The Mighty Nor'easter

When I moved to Virginia five years ago, I knew that I was trading the Midwest's tornados for the East's hurricanes. I didn't know I was also in the market for Nor'Easters. I don't even think I'd ever heard that word before.

I arrived here the year after Hurricane Isabel, the most severe hurricane these parts have seen. My friends have told me horror stories about being without power for weeks (weeks!) and how the tunnel I drive through twice a day for work was closed for months (months!). There is a special clause in our contract with our wedding venue that if a hurricane comes through and wipes out the entire museum before our wedding date we will be refunded for 100% of our deposit. Just a crazy way of life that I never had to think about before moving here. And since I've been here, I haven't seen a real hurricane, thankfully. But I've seen the Nor'easters. I can't tell you the difference between a hurricane and a Nor'easter, but I know that the latter of the two are not named storms. Other than that? Umm, no difference? The local news sources are comparing this storm to Isabel, with massive power outages, higher than normal tides and severe coastal flooding.

I woke up at 6:30 this morning in a true attempt to go to work. I still have my awful cough and rough voice (as can be confirmed by Laura, who got a good chuckle out of it last night), but I'm getting better. At the same time that my alarm went off, J was driving through our neighborhood, dodging downed trees and lakes of flood waters. Stuck. After 24 hours of heavy rain, the whole region is stuck. J couldn't make it out of our neighborhood. And even if he had, the tunnel that he was headed for was closed. Marooned. He came back home, defeated...and promptly went back to bed. With the rain pounding rhythmically against even window in our house, I don't blame him.

My boss is flooded in on the island she lives on. We chatted this morning as I sipped my cup of tea sweetened with the cinnamon/lemon honey she steeped for me as a gift -- as she looked out her back window, commenting how the water has now swallowed the pilings of her dock. She doesn't have any power. She's staying home today. She doesn't have a choice.

As we nestle in for another day of gray heavy rain, the toughest decision on my plate is how to get the dogs to their weekend destinations today. At some point we're going to have to decide, come hell and high water, if we're going to be able to make it on this trip.

I'll never be Michael Phelps

J broke the news to me that he was "joining the gym" on Saturday.  Unsuccessfully trying to conceal my excitement, I suggested let's go nownownownow.  We went and signed up under the family plan (yes, I realize this is a lie...for now.  But we share all the household finances and chores, and I call our gang a family, so I just ask the YMCA to respect that title) and decided today would be our first trip.

The first thing out of his mouth this morning was, "You ready to go workout?" which both excited me to have a partner in this task of getting fit, but it also scared me.  This is why: he wants me to start swimming with him.  I should back up here and explain that my boyfriend used to swim in college.  And before that, in high school.  Before that, elementary school, and before that...in his mama's tummy.  But I agreed, since he told me he'd try a spinning class with me after I swam with him.  I mean, I can swim.  But I've never tried to lap swim.  

We get into the pool, me in my sleek one-piece I'd managed to find on sale.  I looked the part.  I looked like a swimmer...broad shoulders, black swimsuit, shiny new black goggles.  I looked fierce.  And after just a few 50s, the reality set in.  Whoa, it's hard to breathe.  I'm not very good.  We spent an hour in the pool and by the time we got out, I was so tired.  Trying to figure out how to position my head to breathe while swimming freestyle will be my newest task, since after an hour I was still having trouble.  But can I just say that my whole body feels...tingly?  And my arms are sore.  But I am going to try to keep up with it, not with him, that's not possible.  J's extremely fast.  But I am going to try to stick with it, working out with him on the weekends, and stick to my weekday gym activities.  I hate finding out that I'm not good at something, so I want to keep going.

Ok, I need to go lay down now.  My rubber arms hurt just typing.

Good times never seemed so good

All right. So I'm going to talk about the wedding I attended last night for a few minutes. Technically, the festivities began Friday night. I thought it was the rehearsal dinner, but they held that the night before. Friday was just an extra party. For funsies. They had a catered BBQ for 150 of their closest friends and family (and me) including the owner of a local hotspot in Norfolk, Doumar's, a little diner that claims to have invented the first ice cream cone machine. So they brought this historic piece of amazingness and made fresh waffle cones with delish ice cream for guests to enjoy after a steamboat ride on the river. Once it got late, all the youngsters headed to a bar that they'd rented out, ya know, to continue partying. That was my first clue of what we were in for last night.

Emily's ivory silk dress was very Grace Kelly inspired, and oh so classic. She didn't wear a veil, and I couldn't help but think how posh it was. She had beautiful flowers in her hair, and a deep, but tasteful V in the back of her dress that would've been hidden beneath a veil. She had 10 bridesmaids, 2 flowers girls, and 2 ring bearers. Yeah. One of their readings was the passage on friendship from The Prophet, so of course I loved that since it's one of my favorite books ever.

After a very lovely ceremony (my first Episcopalian service) we headed to the bride's parents' mansion, where the reception was in the sprawling backyard. There were huge tents set up and the first thing that caught our eyes were the tables of food. This fare was extreme. I mean, we're talking crab claws, baby lamb chops, soft-shell crab, lobster cakes, seared tuna, an entire table dedicated to shrimp of all kinds, and I can't even begin to mention the cheese table. It was insane. The open bar meant that I had a full glass of Pinot Grigio in my hand at every turn. (Perhaps the wine was the reason I got through half of my piece of the cake before realizing it had some sort of lemon curd in it. And then I put it down. :)

After Emily and John arrived to the party by boat, the party really kicked off. Fireworks were set off by a barge on the river, signifying it was time to par-tay. At one point I looked around and I believe that every single person was on the dance floor. Well, everyone except J--he was out on the dock with his boys. So when "Sweet Caroline" came on, I danced and sang with J's dad, sis, bro-in-law, and niece. It was an amazing memory for sure. Berkley, totally the celebri-baby of the evening, got her revenge on an old man who kept spinning her around by pooping on him. Hilarity ensued. Delilah, the Websters' gray-faced chocolate lab, was wearing a special collar of ribbons and flowers, and she joined the dance floor for the father/daughter dance.

One thing that I noticed was that the party was still completely full and hopping when it shut down around midnight. I don't know if I have ever heard of a reception where literally no one left until it was over, and the crowd was a mix of young and old, possibly tipped more heavily on the old side. Emily asked J and I to join them on the Trolley and head downtown to the hotel where they, and their out of towner Colorado friends were staying for a continuation of the celebration. We obliged, and boarded a Trolley with about 30 other people and spent another 2 hours sitting on a patio by the water. Beautiful. I met a really fun and adorable girl who I exchanged numbers with...her fiance used to play sports with J.
It was an amazing wedding for sure, but quite extravagent and extreme and not something I could ever imagine being "the norm." I can't help but imagine my wedding, wayyy in the future, to be simple, and small, and not at all flashy. During a dance with J, I said, "this is really nice, but it's way nicer than anything we'll ever have." After asking what I meant, I said, "There won't be boats at our wedding, or soft-shell crabs, or fireworks..." and he said, "Well, that's what you think," and kissed me, and twirled me around, and for a moment, someone else's wedding was part of my very own fairy-tale.

Off the hook

Since we met, J's been rubbing this outdoorsy nature vibe off on me. It's a side of me that I've never had before, but always secretly wanted. My family was never the one to go camping, or canoeing, or well, much of anything athletic, but when we'd "plan" to do things like that in college or after, I was always amped to do it. But, 9 times out of 10, those plans never came through.


So you can see why when Saturday rolled around and it was 85 degrees out and my boyfriends says to me, "Let's go buy your fishing pole and go fishing today," I was giddy with glee. We packed up and made our way to the Virginia excuse for a Bass Pro Shop and picked out a cute red one (a compromise from the pink one).


We made our way to the Ocean View Fishing Pier around 6PM, and let me tell you, this place is so much fun. It's an open-air restaurant + a fishing pier on the Chesapeake Bay, and for $8 to fish and $3 for a 22oz can of beer, you've got yourself a deal! There was a band playing inside the restaurant, which made for lovely ambiance as the sun went down, plus the people watching was superb.

And now to answer the money question: did I catch anything? Well, I let J bait my hooks with bloodworms (eeeeek!) at first, and yes, I caught my first Croaker (they actually croak like a frog) and then through some disgusting process called "gut bait" I caught my second one. J, mountain man extraordinaire, caught like 7 fish, including 2 mudskippers, and he also caught an eel (btw, will definitely NOT be eating any eel sushi anytime soon--holy crap those boys are nasty!), and a horseshoe crab. If you're like me, and all, ya know, Midwestern, you think, ohhh crab, those are nice. Not this kind. They're something straight out of a nightmare. This isn't my picture; unfortch I didn't take my camera, and even if I had I'm not sure I could've mustered the courage to take a photo of one of those things. One of the fisherman who came over to ogle J's catch said that it looked like something out of the movie "Predator" to which I'd say, sir, you're absolutely right. *Shudder* We gave all of our fish to the nice couple next to us who were going to eat said fish, while we're just "catch and releasers."


It was the most fun I have had in a long time, and we're already planning our next trip. Watching the sun set on the ocean (it was really the bay, but who cares?), listening to live music, with a fishing pole in your hand...what could possible be better, I ask? Also at Bass Pro, I bought a new pair of hiking shoes for the trip to Tennessee. Which due to some crazy work stuff going on, we had to set the date today...we're leaving May 14 after work, and staying in Sewanee until driving back Sunday. In preparation, because we're both kind of insane with excitement, we set up the new tent tonight. Ya know, just to make sure we could do it. And not at all because being inside a tent inside your apartment is one of the most fun things ever.

Milestones and stepping stones

Saturday morning I woke up to the most beautiful weather and couldn’t wait to get out in it so J and I packed up the dogs and headed to Seashore for a nice little hike. Flash back: J took me there a week after we first met, and that’s when I knew that I had found something really special in him, and not just an Eli Manning doppelganger with a killer sense of humor. It was the day that Mary and Leo first met, and all in all was the first “best weekend ever!” that we spent together. Flash forward: I think I've said, "This was the best weekend ever!" every single weekend since then.

We found “our beach” (the beach we found on the first trip) and there, J did the most amazing thing: he took Leo out into the water. This is nothing extraordinary for most dogs; Mary was in the water the entire time, swimming and jumping and playing like a porpoise. Leo, however, shakes and cringes at the very thought of his toes touching that awful evil liquid called the ocean. I can probably credit this to the day when I adopted him; he was covered in fleas and got two impromptu flea baths that night. Yeah, whoops, and ever since he’s adamantly refused to go near water. Refer to previously posted dingo photo for proof. So when I looked up and saw J leading that dog into the water (calm and assertively--he's been picking up on Cesar's magic too), and watched Leo willingly follow him, I got quite emotional. *Gross over-statement warning* I imagine it’s got to be somewhat similar to watching your child take their first steps? It was such a huge accomplishment for this little guy; we've lived here for almost 4 years, and he's never let the tide come near him. I swear to you, Leo looked back at me and gave me this look like, “Mom, can you pick me up from school around the corner, because your station wagon is sooo uncool.” I can’t wait for him to wade more than ankle-deep…or whatever a dog’s ankle equivalent is called. And a shout-out to Cesar for pointing out that there's only so much that we as humans can teach our dogs. The rest it up to the pack, i.e. Mary, who did her part by swimming her little heart out and showing Leo that you don't in fact fall over and die if you get wet.

I think this phase in my life could be summed up with this picture on the left. J said, "Let's pause for a moment on this bridge and have a quick 'Dawson's Creek' moment." So I immediately started to sing the theme song (instict) and he started accompanying with "do-dooo-doo-do" in the appropriate places. Justin and I reached a new level this weekend, and so did Leo, so I'm excited for all of us for what else is to come in the near future. But for now, I’m just basking in the glow of weekend wonderment and being fantastically young and in love, with a slightly sore bum from an amazing hike.

H-2-uh-OH!

I've been meaning to write about my somewhat communistic views about pumping birth control into the water to prevent young teenagers from getting pregnant, but I haven't fully thought out my theory. But in light of a couple of today's top news stories about prescription drugs being found in tap water and China keeping its one child only policy, I thought I'd bring it up anyway.

So it goes like this: the government pumps birth control in the water*. The general public is "protected" from unwanted pregnancy**. When someone decides they want to have children, they apply just like they would apply for a job; they would fill out a form similar to a resume that would prove they are competant, able to care for another human being, have a savings account, and they would also provide a urine sample for drug testing. If they are approved, the government would supply them with a monthly supply of specially filtered water*** and this process would continue until after they conceive, give birth, etc.****

* Drinking, bathing, preparing food, and washing dishes would all be effective means of birth control.
** This ultra BC would be effective on males and females.
*** A regular Brita could not filter out BC, nor could boiling.
**** Please keep in mind I came up with this "theory" during a wine-induced discussion about how many young teenage females in my area drop out of school to have babies, thus continuing the cycle that their mother started.

Crazy theory, or far-fetched solution?