The Bittersweet Vacation

Today is the last day of our annual beach vacation. It’s a once-per-year tradition that I cherish. My extended family is a riot and we don’t spend enough time together.

The reason it’s been a bittersweet vacation is because my mom’s sister—my sweet Aunt Dot—passed away during the week. Mom would not leave Aunt Dot’s side so she didn’t start the vacation with us, which seemed odd. Our annual family congregation is the high-water mark of Mom’s year; she says she’s never happier than when all her chickens are under one roof.

It was weird, being at the beach trying to have fun while Aunt Dot was suffering and Mom was with her. Yet Mom insisted we continue with the annual pilgrimage. She insisted we come to the beach and make merry. She didn’t want to let anyone down, especially her grand-kids, so we came without her.

After 2 days, Aunt Dot died. My brother, my sister and I made the car ride from the beach to her funeral. Anticipating this possibility, we had tucked funeral clothes into our bags, right next to our bathing suits and beach towels.

The drive to the funeral is the only time I can remember being alone with my siblings, just the 3 of us, as adults. It was a special time, which added to the complexity of contradicting emotions.

Once we arrived at Aunt Dot and Uncle Jerry’s house, we were greeted by distant relatives that we only see at weddings and funerals. I know that’s fairly typical of big families but it would be nice to see them more often.

After the funeral, visitation and family gathering, the sibs and I made a late night road trip back to the beach. Mom and Dad joined us the next day, so by Wednesday we were all together.

I’m waxing nostalgic because that’s how I feel. It was a wonderful and sad and hilarious and frenetic and heartwarming and heartbreaking week.

We’re already planning next year.   

Girls Raised in the South = G.R.I.T.S.

Maybe you've heard of grits the food (delicious!) but do you know about the GRITS acronym? Girls Raised in the South. That's me.

I'm from the south; born in North Carolina and now living on the coast of South Carolina. My rich and random life's journey has taken me all around the world. I've lived in many places and seen many things. Now I'm back to my roots. I'm southern born and southern bred. I'm one of the true GRITS, baby.

One of my life adventures found me and my thick southern accent <bad grammar on purpose> living in New York City and working in midtown Manhattan. I loved it. The Pakistani street vendor had a crush on me and my bagel was ready every morning when I arrived at Grand Central Station off of the 8:05 train - the Hudson River Express. (Wait, maybe it wasn't a crush... maybe he felt sorry for me, or protective of me? Maybe the sound of my voice made him laugh? Who knows. At least I got my bagel).

When I placed my order in a restaurant, a hush would fall over the crowd. Sometimes I heard giggles, snickers. I always got special attention; not many folks sounded like me up there.

Locals either thought my southern accent was charming (in a cartoonish way) or ridiculous.

Regardless of the subcategory they put me in, my accent placed me squarely in the dull category. Dull as in slow, not all there, not on the ball, not quick-minded. I won't go so far as to say I was considered dumb but, well, people had a big reaction to the sound of my dulcet tones.

Upon first meetings, (after recovering from the accent), the person would often slow their speech to match the pace of mine. As if my drawl made me hear slow! And think slow! It was all I could do not to bust out laughing. The condescension. No kidding, some people would talk to me as if I was an 8-year-old. But that was okay. I had a big job and used their low expectations to my advantage.

Did I mention how much I loved it up north? If used wisely, being underestimated can be a powerful tool.

Yep, that's how GRITS roll. Dumb like a fox.

Oh Joy, Colonoscopy Time

Yep, I'm getting a colonoscopy on Monday. Because I'm not excited about the procedure, I've put off paying attention to the preparation required. Just today, I glanced at the paperwork and got a rude surprise. The paper says I'm supposed to avoid raw fruits and vegetables as well as nuts and seeds.

Yikes. I'm a vegetarian. Sure, I can eat cooked vegetables but no nuts? No fruits?

Before I even read the preparation sheet I had already broken the rules. This morning I had oatmeal loaded up with a banana (bad), blueberries (bad), and walnuts (bad).

Bad, but really, really good.

I have a fresh avocado and baby lettuce begging to be eaten for lunch today. I have half-dozen ripe South Carolina peaches on my counter and at least one was going to be my mid-afternoon snack. Nope.

I called the nice lady at the doctor's office to confess--and to see what my options are. She told me not to eat any more of the 'bad stuff' between now and Monday. Kibosh on the avocado, lettuce, peaches and all other manner of deliciousness. I politely asked her what I could eat.

Her answer was: processed foods. I'm no food freak but really? Processed foods is the answer?

Process foods = healthy colon?

Well, of course not. But that's the way it's got to be. So in preparation for my colonoscopy on Monday, I'll spend this weekend enjoying mouth-watering processed foods.

She didn't say anything about beer...

True Friends

"It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

And so we were. Stupid may be harsh, but we sure were silly with each other.

A few weeks ago my oldest (um, length of time we've known each other...) friend preformed a one-woman show in front of thousands. She's a pro, in fact we met in the theater department in college (Appalachian State University - go Mountaineers) and continue a lifelong friendship. The night was big for her, and several old friends traveled to see the show and offer support. It was a blast, she wowed the audience. In addition to the joy of hearing Starr sing, I got to see a handful of friends I have not seen in over 20 years (don't bother doing the math, we're old).

Starr, my singing friend, earns a nice living with her voice. She has a second home at the beach near my house. As things work out sometimes, she is at her beach house this week. Another friend from the ASU theatre department came through town with her husband last night. The first time I've seen Kim since college was at Starr's show. Now I had an opportunity to see her (and her wonderful husband, she picked a good one) again in less than a month. Happily, we managed a dinner together. It was hilarious. And heartwarming. True friendship is when you can pick back up, right where you left off, no matter how much time has passed. 

I am blessed with true friends.

Welcome to My Blog

One year ago I started my first blog. I used WordPress because, well, I don't know why. I just did. Days later, I started what I thought would be an experimental blog on Blogger. Experimental because I was just dipping my toe in, learning by doing. Opinions vary wildly so I reasoned that blogging on both platforms would force me to choose which fit me better.

After a year, I can say that I like Blogger better. You can read about all the reasons here, if you care... WordPress vs. Blogger, the Conclusion.

Since that time, I've freshened up my original, experimental Blogger blog and given it a niche: Langley Writes About Writing.. The feedback has been tremendous. So much so that I started another niche blog on Blogger: Hearts in Fur Coats.

And I abandoned my WordPress Blog, which makes me sad(ish) and leaves me in a quandary. Sad(ish) because I wrote a lot about my family ♥ and want those stories and memories to stay published (if just for us). In a quandary because I want to write about things that don't fit into a writing blog or a pets blog. 

Welcome to my solution. I'm moving my WP blog over here. I'm littering Blogger with yet another random, niche-less blog. A catch-all, mixed-bag, (insert your own cliche) blog that will cover all manner of drivel. 

So, to make this intro post mind-numbingly long (and further indulge myself), I'm including the text from my very first post:

_____________________________________

Hello World 

Hello world is an appropriate enough beginning, so I think I'll leave it at that. In fact, it bears repeating. Hello world! It's about time I got into this blogging business. I've got a lot to say and you *might* find some of it interesting. If not, let me know. All feedback is appreciated and I know I can learn from what you have to say.

So this is me jumping in. This is a blog about my rich and random life. I say rich because the opportunities and experiences in my life have exceed my wildest dreams. I say random because the opportunities and experiences are so varied that the only way to describe them is random.

A college professor once told me:

"Langley, you're pretty good at a lot of things but not great at any one thing. People who are only good at one thing have an easier time in this life. Their path is clear. You'll have tough choices to make."

That's pretty heavy to say to a college kid. At the time, I really didn't get what she meant. Was that an insult, a compliment or simply an observation? Now that, um, several years have passed, I know exactly what she meant. And it was an insightful observation. Because I am pretty good at a lot of things, I've done a lot of things, which results in a rich and random life.