This is Bucket. He’s one of my favorite zoo creatures.
The zoo was one the best parts of our vacation. There were a lot of great animals, neat exhibits, and I had fun snapping away with my camera. (Side note, I asked someone to take a photo of us outside the Lincoln Memorial, and he was startled when my camera made the noise of film advancing – “Oh, this isn’t one of those digital kind?” Yes, my camera is a little old, but I love it, so get over it.)
There is an exhibit at the zoo called “Kids’ Farm,” which features domestic animals like cows and goats. We weren’t going to go see it, but I thought there might be horses, so I dragged Lee down there.
That’s where Lee took one of my favorite zoo pictures, the one above. I can’t really explain why it is so hilarious to me, but it is. There was this little dwarf goat in a stall, and he was standing on top of this green bucket, bleating and bleating. I had an ice cream, and he spied it and bleated some more. It was as if he were saying, “I may be a dwarf goat, but look at me! I’m on a bucket! I’m tall! Give me some ice cream!”
What possessed him to stand on this bucket so long? And he was just so cute, and danced on top of the bucket for quite a while. Later, when Lee showed me the photo, I just laughed and laughed. I don’t remember the goat’s real name, but we’ve named him Bucket. And he’s my desktop background. Oh he’s funny.
Saturday morning, Lee and I hit the tourist sites again, opting for museums because it was raining. We visited the Holocaust Memorial – very moving, yet very depressing as I suppose it should be. Then we lifted our spirits a bit by touring the Museum of Natural History. Very cool exhibits.
Then, we headed to the MCI Center to see a Prince concert. I bought the tickets as an anniversary gift to Lee 2 months ago. When I bought them, I was willing to pay for decent seats, but they were all gone so I had to settle for the cheap ones. I’d been jokingly calling them “nosebleed” seats, but was really sure they’d be fine.
When we got to the venue, we found our section on the upper level. Our row was “P”. The last row was “Q.” As we began climbing, I turned around and looked at the arena floor, and felt dizzy, hoping surely when we got to our seats I would feel fine.
We sat down, and I took a breath and looked down. Vertigo. I gripped the armrest and tried not to think about the height. The seats are built very steeply, so the person in front of you is a good distance below you. Sure, you can see the action on the floor, but I could also see myself tumbling down the rows to my death if I even sneezed lightly. I seriously wanted a rock-climbing harness and some safety lines. Looking down made me nauseous, looking foward freaked me out too because we were eye-level with the catwalk used to adjust the lighting rigs. It reminded me how high up we really were.
I wondered if I would be able to enjoy the show, I was so worked up about the height. Nearly as disturbing were the women seated behind us. All they could talk about for the 45 minutes before the show was child birth. I learned some things about them. Private things. Things I didn’t want to know. Things that made me think falling out of the balcony might be a better alternative to listening to them talk.
But Prince cured me.
From the minute he hit the stage, I stopped thinking about how my body might tumble over that plastic rail at the end of the balcony. I have enjoyed Prince’s music as a passive fan – someone who sings along on the radio, but doesn’t own any albums. But I thoroughly enjoyed his show. He is a great musician and a fantastic performer. He had everyone in the arena completely engrossed in the show, singing along, and dancing. I did get a little concerned once because everyone in the balcony began jumping and you could feel the balcony moving, but I obviously survived.
Prince made me wish I’d known all the words to his songs. There were times when he encouraged the crowd to sing with him. Other times he simply played along and let the crowd sing the entire song for him. He seemed to be enjoying himself, and it was contagious. The crowd roared approval at every remark. “Do you want me to play my guitar?” “YES!” “Am I making you hot?” “YES!” He could’ve asked, “Do you want to fling yourself from the balcony to the arena floor?” and I believe the crowd would’ve yelled, “YES!”
I have a lot of respect for him now, as a musician and showman. The concert was fantastic. As we walked back toward the hotel, the rain had thankfully stopped falling. But even if it had been pouring that would’ve been okay. It would’ve just looked like purple rain to me.
Lee and I are resting in our hotel room, putting up our aching feet after a full morning and afternoon in Washington, DC. I love being on vacation.
I love being on vacation so much, that we left home a day early. We were supposed to head up here Thursday, but Wednesday night we decided to start the drive. We made it four hours of the supposed-to-be-8 or 9 hour drive and stopped to sleep. Thursday, we hit the road again, but it took us another 6 and a half hours to get here. Party because of weather. Partly because of traffic. Partly because Virginia tried to steal my wallet.
Lee and I had stopped in Virginia to eat and get gas(oline). When we got back on the interstate, just as I was merging with traffic, Lee nonchalantly said “Something just flew off the hood of the car. That was weird. It was like a leaf or something…”
I tried to think of what it could’ve been, in case it was important. That’s when I remembered placing my wallet on the hood of the car when I stooped to put some air in the tire. My wallet had just flown off the car. With my ID, my credit cards – especially disturbing because our reservations were in my name.
We turned around in the median, exited, then got back on the interstate. I was worried we wouldn’t spot it, but as we merged, Lee saw it in the exit lane (he has great eyes). I pulled over, and he valiantly dashed into traffic to grab it. My credit cards weren’t inside, but he found them scattered along the side of the road. We recovered everything important, including my Moe’s punch card (2 more burritos and I get a free one). My cards are bent and my wallet got run over a few times and the 7 dollars inside blew away, but I’m just glad we got it back.
Last night was a washout when the remnants of Tropical Storm Bonnie blew through, but we found a nice place to eat at Union Station and enjoyed a drink in the hotel bar. This morning began wet and cloudy, so we toured the Hirshhorn Museum and the Capitol building. Then, the sun came out and we went to the zoo. Lots of panda and tiger action. Very cool.
Tonight, we plan to tour the monuments (we heard they’re cool all lit up in the evening), and tomorrow, we’ll tour more museums. Tomorrow night, we see Prince in concert. Should be lots of fun.
Meanwhile, Hurricane Charley is headed near Savannah. I don’t want a hurricane to come to Savannah, but if it had to come, I just wish Charley had waited until my schedule was clear and I was working. How inconsiderate. Oh well, I’m very happy to be on vacation, and am probably feeling a lot more relaxed than my coworkers.
Lee and I love throwing parties, and if we’re in the hosting mood, nearly any occasion is reason to invite people to our home. But last weekend, we had a very special reason to celebrate.
Earlier this summer, Erin and Dave got engaged. I’m excited for a lot of reasons – most of all, because they make each other happy and are in love. But I’m also excited for our families. Erin and I have been close for a long time. Lee and I became good friends with Dave before he and Erin were even an item. I think our families have lots of good times ahead.
Not only did we raise a (mojito) glass to their upcoming marriage this weekend, we also got to hear more about their plans. They finalized the date and booked the location. They scouted squares for the perfect dinner spot. They even stumbled across their photographer strolling down Broughton Street. Then Erin flew home a day early to start a new job – one that sounds like a great fit. Things really seem to be falling into place for them, and that’s a reason to party.
When I sat down at my computer this morning to check my daily weather forecast, I expected to see sunshine icons and nothing more. So, I was quite alarmed to see a “Severe Weather Alert” scrolling across the top of the website. I clicked on it – to read things like this:
… NEAR RECORD LOW TEMPERATURES POSSIBLE TONIGHT AND SATURDAY NIGHT…
…MORNING LOWS TO AROUND 60 INLAND AND INTO THE MID TO UPPER 60S CLOSER TO THE COAST…
STAY TUNED TO NOAA WEATHER RADIO ALL HAZARDS… TV… OR YOUR LOCAL NEWS SOURCE FOR THE LATEST WEATHER INFORMATION FROM THE NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE….
Sweet! If this is severe weather, give me severe weather every Friday!
Severe weather must always come with advice and precautions – so what are the precautions today? Check in on your elderly neighbors and loved ones to make sure they’re not too comfortable? Be sure to leave your pets IN your car for five minutes while you run into the store?
In all seriousness though, I am very excited about temps in the sixties. Bring on the severe weather!
Trent came to visit today, in plenty of time for Thirsty Thursday night at the Sand Gnats game of course. It was actually a pretty good game, even though the gnats couldn’t pull off a win in the last inning. Tomorrow, Alva is coming, and Saturday Dave and Erin arrive. It’ll be great having everyone together.
However, all day today – because I knew we had company arriving – I kept thinking it was Friday. I hate that moment of disappointment each time you remember that your work week isn’t through. But hey, at least tomorrow is Friday and not Monday (and it’s pay day too). Seventeen hours until the weekend – a weekend full of friends, family, and a forecast calling for sunshine. Woohoo!
I love Savannah for so many reasons – and the town’s beauty and charm are at the top of that list. I had to go downtown today, and was actually glad to park a block away from my destination because it gave me an excuse to stroll through one of the many squares. I couldn’t stop and linger, so I enviously eyed the tourists sitting on benches or snapping photos of the monuments. But really, I’ve got it even better. They will eventually leave town. I get to live here. I can come sit in the park whenever I please.
The tourists serve as good reminders that people pay money to spend a few days in the place I call home. Saturday, Lee and I took Millie for a walk around Forsyth Park, and as we neared the fountain I heard a tourist gasp as she first saw it. “It’s so beautiful!” she said. I agree. I think it’s beautiful every time I see it, too.
One day Lee and I may leave Savannah, and for all we know we’ll find another town we love even more. But for now, I’m quite happy to have my home beneath the shade of a mossy oak.
ADDENDUM
There is one disadvantage to having your home beneath the shade of said mossy oak. Roaches like having their homes there, too. I haven’t seen Ricky in a while, but I was assaulted twice by a roach tonight. Maybe one of his cousins? I was standing in front of the television, having paused on my way to another room, when I felt a tickle on my shoulder. Oh yes, there was a roach crawling down my arm. I screamed, threw whatever was in my hand to the floor, swatted it away, and did the “Holy crap there is a roach on me” dance. Lee came running, sure I had been shot in a drive-by, and didn’t believe there had been a roach on me. “Are you sure it wasn’t just a shadow?” I was sure. This “shadow” had legs. Red ones. Moments later I was still watching TV (interesting story was on the news) when I felt a tickle on my leg. More screaming, swatting, and dancing. Not only did this roach feel the need to crawl on me once – he had come back for more! Lee, brave and noble husband that he is, promptly stomped its brains out. I still feel like it’s crawling all over me. At least I have proof that I wasn’t making it up. But tonight, I’m sleeping with one eye open.
Millie goes through three different phases at bath time. Resistance, acceptance, and finally, freak-out mode. And I don’t think she’s alone in this. Abbey did it too, though not to the same degree. Millie is all about extremes.
This dog would give her first born pup (we haven’t told her yet that she’s been spayed) to get into the bathroom on a normal day and rummage through the trash can. But when we actually try to coax her in, she knows something is up. So we drag her in by her collar, and heave her into the bathwater.
She laps up the water until it gets too soapy, and then turns black – she’s a pretty dirty girl. She seems to midly enjoy this part of the process, because it involves a lot of scratching and rubbing and general attention.
When we’re done, we try to dry her as much as possible before she shakes all over our newly painted bathroom. As we’re toweling her off, you can see her body beginning to tense. It’s like something is boiling below the surface, and the steam is building and waiting to erupt.
Once we’ve gotten her as dry as we can, we open the bathroom door and let go. She bursts through the doorway like a volcano or a bullet, and runs wild around the house. On the couch. Off the couch. Into the kitchen. Out of the kitchen. She occasionally stops to bark and shake and see if we’re watching. Then she runs again. Her wet paws slide on the hardwood floors and she crashes into walls and furniture. I should probably scold her, but I’m too busy laughing.
She does this EVERY time.
What if humans had the same ritual? I can imagine every morning getting out of the shower, drying off and putting on a robe, then throwing open the door and just running through the house screeching. On the couch. Off the couch. In the kitchen. Out of the kitchen. Every morning.
Millie seems to have a good time. Maybe I’ll try it just once.
I want to write something. I really enjoy writing this journal, but I also want to write something else. Something longer. Fiction? Maybe. Magazine-style nonfiction? I’m not sure. I don’t know where or how to begin. I’m pretty good at staring at a blank page, just not so good at starting to write.
I’m not looking to write something to get published. I’m just getting that same itch to write I had in elementary school. I don’t know how many times I sat through a lesson not paying any attention to the teacher, but furiously writing the next chapter in my latest novel. I loved the feeling of being lost in the pencil lead. Usually, I’d get a few chapters into the story, then lose steam or lose interest. That’s my problem – I’m horrible at long-term planning. What do most writers do? Build an outline first, then write the book? How do you have “foreshadowing” if you don’t know what your character will do next?
It’s so much fun to see images in your head and watch them take shape in your words. I’ll think of something soon enough. The only way to make this itch go away is to scratch it.
I ate a banana today. It was glorious.
But – sigh- according to my diet, it was also an illegal maneuver. I cheated. And I ate grapes, too. And they made me happy.
Day 5 – the day I quit. I feel very guilty for not being able to stay on the diet, but the diet was making me miserable. I was irritable (just ask Lee), moody, and even depressed. I didn’t enjoy cooking or eating, although those were the only two things I could think about. Even food I normally like I didn’t enjoy becuase I felt it was the ONLY thing I could eat. I really don’t have much weight to lose, yet this diet felt so extreme. Like the last resort before gastric bypass surgery. I’m not at that point.
I haven’t quit completely though. I believe the diet has some good points. I still plan to cut a lot of sugar from my diet, and I’m going to try to avoid the bad breads and pastas when possible. But, I will eat fruit. I will eat high-fiber cereal. I will eat a whole-grain bagel, dammit.
I know those who’ve tried the diet would scold me – telling me I only had to give all that up for 2 weeks. But 2 weeks felt more like 2 months, and if I had to eat eggs one more time, I was going to throw up.
I’m going to eat healthier. Maybe I won’t drop pounds as quickly or at all, but at least I’ll be sane.
