fever

Happiness, for me, could come in the form of a tiny, one room cabin. Lakeside. Honeoye Lake preferably because it's teeny, sweet and charming--and just a hop, skip and jump from the house.



I saw this Cavco Cabin on the Tiny House blog a few weeks ago and loved it. Sadly, they don't currently sell them in NYS. Mind you, I can't currently afford it (or the land), either.

My other option would be an Airstream trailer. I don't care how small it is. Unlike the new build McMansions on Canandaigua Lake that are no longer cottages but more like garish monstrosities, I just want a little getaway that doesn't take itself too seriously. I could decorate in cowboy kitsch or junk gypsy and serve mojitos nightly.

However, now that Sherman's Travel named the Finger Lakes region the number one lakeside retreat in the world (beating out Lake Como!), I may never be able to afford my lakeside luxury-light. As Rochester magazine quipped, I'm sure George Clooney will be searching for his newest villa here shortly. Maybe we could be next door neighbors . . .

I wonder if he likes grilled cheese sandwiches and sangria?

One Happy Island

How can a week of total relaxation speed by so quickly? How can swimming for hours in the pool followed by swimming for hours in the ocean (day in/day out) feel like a split second of time?

Conversely, how can sitting at my desk for only a few hours feel like an eternity?

What I liked about Aruba: 1) being with my mom and kids for a week, 2) the ocean was crystal clear and felt like bath water, 3) Oranjestad was clean and colorful, 4) the weather was perfect, perfect, perfect, 5) the entire island felt safe (unlike Jamaica where we were escorted to the airport by armed guards because there was a series of heists by gunpoint earlier that morning), 6) everyone we met was friendly, 7) we enjoyed heaps o' yummy food (i.e., a pro and a con), 8) we stayed at a beautiful resort, 9) there were no obligations and 10) no work!

One woman who worked at the hotel was telling us that she and her husband moved there from the Philippines with their kids ~20 years ago and they love it. She said they lived a casual lifestyle with no need to get caught up in the rat race. Sounds too good to be true.

On the other hand, we had this interesting little exchange one night while being seated at an outdoor restaurant on the beach. A bleached blonde with snake tattoo and faded, orange cotton mini-dress from J.C. Penney circa 1984 turned to greet us.

Blondie: Where are you from?
Me: Rochester, NY. You?
Blondie: I'm from Aruba and my friend here is from Holland.
Me: Wow. I don't mean this to sound insulting but you sound very American.
Blondie (sneering at me): First off, that IS insulting. Secondarily, I'm originally from Ohio.
Me: Oh. How long have you been here?
Blondie: Four years and I'm never going back.
Me (suppressing my desire to return the sneer to my new native friend): You must love it here.
Blondie (clearly mistaking my polite response for sheer idiocy): It's the same here as anywhere. You still have to wash your sheets and make your bed in the morning.
Me: I just thought it was a more relaxing lifestyle.
Blondie (looking at me with utter disdain and speaking slowly so my moronic brain could comprehend): Noooooooo. One happy island my ass.

Well alrighty then. Nice to meet you . . . ?

Ah well. Back to life, back to reality. And thanks for a fabulous trip mom!!

Doin' Time

Relaxing on the hammock. Kids are jumping on the trampoline next door with the sprinkler below it. Thermonuclear winds are blasting through the neighborhood.

Summertime (for a day) and the livin' is easy.

Sublime - Doin' time
Uploaded by lessvek

Wishing You Every Happiness Come

That's the sentiment on a gorgeous 2009 calendar that Margaroo bought for my mother in Japan. I love it! In fact, I've stolen it from her.

Speaking of happiness come, my boss and I just agreed on a four-day work week trial. Sure, I'll still work 50 hours (i.e., 6:30 a.m. to 6:30 p.m.); but, come one! I'll have a day off every week! I'm thinking of taking Wednesdays so I can have 104 two-day work weeks this year . . .

Hello laundry! Goodbye tapping keyboard!

Think or Swim

This morning I went to a different location than my regular gym. (And by "regular," I mean the gym that I stopped going to two years ago and recently re-signed due to excess flabbiness. Positive correlation?) This facility is closer to the client site where I currently spend my Tuesdays and it has a pool. A gorgeous, heated, well lit pool!

So I started my day by enjoying one of my absolutely favorite things to do. And I had the entire place to myself. I also had the sauna to myself afterward.

I think that's one key to enjoying life: having refreshing, vacation-like moments interspersed in the midst of the daily grind.

A mi me gusta la playa!

So, what’s the best way to end an absolutely perfect vacation? By coming home to a week of springtime, sunshine, warmth, budding trees and daffodils. And leaving work on time to go to little league practice and ice cream socials at school. Oh and spending the weekend riding bikes and jumping on the neighbors' new trampoline. From now until late August (ignoring the snow this week), I should be happy!

And speaking of perfect vacations—from smooth flights that got into Puerto Vallarta early (yes, early!) to glorious, cloudless days spent oceanside with mountain views all around and cruise ships coming in/out of port—I finally got my TripAdvisor review posted.

The only issue I have with my review: I wrote NATO instead of NAFTA. Silly wabbit. Must slow down . . . or get an editor! Or better yet, give TripAdvisor some usability feedback for the next version of their site: the capability to modify a posting after it goes live would be fabulous.

Anyhoo, thank you mom for yet another week of heaven. You're pretty fly (for a white girl).

As Time Goes By

We spent the weekend at my brother-in-law's cottage on Seneca Lake. The kids and I went to the Sprayground (i.e., sprinkler park) and swam in the lake for hours. Until I was freezing.

On Saturday night, while Son #1 went out on the boat with my sister and her husband (which he drove "98% of the time"), Son #2 and I took a long walk and held hands the entire way. It was perfect. We looked at all of the cottages and he named all of the bunnies we saw (e.g., buns, carrot, scamper, hoppity). We ended in a clearing where music that sounded like Billie Holiday was floating out of an unseen house in the woods. For a moment, I felt like I was transported to another era. It was magical.

As we walked back, we passed a house with an in-ground pool. My little monkey told me that he wanted to buy it for me. "If they'll sell it to me for a dollar, can I swim anytime I want?"

Yes little man. If you can score a lake front cottage for $1, you can pretty much do whatever you want. Too bad you put all of your money in the bank . . .

Ummmmmmmmm Bread

Among other things, like teaching restaurant and hotel management, my mom (a.k.a. Grannie Annie) is a nutritionist, menu planner and certified dietitian.

When I was a teenager (and the drinking age was still 18), my girlfriends and I were budding alcoholics. Night after night we would head out, with our fake IDs, to those bars in walking distance. Later, still with our fake IDs, we would hit the dive bars in the next town over.

As we left, my mom would always say, "Think of all of those extra calories. Instead of a beer, you could have a slice of bread." Huh? We would all crack up. Methinks she was missing the point!

For this reason, I could not help but think of her when I read the recent restaurant opening in New York magazine: Fat Annie's Truck Stop. Hello! Frito Lay pie and beer? It has my name written all over it!

Communication Breakdown

My girlfriend sent me an email about a medium named Rebecca Rosen who her cousin and aunt just utilized and both had "amazing sessions." Not my thing at all, a little scary, religious views notwithstanding.

However, it did prompt my mother and me to chat about communicating with each other after she dies. Given that we talk 20X/week, the following questions seemed obvious: "Mom, is it possible that there is anything you'll still need to say that you haven't already told me?" and, "if so, can you say it in the next 20 years so I don't have to pay anyone to tell me more after you're gone?"

Knowing my mom's penchant for clipping, circling and sharing myriad articles of interest, as well as taking copious notes during her radio talk shows and occasional Oprah viewing, I now have a sneaking suspicion that my mom is going to contact me from afar on a daily basis with interesting tidbits from heaven.

I think I'll need to foster my own skills as a medium to save some money.