A few years ago I went on a Christmas/Birthday vacation to the beach with most of my family. It was my step-mother's 60th Birthday, it was Christmas, she wanted all the kids together to celebrate and she loved the beach so we headed down to a beautiful spot at the very end of Alabama. Having grown up in Alabama, I had never been there. We always went to Florida instead. We nicknamed any beach in Alabama the "Red Neck Riviera". We're tacky, what can we say? And this coming from a family who grew up in an apartment with no vacations I can honestly remember.
Dad rented two beautiful homes right on the beach with a golf course (all the men in the family golf, I think Dad did some ritual on them to ensure this before we married them). We arrived at night so we really couldn't see anything, but we could feel the beach. I could feel the beach.
I love the ocean. I love the smell of the ocean breeze, I love sand in my toes and hair, I love drip drying in the sun. I love keeping the door open so I can hear the waves. I love the exhaustion that comes from swimming non-stop for hours at a time. I love sleeping in the sun. I love snorkeling. I love seeing this entire world that you can't see unless you're under the water. And the quiet peacefulness of that. I love everything about it.
That night we all tucked in, I opened the door to hear the waves and slept like I had returned back to my home. I awoke the next morning, crammed a piece of toast in the kids' mouths, shewed the husbands out the door to golf and ran to the beach. Giddy. I took Julia, Emma and Olivia (my two daughters and their cousin) while everyone else was doing whatever they were doing.
We stepped up on the sand and literally I could not see ONE SINGLE HUMAN BEING in either direction. It was probably 68 degrees, a nice slow breeze, the sand was warm but not hot. But if you dug down a little deeper it was chilly. The water was cool but not cold. And it was quiet. All I could hear was the sound of the children laughing. It was heaven for me.
The funniest part was I had almost convinced myself that indeed I was dead until I heard a woman say "Enjoy it. Can you imagine a more beautiful place?" and walked down the stairs and disappeared.
I told my Dad this when we all had dinner. He laughed and Jim, Joel and Dad all said "That's exactly what we thought! We were on a golf course, on a perfect day and NO ONE else was there. We thought we had died." We all just cracked up. The kids didn't seem to get the humor.
That feeling of 'this is almost too good' is where I am. I feel like things are going so well that I'm going to drop dead. Don't laugh. Most people call it 'waiting for the other shoe to drop' but I'm a bit more dramatic with my thoughts; death is surely before a tiny shoe. I've handled boat loads of shoes at the same time. That, I can handle. As long as they aren't 4" platform stiletto heels (which, by the way seem to be on every ad, picture and magazine cover. Since when did being a pole dancer become main stream?).
My whirlwind tour of Georgia went extraordinarily well. Too well. Freakishly well. So well, that one of my oldest friends in the world is going to partner with me on the textiles. Too many details, but it is a perfect fit for both of us and we don't have to worry about all of the 'what if's' because we've known each other for, dare I say it, 19 years. EEEK. Ok, it's out. We're deciding on a business name at the moment. Too much wine, too many funny stories and a wicked sense of humor might have us named "Edna Bubba". That was for all my gals who went to the Bahamas with me for my 40th. To the grave girls. To the grave.
The possibilities are literally endless right now. And all the while I was staying with my soul sister in Atlanta plotting rituals for our Yuccah tribe children. THAT is another story... but oh, the power of a 13 year olds' imagination....
BODY: I am trying to stay awake. SO much to do, thoughts rambling non-stop and me not sleeping because of all of these thoughts make me skittered. I'm going to join something. Something that has a set time where I need to be to exercise because, I just can't motivate myself to do it, mainly because I am starring at everything I need to do in my office.
I did, however, hire a friend to help get me organized on all of this. That sounds so, so , ew. But I can't do this without her. I don't have time to paint, sketch, come up with textile ideas, make the phone calls, find a studio (which, I think Sarah came through AGAIN for me), make the appointments, blah blah and still be a Mom and wife. Did someone say Celebrity Rehab? Maybe there should be a non-celebrity rehab. Oh wait, that's called INTERVENTION.
SOUL: Yen/Yang again. Here I am getting some of the best news of my life in Atlanta/Columbus. I return Wednesday to a sick red head so I snuggled her and laughed with her until she got to feeling better. Then I read my emails and found out that a friend's husband died Saturday morning. Died. Died of pneumonia. Died. I was dumbfounded. She has two small children and the most beautiful smile I've ever seen. I had recently seen her and her beautiful children at the Nutcracker where a mutual friends' daughter was a mouse. I can't imagine the pain she is in. The celebration of his life is tomorrow and I will be there. Sometimes the English language doesn't come close to expressing our emotions. Since she is French, I'm sure she would agree that the French language doesn't do much better of a job either.
Then I got a phone call reminding me of Room In The Inn. What I had forgotten was the meal for 15 people that I was making the next day. Entree, salad, bread. Totally forgot. So, I meet with my new lovely assistant about everything that needs to be done, have a phone meeting with the owner of the furniture company, pick up the girls from school and throw together two different pots of white turkey chili and grubbin' chicken soup along with a salad of cranberries, mixed greens, cucumbers, bleu cheese crumbles and two huge french bread loaves, all in 1 hour. I was supposed to make a pot each for us as well, but time was ticking. I felt like those chefs on those shows; Chopped and Iron Chef. No wonder those people sweat like pigs! Hey wait. THAT could be exercise, right?
But you know what? After I dropped off the food for them, and didn't have anything made for us :) I felt better. The girls delivered it with me. I want them to SEE the action of doing for others. Helping people move, paint their houses, feed the hungry (which includes your own friends), DO. Not just throw a pair of worn out jeans in the back of a Goodwill truck and drive away or write a check to some organization that you have only heard of.
I want them to look into the eyes of those in need because quite frankly, we are ALL in need. For something.
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