I realize that by just concentrating on the [expletive!] water bugs in my last post that it may seem to some that I didn’t really have anything else to say about the trip, and that I didn’t really appreciate being able to go. Neither of those is true. In fact, I can hardly explain here or anywhere just how fortunate I feel—both this time and every time— when I get to return from a trip to my favorite place and tell stories about it.  I know every day that I’m lucky.

With each trip, it does become a little to easy for me to just expect to love it, to expect it to feel the way it does. I expect to spend time with friends, to meet new friends, to have a great time and remember, with each and every visit, just what it is I value in my life.

And this:

Ooof, I just looked at this post. It’s really long.  Here’s the thumbnail version:  I stayed in a cabin on the beach. There happened to be cockroaches in the cabin. I did not like it AT ALL, but in the end, I forgive the beach. Oh yes, I forgive the beach.

Here I am, on a Wednesday, as usual, ready to sit down and write about my latest life revelation… kidding. Yes, I have had several, and the only people more tired of that than me is probably you.  So! Instead! I also just remembered that this time about ten days ago, I was on my seventeen billionth drink of the day, right in front of my mother, because I had slept outside on the beach all night in intermittent rain. And got eaten by mosquitoes and, I’m certain, no less than 400 other kinds of sand-dwelling bugs throughout the night.

So let me back up. A couple weeks ago, my mother and I took a trip to the Virgin Islands. It’s no secret around here that I have a slight addiction and it’s sort of my Life List to get everyone I know and love down there with me at some point in my life, both individually and as one huge-ass group. But, in all the times I’ve visited over the years, my mother has never been along for the ride. The furthest into the Caribbean we’ve gone together was the Bahamas, and that happened to be during spring break (I was already past the “spring break! wooo!” age)  and I was pretty sure at that point my mother thought every beach bar was only about getting drunk and seeing who could dance on the bar first.  (Okay, so she isn’t too far off on that one.)

Nonetheless, we finally got to take our trip a couple weeks ago, and as part of my wanting to try to pack multiple experiences into eight days, I asked her if she’d be up for staying in a beach cabin for a night or two. She was.  I went to every length I could to tell her how this “cabin” would be: real beds, refrigerator, electricity, no A/C, screens, slight breeze, steps from the beach, etc.  Very basic, but livable, especially for just a couple days.  She, surprisingly, was up for it.

We arrived on the island at about noon, dropped our things in our beach cabin, and went out to explore (read: immediately find all of my favorite bartenders and friends).  We then came back to the cabin, showered, changed, and went to the barbecue at the beach bar just steps from where our cabin was.  It’s a heck of a set up, right?  There is never a moment wherein I forget just how blessed I am to experience these things.  And while we’re at it, if you’ve never attended a traditional Caribbean beach bar-type barbecue, get that on your Life List as soon as possible. Unless you hate amazing food. And people. And laughter. And music. And pretty much all good things in this world. Do it, immediately.

After we were stuffed full with fish, ribs, chicken, and seven million traditional side dishes, we slowly shuffled our way back to our cabin, still hearing the music of the barbecue along with the soft waves on the beach in the background. It couldn’t have been more perfect sleeping conditions, and with just 3 hours of sleep the night before, I could not wait to sleep. I unlock the cabin door, step inside, flip on the light, walk about two steps to put my bottled water in the fridge, look down at one of the beds, and see the biggest @#$%! cockroach I have ever seen in my life.  Okay, deep breath. Don’t make mom panic.  “Um, what is that?” I ask, hoping I am hallucinating.

I can handle a lot of things, I KNOW bugs and critters come with the territory in the tropics. It’s a fact of life. Geckos, mosquitoes, sand fleas, and yes, even cockroaches happen. That’s how it is.  But, Lord help me, I cannot bear the thought of sleeping among cockroaches. So I breathe deeper.

“It’s definitely a cockroach,” my mom says, and so I freak out a little, try to kill it, of course miss and don’t kill it at all, and now it’s under the bed.  Okay, well it can run away. It will go out. There’s just one.

Except, no.

There’s not just one. I go over to my bag, to pull out my clothes, and there’s more.  THERE’S LIKE FIVE MORE.  And if I were the kind of person that used expletives on her blog, this is where you’d see a lot of EXPLETIVES ON THIS BLOG.  I couldn’t take it, people.  And although she was much more calm than me, my mother couldn’t take it either.  Then, I remembered!  This wasn’t my first time in a beach cabin, and I knew just what to do!  Several years ago I stayed in a beach cabin with friends while on a trip to Hawaii. Hawaii, also the tropics, also no stranger to the cockroach. And, yes, they were in the cabin.  Our solution? Sleep with the lights on. Cockroaches scatter when exposed to light. They do not like it. And in Hawaii, that solution worked.

So then that was going to be our solution here, too. We would just keep the light on.  Okay, fine. So we clean out every last corner of our bags, shake out every piece of clothing, reseal it all, and get ready for bed.  Just as we think we’ll maybe get some sleep tonight, THE [EXPLETIVE] POWER GOES OUT. ON THE WHOLE [EXPLETIVE] ISLAND.

Seriously? Yes, seriously.

By some miracle of intelligence, I had brought flashlights on this little adventure, so I got them out immediately, in the dark, feeling like things were crawling on me the entire time, and there my mom and I sat, staring at each other, sitting on the ends of our beds, flashlights in hand, wondering what we were going to do next.  By this time, the music has ended. People are stumbling to their beds, and on and island of only a few hundred people, and at past 10:00 p.m., we were out of luck.  There was going to be no one to help us figure out what do to. We had to be our own heroes. And so we sat.

I knew, because of past experiences with power outages on this island, that not only was this the usual, but the idea of the power coming back on that night was a pipe dream. Yes, there are some generators, but not here and certainly not on order at 10:00 p.m. for two women who are gagging themselves over the sight of some measly bugs.  And yes, I know some people would have just gotten over it, but I couldn’t, we couldn’t. I knew just how many cockroaches I’d seen, and that thought wasn’t going to leave my mind that night, or ever.

Finally my mom looks at me, stands up, and says “Get your sheet and pillow, we’re going to the beach.” The thought had crossed my mind, sure. My first instinct was to get the heck out of there. But I knew what waited in the sand, too. All those other creatures I’d mentioned, the sand fleas, the MOSQUITOES, they were all out there waiting, too.  But, what choice did we have?  I couldn’t stay up through another night, and I’d sooner die than sleep in pool of cockroaches, and so we sprayed ourselves down in bug spray, wrapped ourselves in our sheets like burritos, and tried to sleep on two chaise lounge chairs just a few feet from the ocean.

It sounds kind of nice, right? Kind of fun, adventurous even, right? And I guess it was. I mean, there were some light intermittent rain storms, and yes, there were bugs, and that beach was desserted as I often find myself wishing every beach were.  The only light were two or three mast lights reflecting in the bay, and the bright, bright moon when a rain cloud wasn’t blocking it. It was nice. But it was also pretty rough, and unplanned, and would have been a lot better had I had a really strong drink before heading out there.

We made it through the night though, and as usual, I ended up with all the mosquito bites and again only about 3 hours of sleep.  A little later in the morning, we walked down the beach, and my favorite beach bartender and friend put his arm around me and said “You look like you had a rough night.” I looked up at him and said “cockroaches” which is how just ten days ago at this time, I was on my seventeen billionth drink of the day, right in front of my mother, because I’d slept outside on the beach all night in intermittent rain.

We moved into a real room, sans bugs, the following night.  I do not blame the island, nor the cabin owners, nor the people that have stayed there cockroach-free in the past. I only blame myself, my wimpy, wimpy self.

The End.  THE [EXPELTIVE] END.

I have a family member— related to me by marriage only, but still, family— who has always known what he’s wanted to do. Or, at least, from a very young age he has always known. He is a dancer, and he’s so very good that, honestly, even though I’m far from the closest person to him, it’s hard to imagine him doing anything else in this world. It’s nothing short of amazing to watch. He loves what he does, he is extremely good at it, and he knew it a long time ago it was where he is meant to be. And, he’s successful and will likely continue to be even more so.

I know several people like this, people gifted in a lot of different ways, who have always known what they wanted to do, what they were good at doing. I know landscapers and designers and doctors who are all, essentially, in their place. Their calling. It’s pretty remarkable when you see someone who’s doing just what they’re meant to do. It’s amazing. I mean, I have seen a software developer so absolutely, unarguably skilled at his job that he literally invented things right before my very eyes.  It does not have to be glamorous to be amazing, people.

As I write this, though, I know I’m only talking about some people. A relatively small percentage of us really have truly looked at ourselves, seen what we’re capable of, believed, and somehow had the perfect storm of life events occur enough so that we could make it there, to that place where we’re doing what we should be doing. Some of us are on our way. We have an idea. We know what we’re good at, but we’re just not sure how to make a life within that space. More of us still are not even on the road. We feel clueless and bound to what we know, or what is working for the moment, what has worked in the past.

And I truly believe that within our own space, we can turn into something bigger, better, and more incredible than we often try to achieve. There are not limits. Once we get real, are still, and listen, there are no bounds. We are the opposite of the goldfish that can only grow to the size of his bowl. We are both the fish and the bowl.

Me, I am somewhere in between the person that knows and the person who’s clinging to the familiar. Of course I am fine with that on most levels (the bank account level not being one of them. Ahem!). I am fine that I’m learning, that since leaving my last full-time job I have learned and grown every single day. That I am fine with. That I hadn’t done in a really long time. I figure, though, that for those of us that aren’t dancers, or that once were dancers and now have to find ourselves on another path, there is hope.  I figure that learning and growing every day and feeling closer and more comfortable with that place you’re getting to—even if that “place” is just another road—is probably one of the greatest kinds of hope there is. But I also figure there is a breaking point. There is a point where the tides will turn, where you will know, where I WILL KNOW just enough to push through to something else, something that’s waiting. And then, the space will become bigger.

And hopefully, like now, that space will contain a beach. Which is where you’ll find me for the next few days.

We are both the fish and the bowl.

It’s May. Memorial Day is in a few short weeks. Yesterday, it snowed here in Colorado, which is not entirely different than every day last week. So, while most people are making their summer plans, because it’s warm again and that’s what you do when it’s warm again, some of us are still just trying to get by. And wondering if our furnace will ever get a break.

Another little caveat of this, a First World Problem, if you will, is that getting into “summer shape” is a lot harder when you’re still wearing fifteen layers of clothing to keep warm. No, I cannot imagine dressing for the beach and the pool and the lake when I can still see my breath, thank you. But that is reality– it’s almost time to wear less clothing. Yippee.

I also have another reality I’m going to have to face right now: I’m stuck at home for a while.  I’ve just started new work, and it’s a LOT of work (thank ya, Lord!) and I have to spend some time rebuilding the cushion that let me live this imaginary life of leisure for the last six months. I have to work again, and I have other people depending on me to work again. It seems so boring compared to doing whatever I want, doesn’t it?

These things are nothing to complain about. I realize that.  And yet, I will.

Because, as usual, all I really want is to be back at the beach.

Happy friggin’ Monday.

It was my full intention, laptop in hand (read: carry-on) as I boarded the plane, to keep up with blog posting while I was away last week. And I did do that. For one day. Thank you. That was Friday the 22nd, and oh, look here we are over a week later and I am finally finding it in me to catch up. And if this were Twitter, I would end that statement with a hashtag something like #geewherehaveweheardthisbefore, because we most definitely have heard this before.

It’s just that I have such an easy tiiimmme unplugging, you know?  Yeah, I know, your heart breaks for me. Moving right along.  Because this trip, though somewhat planned, turned out to be even so much more than I knew. And I want to retell it. In parts.  You’re welcome.

The Point of the Trip

Now then, the point of the trip itself: Operation Sneak Onto An Island. I actually didn’t call it that, but I should have, because that’s what I had to do. And the whole point of that was that two friends of mine, I’d call them island friends, although they live stateside most of the time like me, you, and the rest of us that freeze several months out of the year. But I met my friends on the island, and therefore they are island friends. And they were having an anniversary celebration, complete with a vow renewal ceremony. Because they were married there, and they wanted to celebrate there, ten years later. (And those last several sentences, and likely those that follow, would give my college English professors a heart attack.)

My friends, the ones having an anniversary, were celebrating on Friday the 22nd, and they invited me months and months ago, when I was still employed and restricted from vacation time (ah, those were the days!), and basically had zero hope of being able to attend. It was a sad thing when I had to turn down that invite. But! Then I quit my job, and became a full-time, temporary loafer, so no longer was I tied down.  Combine that with an unheard of low fare alert I received just a few weeks before the actual date of the event and a couple of other veerrrryy generous friends who allow me to bunk with them more often than I deserve, and the surprise covert operation was a done deal.

Keeping this secret was so difficult for me. It meant not saying anything on my blog, and therefore Twitter, or Facebook or to any mutual friends (minus a few in on the covert operation). A little reaffirmed fact about me: I can keep a “bad” secret with me until death, but ask me to keep a fun secret and I am impossible. But when I got to show up and surprise my friends, and then be a part of their celebration, it was worth it.

It was the home of these same friends I brought my friends down to stay in back in October for my 30th birthday, you might remember, and well, just like the island itself, it can be a magical place.

It was a beautiful celebration in a beautiful place, and I’m certainly better for having been part of it, not to mention friends with all these wonderful people whom I met completely by timing and chance.

Speaking of Timing and Chance

Here’s where the story gets even more interesting.

I arrived on the island the night before my friends’ celebration, which meant that all of the 21st I was either in an airport or on a plane. Somewhere between 10 and a billion hours of voluntary torture is what it takes to get down to the Caribbean from the Western U.S., and my lands as worth it as it is, it kicks your ass. There is no other way to put that, it just plain kicks your ass. And because of my secret, I couldn’t complain about any of it on the Internet. I know, right?!

On the last leg of my trip, in the Miami airport (which, in my opinion, has not moved out of the category of AWFUL in over a decade) I collapsed on a vinyl chair and drank what was probably my fiftieth caffeinated beverage of the day. A couple sat down next to me along with another man, and before long I saw that they were smart, because they were drinking beer. We started chatting, and I’d noticed the girl had a long garment bag with her, which could only mean one thing: Island Wedding.

Soon we found out we were not only on the same flight but sitting in the same row on the plane, where I did join in the beer drinking after all. We talked about the islands, about weddings, about love, about life. It was great. And I only had one beer, so I know it really must have all been real.

I also know it was real because at this point, I know that’s just how things happen in the islands. It just is. Whether you’re there, on your way, or somewhere in between, when that place is involved I’m telling you, good things and good people just come into the picture. I can’t explain it, I don’t necessarily want to, but I know it’s true. So when the happy couple, who I’d learned were actually eloping, asked me to take photos of their wedding, I was not entirely surprised. Shocked? Yes. Intimidated? Yes. Questioning their sobriety? Yes.

Long story short, though, they were sober, I was sober, and I went out two days later and photographed their very beautiful, very quiet, very perfect island wedding ceremony. We sailed to a small island, just the couple, the captain and his first mate, and me.  It was a beautiful day, and I was grateful for the invite.  And that day, I also got to put “Photographer” in the field for occupation on a customs form, which was a highlight I won’t soon forget.

Serendipitous, I tell you.

Stranded in the Islands

Three days later, after beaching and hiking and generally finding absolutely nothing to complain about all day every day, it was time for my quick trip to end.  I woke up at five in the morning, my friend (bless her!) drove me across the island, I caught a ferry, caught a taxi, went through customs, and ended up in the airport. Kids, it is a long day just getting to the airport, and you’re not even on the plane yet.

I’ve tried various ways of explaining this next part, but I can’t seem to do it better than I did in the emails I sent to a couple friends when they asked, paraphrased, HOW THE HELL DO YOU GET STUCK IN THE TROPICS? My response, below:

The plane I was supposed to leave on broke, something about a cooling fan, so they couldn’t go anywhere (fine by me, the pilot says no and I’m totally cool with that, right?) but the thing is, to even get to the airport I have to take a car ride across the island, then a ferry, then a taxi from the dock to the airport, and then deal with customs, which is fake as compared to most customs, but nonetheless, customs, and then sit in an airport with, literally, no PA system (at least one that can be heard). IF YOU CAN IMAGINE.

So, when someone says the flight’s not leaving and they’ll either book you on a later one (maybe) or one the following day it’s like, um, NO, because what you went through just to get there (not to mention packing up the flip-flops and breaking out the parka) is just not worth going all the way back for 12 hours. So, since I was going to be coming back anyway, I demanded it be at least a 48-hour extension.  And by “demanded” I mean spoke very kindly, smiled, and observed all cultural and customary manners. Ha.

And that’s how I got to spend a couple more days “stranded” in the Caribbean. I was staying with friends, so they gladly took me back in. Which is something I will never figure out as long as I live, how I got friends such as these. Crazy. Serendipitous. All of it.

The End.

Until next month.

Oh, yeah. Never mind. I remember now.

____________________________________

Also, just a note to the person who’s started stealing the photos from this blog: We caught you. Again. Yes, again. And we’ve contacted you, and you’ve taken down the photos you stole, and now you’re being investigated for possibly trying to sell those photos, along with others you’ve stolen. And you’re probably being sued by, like, five people. So stop it.

A note to anyone else looking to steal photos from this blog: They are mine, I took them, I posted them. Don’t steal them, or I will find you. And trust me, I have way too much time on my hands these days to go easy on you.

I know this for sure: once I start cleaning my house, I cannot stop. There is something to this whole “get your house in order” thing, I will tell you that.  Yesterday I was stuck inside a tangled web of computer/electronic/whydowehavethiscrap wires for two hours. Although everything was up and running afterward (success!) it still looks as messy as it ever did, and annoys me as much as it did before.  Moral of the story: don’t rearrange your office, no good can come of it.

I have to say, I do like this “work at home” thing. Or, in my case, “get ready to work at home” thing. It’s relaxing, it makes me like my home, and I get to sit inside and look directly out a window instead of at a cube wall. Win, no?

The thing is, I need practice. I am so easily distracted, so ready to dream off to some other place, that I cannot be trusted.

As good as the view from home is, I think of other things. Views out of other places and other windows, or lack of windows, as the case may be:

Out other front doors. Or lack of doors, as the case may be:

I realize this doesn’t deserve any sympathy, and I’m not looking for it.  But at the same time, I have to wonder: am I ever going to be good at sitting still and concentrating for any length of time?

I’m going to go with NO.

I know too much. I’ve seen too much. It’s hopeless.

I’m forever distracted.

What a shame.

I know it can be annoying to a) look at someone else’s travel photos, b) listen to someone else’s music, and c) do both for a really long time.  But, the facts are that a) I traveled, and b) I decided to use iMovie for the first time this weekend. I still have some things to figure out, like why iMovie distorts the crap out of some photos or zooms in on blank spots, but overall I’m happy with it.

There’s beaches, people, dogs, booze, and food. Which pretty much covers all my needs in life.  Yee haw! Also, at about 2:40 in there’s a picture of a mahi sandwich that the cook caught me taking. When he asked why I was taking it I told him his fish sandwich would be going around the world. So, you know, let’s not disappoint him.

For eight and a half minutes of Monday morning escape, here’s my little experiment:

Untitled from Lesley G on Vimeo.

Music by: The Eagles, “Learn To Be Still” and Jason Mraz, “Live High”
Photos all by me.

It is, in fact, three full days until I get to board a plane and I am probably more unbearable than ever. I’m certainly not going to sneak this trip in on anyone. I’m not really talking about the trip itself so much as with every little task or challenge that comes along, I’ve already got that smug attitude that says sure, drag this out for a few days, I DON’T CARE BECAUSE I AM OUT OF HERE, SUCKERS.  Not a thing annoying about that, right?

I wouldn’t go so far as to say I deserve this trip, because who the hell deserves a trip to the Caribbean?  People who’ve fought in wars? Yes. People who’ve battled cancer? Yes. People who are going through hard but normal life transitions and can hardly spout off a sentence without complaining about it? Um, no. Not so much.

But I will go so far as to say I’ve earned it. That much I can stand behind, because, well, travel is expensive but I haven’t bought a purse or a pair of shoes (minus running shoes) that cost over $40 in years, so there’s a balance to it. Or at least in my mind. At the end of the day, when we work hard, it is a privilege to know we can afford to have some comfortable things around us.  Things we like, love even, no matter what they are.  For some people, that comes in the form of a bag or a shoe.  For me, that comes in the form of an entire sea as warm as bathwater and a little rock in the middle.

I get asked often why I keep going back. Why I’d want to go to the same place, over and over again. I can’t explain it. If I could, I’d drag everyone who asked with me and show you. I’d pull you out onto the beach, rip off your shoes and make you stand in the hot sand and stare out into the impossibly turquoise water. I’d force you outside at night to listen to the chorus of the breeze and the crickets and tree frogs. I’d walk you around all day to meet people, and get to know them. I’d drive you to the top of the most insane hill and gasp at the view right along with you.  And even then, you may not understand. But I do.

There’s a little place there for me, where I can go and stand and feel as if I’m at the absolute end of the earth. And in that spot every trouble I have disappears, every dream I have floats around me on the breeze. Every breath there reminds me of how small yet instrumental I am amongst all the pieces of this world, and to never take that for granted.

JVD, 2008

And so I go.  Again and again, I go.

I was interviewed recently by the lovely Brookem, of Skrinkering Hearts! All I had to do was say “pick me, pick me” and then she did.  Imagine that.  And since I’m being all introspective lately, I thought, why not?!

1- What do you like best about where you live?

I love the lifestyle of the Colorado Front Range.  I love that when people see you running, cycling, or riding your horse on a trail or the side of the road, they will accommodate you.  I love that people strive to be healthy, not because I’m perfect, but because I need the influence.

Also, even though I’m currently freezing, it’s just beautiful here.

2- Have you always been as into running as you are now?

No, not even close.  Throughout my childhood and teens, I was what you’d consider a try-out kid.  I saw sports, I wanted to play them, but I either didn’t try out due to fear of not being good, or I was, in fact, not good.  I lacked grace, eye-hand coordination, and speed, which essentially limited me from just about everything.  I tried really hard, though (really, really hard), and I think that’s why I like running now.  You can always try hard.

3- What is something that we might not know about you from reading your blog?

Uh, how much time do you have?  There are probably a lot of things, but one I can think of for sure is that I sing a lot.  Like all the time. On the bike, while running, in the shower, in the car.  All the time. Everywhere.  Much to the annoyance of loved ones and strangers alike, I’m sure.  I don’t know, I never asked. I was too busy belting out a tune, which, apart from being completely lacking of actual notes, is pretty enjoyable.

The only person who doesn’t complain about this is my sister, because hoooo, boy, you should hear us when we get together!  We’ve pretty much disgraced every song recorded at one time or another.

Bonus answer: In spite of my pure lack of talent in this area, I am sort of a music nerd.  Proof: Today I see a message from someone that says “What the E#?”  And I immediately laugh.  (Non-music nerd translation:  E# = E sharp = F.  Get it now?  Ha. Ha. Ha!, right?)

4- What’s one of your most favorite travel destinations?

Oh, it is so hard to name just one.  But I’ll save us all the time it would take for me to wax poetic about my long, long travel bucket list and just go with the obvious: the Caribbean.  Specifically, the Virgin Islands. I have a lot of reasons why, and even those seem to change from time to time.  There’s the water, the people, the atmosphere, and now, though I would have never expected this a few years ago, there’s my friends. (Hi, guys!)

And there’s this:

Let me know when you’d like to go, I will gladly be your guide.