There goes the bad guy....

 As women, we are never allowed to reflect on what we left behind, wanting more, or just being plain sad, for the life we didn't get to have, the dreams that were just that, dreams. Plans that had to be put on hold. Only men are allowed to do that. We sacrifice a huge chunk of our lives to raise our children. We stay behind and witness everyone's milestones, including our husband's. Their milestones become our milestones. 

I know what you're thinking... there she goes again, don't forget to roll your eyes. Proving that everything I just wrote is pretty sad, but true. 

I just sat in my kitchen, as I was being torn apart. It hasn't been the first time, and it probably won't be the last. Everything that I've done, every step or misstep that I've taken, dissected into little bits. I didn't even know how to respond. It doesn't even sound like anything that I recognize. Same house but the take away is always different somehow. I had a similar conversation about this with my brother. He was reflecting on our childhood and growing up in our home and he also described a home that I didn't recognize. His take away was so different from mine and we grew up in the same house. 

Every decision that I've mulled over, around and around in my head, making sure I got everything right. Sounds like it was all wrong. How did I get it all wrong? I once read that the trick to being a good parent, is not making the same mistakes that your parents made. Stop the cycle. No where in that article did it warn that you would now make your own mistakes. You just wouldn't repeat the mistakes of your parents. 

I was accused of treating my youngest like he's still a toddler. Do I? Am I still trying to hold on to that chapter of my life/his life? My middle one feels slighted, don't they always? My oldest was here for Christmas and I felt detached from it all. She's been on her own since she went off to college. I'm sure she has her own grievances. I tried really hard to 

Mothers don't usually get a pat on the back, or nice job, no promotions here so I've given myself a high five on occasion, because hell, I have three great kids, decent human beings, intelligent, focused, I should be mother of the year. NOT. At least, I truly believed that. I guess the success of your children doesn't always run parallel to how good of a parent you've been. Go figure. Why do kids always believe that they are the all knowing in how to be a good parent?!

I'm not easy for most, because I have a differing of opinion, an uncomfortable realistic approach where most people want to live with the comfortable lie. I've learned a lot about myself over the years, like most people should. A little self awareness goes a long way. This naturally comes when you reach a certain age, I think. The feelings of grandeur subside and the flaws start to make themselves visible, just like the laugh lines that creep up on you around your eyes and face. Although, I don't mind the laugh lines. 

I guess I'm a lot like my Dad in many ways. My cousins and I always found it funny how my Dad and his siblings, their parents, didn't have much of a filter. If they thought it, believed it, or felt it, they were sharing, whether you liked it or not. Truth was golden, whether it hurt your feelings or not. I can't just be agreeable, that's not me. Agreeable to me is just being insincere. My Dad gave me my voice, we would debate, discuss, and disagree but he always invited me to speak my mind. 

My mother is the opposite. She is the agreeable sort, in silence. She drives me mad. She has always silenced me with her silence. Any conversation, discussion, grievance, rant, worry, difference of opinion was always met with silence or indifference. 

This has come full circle, I did it to my mother and now they do it to me, and others will do it to their mothers. What would they all do without someone to point their fingers at? We're that someone. Whether you cared too much or not enough, maybe you were in their business too much or you took a step back and let them figure it out, maybe you pushed them to much or not at all, maybe you fed the fire you started under their ass and the embers were too hot, maybe you worked too much or not at all. Maybe you weren't around enough, you didn't hug and kiss them enough, whatever it is. It doesn't matter how much or how little you did or still do, the outcome is always somewhat the same. Do we truly ever appreciate what our mothers have given up for us? No, because no one is allowed to talk about it, or bring it up. 

And in the end.. in conversation, the dad always comes out on top. Cue.. another eyeroll. 

Butterflies at the Beach

 Just got back from a wonderful, restful, much needed, long weekend at the beach. The beautiful shores of Wildwood crest and Cape May. 

 We couldn't have asked for better weather. Sunny skies, warm breezes filled with the scents we all know and love. That beachy scent of ocean, coconut and pineapple sun lotions, tropical drinks and sand. That feeling of wellness that comes over you while reading a good book or just sitting and enjoying the sounds of the tides rushing in and out across the shore, the calls of the seagulls flying overhead looking for their treasured human snacks that they have become accustomed to, the smells and laughter that transport you to summers past, and the embraces of the ocean breeze and the warmth of the sun.  

My husband and I would walk the beach every morning before breakfast. One of my favorite things to do. The ocean while lulling us to sleep every night, will always leave little trinkets on the wet sand just waiting to be scooped up by someone who passes by. 

Walking past fishermen by the water hoping to reel in what the ocean will part with. We noticed a commotion one morning, quite a few people had slowed their pace and were focusing on a young boy with rod in hand, that seemed to be reeling something in. A sting ray, flapping its fins in protest, not wanting to be plucked from the depths of his home. The boy did release it. 

Breakfast was always set with the ocean view off of our terrace. It always seemed to linger a little longer than it should, but why not. 

One thing that we experienced this time around, and I had never noticed before, was the occasional butterfly flying towards us in the distance. I was in awe as the butterfly flew closer and closer in our direction. I said to my husband, that's weird, I've never seen butterflies at the beach, have you? As they approached, one after the other, I noticed that they were the royal Monarch Butterflies. I was taken aback by their beautiful, prominent orange and black wings as they flew by us. What are they doing here? 

I quickly googled butterflies at the beach. I learned that every fall, Cape May, is the half way point for the Monarch Butterfly during their 3,000 mile migration back to Mexico. They stop there to feed and refuel on nectar from the goldenrod plant and sunflowers before finishing their final stretch of their trip. Who knew? This makes Cape May even more special. So glad we were there for that. 

Lazy days at the beach are the best days. My husband said it best.. who cares what time it is, we have no where to be. 

Nature's Hunting Ground

 I read recently that those in their fifties have resorted to hobbies that at one time were attributed to older adults. That really hit home for me because a few years ago I started birdwatching. 

One day I was struggling with the decision on whether to throw out a loaf of bread that had been sitting in my kitchen for a few days. It had hardened a bit. I've always had trouble with the idea of throwing out bread, not sure why. My Dad's stories of going hungry when he was a child still sat with me. Being one of the youngest of 14 and born during the depression created that hardship for him. It was always hard for him to throw any food out. So, I took the loaf of old bread and decided to put it out on my deck instead. I broke it apart on a dish and placed it on the table outside. I wasn't even sure why I did this. Well, what transpired was an influx of so many birds curious to see what I had put out for them. I don't even know where they all came from. I never noticed them before. Granted we were surrounded by trees so they must've been there all along. 

I was so amazed and enchanted by all of the different birds that were visiting my meager bowl of Italian bread. I made it a habit of putting out any old bread that we collected instead of throwing it out. Eventually, I graduated to birdfeeders that I strategically put out in order to catch a glimpse of all the birds. 

I decided to purchase a reference book of birds from our state and I placed a camera and a set of binoculars by my window. That's where it all began. Every time a new bird approached, I would frantically look through my book of birds and place a marker on it so I could keep track of all the different birds that I saw and then I photographed them as they took their fill. 

Recently, we are mid spring and I've noticed that the population of birds that I'm used to seeing has greatly diminished. They aren't visiting our feeders as often as they used to. We would sometimes have to go for a bird seed run because I would go through seed so quickly. I think I've figured out why.

Our backyard has become a hunting ground. 

There is a Hawk's nest behind our neighbor's house, two houses down from us. It's been there for years, we'd see the little fledglings, as they would begin to fly. They are beautiful birds of prey. They would grow in our skies, above our yards, and then move on. They would leave the nest and then return to it year after year. This year, the fledglings have made the trees in the surrounding area their home, and they are using our backyard as their hunting ground. The necessary take down of one of our trees that had been hollowed out by birds and was in danger of collapse probably aided their view. We have become eyewitnesses to the carnage. Watching nature unfold right in front of our very eyes. The small birds have become fearful and they have either found other safer lodgings or they remain hidden from us. We hear them but we don't see them as much. 

So, I feel like I've been enabling their show of prowess. Needless to say, I've taken in all of my feeders for now so the birds won't feel the need to make the brave attempt at our feeders and fly into a trap. 

 I think most people don't take a moment to just stop and look around and appreciate the beautiful days that are gifted to them. I have made a point of doing just that. I make sure I look around and notice the day, the colors, the beauty, everything. It reminds me that there is goodness and beauty in this world even if they want me to forget. We are all hyper focused on the next big story to be outraged about, to be worried about. This outrage is always calculated, does it even come from within or is it placed there? Why are we always so outraged by the things that we can't control. Why have we forgotten what makes us who we are? Why have we allowed people who don't know us to become the same people who dictate how we feel about something, and how we react to it? Why are we afraid to speak up? Why are we afraid to show our true selves? Just a few thoughts that I've been having...now on to this beautiful day.

 As I sit here on my deck, I can't help but notice the birds singing their songs of appreciation, maybe they're singing about how they've finally been given a dry day, how their nests will finally dry up. It's quiet so all of their songs are amplified. They are singing in chorus, responding to each other in song, in all of their different dialects. I wonder if birds know all of the different languages that are had by birds. Do they understand each other? 

These last few weeks of rain are clearly visible on the leaves of the flowers, and vegetables in my garden. The leaves that should be green are now tinged with yellow either from too much rain or not enough sunlight. I have to admit that because of that same rain, we have an abundance of lettuce, spinach, and collard greens that have taken this time to just grow with gusto. Many of the spring blooms are now gone, driven to the ground by the rain, wind, and unseasonable cooler days and nights. Even the trees have dropped their access baggage of dead blooms that have given way to their leaves. The flowers and plants are all standing taller and looking towards the blue skies that have been hidden for way too long. The softness beneath my feet soaking in all of the sunlight and warmth in order to dry the access moisture from all the rain. Our grass hasn't looked better, it's thick and the most wonderful shade of green. 

Our trip to Savannah

 

 This past weekend, we spent a few days in Savannah, Georgia. It wasn't our first time there, we had spent a day there during our trip to Charleston a few years ago. A concert is what prompted our trip, we purchased tickets to see Andrea Bocelli in concert at the Enmarket Arena and this trip to Savannah had us excited for a closer look at this beautiful city. 

We stayed at the beautiful Amethyst Garden Inn. You can't miss it. As you drive down E. Gaston St. you notice this gorgeous Victorian era Inn, that is surrounded by a royal purple embrace. You catch glimpses of it through the branches of the live oaks along the streets, covered in resurrection fern and Spanish moss. Our host Chemise, was so gracious and made us feel at home. 

We drove around the historical areas and couldn't quite get past the beauty that surrounded us. Most of the squares that were the original vision and map of this great city still exist, and they bring such charm to the city. We drove over to E. River St, where many of the tourists convene for some shopping and eats and we decided to take a tour of Savannah. Our guide, Miss Gina, was so knowledgeable and funny. Every old house has a story to tell and I loved how the inside of a building may be different but the facade has not changed. They keep the old with the new, I love that. We really enjoyed our trolly ride and we learned so much about this city, a city that seems to hold on so desperately to a different time. In all honesty, Savannah is like a time capsule, you can enter and exit the different time periods of it's great history in one trolley ride. I'm so grateful to those who have tirelessly worked to preserve this beautiful city, the gorgeous architecture of these magnificent homes. They dedicated themselves to the preservation of its history, its stories, its lore and legends. I'm sure the ghosts of Savannah also contributed to that, Savannah being the most haunted city in America. I was secretly hoping for some kind of otherworldly experience but I didn't experience anything amiss even during our stay in the Amethyst. 

Our tour guide mentioned the book, "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil" and at the airport we had a bit of a delay and as I made my way passed the magazines and books looking through the selections that I clearly did not need because I had a stack of unread books waiting for me at home. I noticed that same book on the shelf as if it was waiting for me and  I ended up buying it. The reviews say, that reading this book will have you itching to take a trip and make a reservation in Savannah in one of its beautiful homes. I think Savannah itself has this effect on you. You kind of want to stay a bit longer, your trip feels short and rushed. I spent the night before our flight constantly awaking to check the time because we had an early flight. I thought to myself, wow, time does move slow in Savannah, the nights are long. According to lore, in Savannah, everyone liked a good party, and at one time, there was always a great party to attend, a drink to be had, laughter and dancing that lasted all night. The long nights are a perfect backdrop for it. If you ever take a stroll in Savannah, make sure you stop and listen real hard, you can almost still hear the laughter and the music.

What a great week...

 

I should really visit this blog on a regular basis. I can't believe this entry was sitting here as a draft. I can't believe that it's been that long since I've been on here. 

After dropping off our youngest son at school, his sophomore year in college, we took off on our first vacation alone. 

It was a last minute trip and we had no idea where to go, so we reached out to our time share to find out what was still available within the next few weeks. Arizona! We had traveled to Arizona with the kids years ago, so we decided to make the trip out west again and see some new sites that we weren't able to make the first time. 

When we arrived I realized that I had forgotton how much I had loved Arizona the first time around and I was excited for the week ahead. Our plans for the week included some desert hiking, the Grand Canyon, Antelope Canyon, Lake Powell, a visit to the Arts district, and the Wine trail. I'm happy to say that we did it all and so much more. I know what you're thinking....Arizona in August, wasn't it hot? It was glorious. I stand by the assertion that it is a "dry" heat. We had clear skies every day, no humidity, and you are able to breathe even though the sun beats down on you. It is true, that the Arizona heat does dry you out pretty quickly, so staying hydrated is key. There is air conditioning everywhere you go, and the pools are cooled down so taking a dip at the resort pool was a welcoming piece of heaven. 

We had an early flight on Sunday morning so we got there around noon, we went straight to the resort and then shopping at the grocery store. We stocked up on some water and gatorades, with a cheap cooler that we kept in the back seat with some ice, since we planned on doing a lot of outdoor activities, and some breakfast foods, fruits, and snacks for our hikes. We decided on an early dinner because we were famished. We decided on a place called "Coopers Hawk Winery and Restaurant". It was a great restaurant, with great food and service. Our waiter's name was "Rizzo" and he was really nice. We had these south of the border egg rolls that were to die for. 

Monday we decided to go on our first desert trail for a hike. We drove out to South Mountain and went on there nature walk through the Sonoran desert. You're able to drive all the way up to the summit of the mountain, and to the Hidden Valley, and the Gila Valley. So glad we bought hiking shoes for this trip. After our hike, we drove over to Chamaral Park to walk their Xeriscope Garden which we couldn't find that day. After washing up, we went over to Old Scottsdale and it was a ghost town. Many of the shops were closed, or on vacation, so that was a little disappointing, but that's what we get for traveling there on their off season. 

On Tuesday, we left pretty early for our four hour ride north to the Grand Canyon. It was a beautiful ride. As we traveled north, we noticed how the temperature fluctuates back and forth, the difference between the Sonoran Desert and as you move away from it. We arrived there around 9 and we were excited. The entrance fee was $35 for the car, which was very reasonable. You could've had a car full of people and it would be the same price, and you have access to the whole park. The canyon, the trails, everything. They also offer shuttles that will take you to every trail. 

The canyon was breathtaking, awe inspiring, massive, there are no words to describe it perfectly, the feeling that comes over you. The colors, the layers of times passed, the silence is almost deafening. You only hear the whisper of the wind, or is it the whispers of spirits past, as they travel along the ripples of stone, every crevice, every groove. You present your small, insignificant, self to this majestic, imposing piece of greatness. I can't describe the feeling that comes over you. It's spiritual for sure. I was overcome with emotion, I felt like I could cry. You realize that you are in the presence of something so much greater than yourself. There are so many areas where you can walk out into the Canyon and look down into its depth. Everything they say about it is true, there are no words to describe it, no photo can capture it's magnificence. We wandered around for most of the day just taking it all in, every last moment. 

There aren't that many places to stay right outside of the park, so I took a gamble on the "Red Feather Lodge". I didn't know what to expect but proceeded with an open mind. It was originally just a motel but they had recently opened a hotel right next door, so I opted for the hotel. When we got there, we were pleasantly surprised. It was new, clean, and it was a very nice stay for the night. 

They also didn't have too many places to eat on the strip either, they should really rethink that whole area. We ended up eating at this place, "Big E's Steakhouse", another gamble but it wasn't too bad. Reviews were mixed, so we figured we had a 50/50 chance that the meal would be acceptable. It was either that or a place called "We make Pasta". We went with the steakhouse. It wasn't the greatest, but we walked in with no expectations and we were satisfied with what we got. 

The next morning was another early morning. We planned to drive even further north to Page, Arizona, to take a tour of "Antelope Canyon". The place next door opened at 630am for breakfast and then we were on our way. 

 We took advantage of a gorgeous 80 degree day and took a ride north on the Taconic State Pkwy. Like most of the country, we've been suffering through somewhat of a drought, with high humidity days. Being someone who usually enjoys the heat during the summer months, it has been quite unbearable at times. Fortunately for us, there has been a break in the humidity and today was just glorious. 

We opted to visit the Taconic Sculpture Park. We've been passing the sculptures overlooking the parkway every time we drive up north to deliver our youngest son to school. So, it's been on my list of places to visit and explore. 

The park is actually the artist's residence. He has them scattered throughout his property and many of them are Greek mythology themed. Not surprising to me now since learning the artist's full name. His name is Roy "Hermes" Kanwit. 

When we arrived, we were greeted by the artist. He was sitting off to the side with other explorers who had made the trip. He welcomed us with two postcards of pictures of the park. He was sitting in a chair, his feet were bare, and he was sitting under an apple tree in the shade, very much the bohemian vibe that I expected. He is quite likable, very nice guy. Very talkative and outgoing, he makes you feel like he's known you for awhile, very inviting. He gives you a little history about himself and his family before you get started. He grew up in Washington DC, moved to Vermont where he met his wife and then moved south to the area with his wife and 2 year old daughter in tow 40 years ago. He likes talking baseball too, he spoke to my husband and son about the season for a bit. Many of his sculptures are made out of Vermont marble, but most are made of some sort of wiring and cement. He and his wife also built their house.

As we roamed amongst these beautiful sculptures, you become quite aware of the massive undertaking it must've taken to create these pieces. Sculptors have always really impressed me, the talent that they have, how they can create these grand pieces with their own hands. 

They were all amazing, but the piece "Mother Earth" really stood out. It was immense and we were able to go inside this massive head and climb to the top, peak out, and view the surrounding area from up above, looking down onto the same parkway where we noticed her looking down on us. I also couldn't help noticing how we had walked into Mother Earth's head and rummaged around amongst her thoughts. On our way out, we noticed that her earrings, also made of cement, were swinging in the wind, love how he kept them detached from the head. 

I have to remember to send him a thank you email for inviting us into his space. 

On our way home, we stopped in Rhinebeck, and had an early dinner. It is much nicer and quaint during the summer months. Many of the places that were closed in January were now open. We stopped in a couple of small shops and had some ice cream and then made our way home. What a great day!