2012: Update....

The past 8 years were a beautiful vodka/soda drink with a tart lime twist. Courtney and I danced under the stars until our stars shifted in different directions and the moon tilted oddly under the weight if the glass. We couldn't keep up with each other's steps. I became a Grandmother and she became 35. We were years apart.

The last year of our relationship the tartness started mixing with the ice, and as relationship do, bitterness hit the taste buds and words started to sting. We went our separate ways internally and externally. Braving the images chiseled in our walls of sand and oak tree sunsets. The departing was long and sad. Still, not a day goes by that I don't see something that reminds me of her. But there are only two consistencies here on earth; the ticking of time, and that life is absurd. It was time to live what I have learned while living alone. I regret nothing but Courtney's exit strategy. She got physically involved with someone else while we were still under the same roof.

The Absurd Man
"At this point of his effort man stands face to face with the irrational. He feels within him his longing for happiness and for reason. The absurd is born of this confrontation between the human need and the unreasonable silence of the world."  Camus

God had a plan though....

I got a career forward job and started working on a concept of self. In 2011 I was as an associate for an upper scale retail company. In 2012 the company moved me to Virginia Beach and promoted me to a sale's floor manager. It happened so fast my brain turned into the cable chaos people had behind their TVs in the 80s. Within a month I had to squeeze only the necessities out of my 2300 sq.ft. house and somehow keep my new 678 sq.ft. one bedroom apartment from looking like a hoarder just hit the neighborhood. One day I must write about moving weekend. The guys who did the heavy lifting of my shit felt they spent four hours performing Hell's Cross Training death scenarios.

                             

Now it's October 2012 and I have landed high on the 11th floor of the Mayflower. My ship has come in. I'm 52 and starting over. I'm feeling like Wonder Woman! Cooper's my side-kick Walking Dog.

The hardest thing was getting my Internet connection up and running. It's amazing how much it's needed to keep the circle of life going since the Phone Book died. Amongst other things laptops are the bank, telephone (with 411), photo album/journal (Facebook), and Hulu TV. All with only one cable wire behind the set. After about a week of no computer when I saw Google come up on my screen I rejoiced. I knew things would be OK. My next step was to find a grocery store.

                                            
          I saw this sign while riding my bike along Atlantic Ave. I took it as a directive.

"Of all the schools of patience and lucidity, creation is the most effective. It is also the staggering evidence of man's sole dignity..." Camus

2009: DC, NY, and Nicaragua

My Nicaragua Journal 

This year I was able to go on 2 buying trips to NY for Corporate Skirts. This allowed me to spend time with Q in DC and L in NY, once in February over Fashion Weekend and once in September. I found the road trips exhilarating in my BMW 645ci on I95. It became a time to clear the head and plan for the future. C flew to the Magic fashion show in Los Vegas twice this year for Corporate Skirts. She liked the gambling glitz more than I did. And by doing shows on both coasts we were able to deal with a larger pick of venders. We were able to buy merchandise never before seen in Wilmington NC, giving Corporate Skirts a real fashion forward edge. Unfortunately our store's demographics was in a recession and sales were slow in building. To make extra money I wrote fashion makeovers articles for a local magazine. Seems I have a good eye for smoothing down the bulk plaguing different body types, and it was enjoyable writing about it. It was like helping caterpillars turn into butterflies. 

Before

After

  

As mentioned above, my buying trips meant I was able to visit long time friends Q and L. By this time  Q had graduated TarHeel blue and had done time in Honduras with the Peace Corps. He was now living in DC working for a Latino not-for-profit organization and bar-tending at night. His spanish had reached street value. Fluently aware. And his roaring 20s were in full swing. Visiting him was never boring. He's a magnificent cook and great company. 

"I'm going surfing in Nicaragua in March. You want to go?" Q asked me on one of these buying trips. 

"I can't because I'm going to Chicago to see Shaun. Can you go in May?" By now I was visiting Chicago twice a year to see my son. I loved Chicago. Shaun and I would walk around the city chatting, shopping, and eating. During the evenings he'd play his band's newest music or I'd go to one of his shows. Once we even went to a Cubs game. 

"No, can't." Q replied, "I have a prior obligation that month. Too bad I can't afford two trips. I'm hooking Nicaragua in with my commitment to Honduras." Since the Peace Corps Q had been supporting a family living in a very small village nestled in the center of Honduras. Every year he went out to build something for them. 

"Tell you what, while you're surfing Nicaragua scope it out for me. I'll go in May by myself if you think it'd be safe." I asked of him. 

"Can do." he said. For the evening DC entertainment, Q and I strolled to his local bar where I'd get introduced to his latest friends. We'd spend the hours reminiscing and catching up on things.  

Early the next morning Q toured me around the DC area on his scooter. Then we had breakfast at his favorite cafe'. After our "see ya's" I headed back onto I95 north to L's place. There I settled in for the NY fashion filled weekend. For the next two days I traveled the train to Grand Central and walked the Jarvis Center's Coterie show for hours doing business. L met me when the show was over and we cruised the NY streets looking at creative genres of art, be it books, music, paintings, or whatever the mood dictated. We ended the evening with dinner and drinks at his favorite watering hole. Monday morning L went to his job at Merck Pharmaceuticals where he was a chemist, while I headed home regenerated. I had put in some quality time with friends in two lively cities, and was now ready for the struggles associated with running my up-and-coming small business at home.  

In May of 2009 I did travel to Nicaragua for what would be my last out of the country surf trip to date.              

Nicaragua 

Q was true to his word and spied out one good Nicaragua surf spot he figured I'd enjoy; Colorado. He got me so excited about it I went on the internet and made all my reservations. For the first time I was going to do a third-world surf trip by myself. I packed up two of my kneeboards and flew to Managua. Upon arrival I took a taxi through Rivas and on to Playa Gigante. There I settled in for a ten day stay at the Hotel Brio. 

The first day Colorado was breaking a solid 6ft+. Since the divorce I hadn't traveled much and had grown accustomed to my local breaks. It'd been awhile since I surfed fast breaking crowded barrels. On day one I got my ass handed to me by the waves. After that session I rented a mountain bike and rode some trails around the little fishing village scoping out the place. There were no other places to surf within close walking distance so I went back to Colorado the next morning for round 2. After another bitch-slapping round I ventured about two miles north to a large point break I heard about and watched a couple of surfers get some really fun big rights. It was then that I decided I'd rent a boat and hit some point breaks. For the remainder of the trip, that was what I did. 

I surfed good size Hongo Reef, Miramar, big Popoyo and Poneloya Beach, just to name a few places. Then I'd walk to Colorado and surf while the sun set. I had gained back my confidence and was now having a good time there. In the evenings I'd journal. This was the first trip I filled a journal up. I wrote like I was writing a long 10 day letter to C, it was complete with drawings, maps, and the story of when the village monkey played me like a tree. The local fishermen had a good laugh when the monkey tried to eat my hair. By the end of the trip I had an epiphany that writing was my dream. And that deep down I knew I had a one-hit wonder in my soul. The Real Life of a Kneeboarding Gidget. (I figured if the movie was made Scarlett Johansson could play me :) But in 2009 my life was moving in a different direction with Corporate Skirts, so my book would have to wait. In the mean time, I'd devour every aspect of the life I was living. By the end of my trip in May I voted Nicaragua my favorite place to go, (actually it started back in 1977 when Crag Peterson told me about the place and showed me pictures), and deep in my heart I pondered the year I would return to write my book. 

All-and-all 2009 ended on a pretty good note. I was getting closer to my dearest friends, I had great destinations for brain clearing road trips, I was visiting my kids regularly, and I was in love. I had a business that was growing slowly but steadily, and I was healthy enough to still hang in some pretty big surf. The only drawback I was having was the draining of capitol. I was going broke fast. 

Chicago 

(C & I are somewhere Waldo) 

2008: Corporate Skirts

During my college years I held odd jobs. For example one semester I substuted for the New Hanover Co. public school system which was fun. Every day was a different classroom situation, like a first day on the job every day. Being a surfer helped me connect with the students, so for the most part I was warmly received. The only time I hit a bump in the classroom was when I subbed for an 8th grade math class for three consecutive days. The teacher left a long lesson plan about fractions, and being a Liberal Arts person, I was a little stumped on how to teach the class. "Don't worry," said one girl, "Ms. Williams figures subs are a joke anyway." That was all the motivation I needed to take the lessons home and brush up on fractions. On day two I had the class caught up with time to spare, so, we went outside to play dodgeball on day three. A joke my ass!

One summer I cleaned pools for a bunch of vacation places on Pleasure Island. That job really tried my physical endurance. I cleaned 12 pools a day five days a week and four pools on Saturday. Lifting and carrying the cleaning equipment in and out of the pool area built my physique up like a lean mean MMA fighter. I was also as tan and blond as Malibu Barbie. Cleaning pools at the beach meant I could go surfing during my lunch break, and I could take lunch whenever the winds and tides were right, and I cleaned pools near all the good surf spots on Pleasure Island, so, when I took my lunch I knew just were to go. The bad thing about cleaning pools at beach resort places was that people love to go to the beach then rinse themselves off in the pool. Because if this, I was forever vacuuming what amounted to a half acre of sand from every damn pool, every damn day I worked! Backwashing became my biggest ally.

The truth was, that summer I made $8 an hour and I was well worth the low pay, because even though I cleaned pools for awhile when I lived in Newport Beach CA., I knew nothing about the chemical balance it took to keep a pool clear. Once the company I worked for opened a new account and sent me over to clean their fresh newly built pool. I fogged it up within ten minutes. It took days to get the chemicals in balance and clear the fog. The company never sent me to another new account again. But the most memorable thing about that summer was when I lost my $5000. tennis bracelet while scrubbing the sides of one of the pools. The value of that loss was more then I made all summer.

Flashback: That 5 carat tennis bracelet wasn't the first piece of expensive jewelry I had lost or broken. In fact I was in the habit of losing lots of diamonds over the years of my marriage to Mark, especially earrings while surfing. I'd forget to take them out before paddling out. Other jewelry I had broken because I'm so hard on dainty things. But Mark always replaced the losses with more diamonds. It was like he wanted his women flashy and was willing to spend a lot of money on it. This was his way in everything. He never went cheep, always high dollar. Like when he got addicted to Ebay and rock & roll autographs, and when he decided to play the guitar. He spent thousands buying six or seven guitars, with some being special editions! He also spent a lot on recording equipment and wah-wah pedals. Everything was high dollar, and for him things became a very expensive habit. But here's the dark side as I saw it, Mark never considered me as a viable contributor to the household finances. To him the money Hot Wax was bring in was all from his doing, consequently I had very little say in all the money he was spending to have the best of everything his heart desired. My roll as the dutiful wife and mother was to be quiet, look pretty, and enjoy all the trips and flash. Honestly, that might sound great for some women but not for an independent tomboy like myself. I was never born the Princess type (though I did like the trips). I wanted to feel like I was an important family decision maker and value to Hot Wax, and therefore our income was earned equally. But that wasn't the case, especially when Hot Wax gave us an income over 6 figures. Suddenly Hot Wax, and all control of the money, was entirely Mark's. This became real evident in the divorce when Mark told everyone in the courtroom I didn't deserve a thing.

After the divorce I gave most of my diamond jewelry to Shaun and Sarah. Others I lost. When I realized the tennis bracelet was gone for good I hit a milestone. It was the final end of the Mark glitz years, (although I still have a 2 carat ring and 1 carat diamond C had put in a custom-made, very sturdy bracelet, which I can't break. I save these diamonds also for my kids.) So, even though the bracelet loss was expensive, I let it go. Now I don't worry about losing things in the surf or through hard work. Now my flash is from me and my inner being, and it is very modest and simple....well, except when it comes to cars.

After graduating from UNCW with a Fine Arts degree I got a job in retail...again. After all, artists always need a day job right? I started working at Jos. A. Bank which ended up being a low pay, extremely demanding, and non-greatfull work environment. And when I was moved up to Assistant Manager the young guy who wanted the job (while he was attending the business school at UNCW) decided he didn't like me. "This place ran perfectly fine before you got here so you don't need to rock the boat by bossing people around." He promptly told me, and he challenged me at every turn. I knew the guy was stealing and after a year I decided I had had enough of his attitude which was encouraged by the rest of the 'boy's club' I worked with, so I decided I'd put my 20 years of retail experience to work and expose his thieving ways for all to see. It didn't take me long to reveal his mathematical and backdoor methods whereupon he was promptly fired and lost his future internship with Merrill Lynch. Then I quit.

The concept of Jos. A. Bank intrigued me to the point that I decided to start up a retail store with the same concept, but for women. I still had capital from Hot Wax and people around me who I believed would work well as a team. C had been a paralegal for nine years for a criminal attorney and was ready for a change, but didn't know how to make one. I knew she had the skills to be a perfect business manager and take care of all the book and computer needs. As far as retail experience, I knew I could teach her everything she needed to know. M had worked for Footlocker for ten years and knew the ins-and-outs of corporate retail. I knew she'd make a good floor manager. After our first meeting where we set out the format we bought tickets to attend the Magic trade show in Los Vegas. A trade show I'd been wanting to attend for years.

A week before the Magic show I, for some reason, thought it would be a good idea to ride my mountain bike after a few drinks. Surprisingly, I didn't make it over a small hill in the woods behind my house and consequently broke my ankle. Memo: never drink and ride.

The same orthopedic that put a plate and screws in my wrist from my dirt bike incident, and who repaired my snowboarding accident injury in 2007, (a stretched Ulnar Collateral Ligament; Anterior Band. A surgery which I was awake for because I ate one pizza roll 30 minutes before I was to go under anesthesia...my bad. It was cool looking at the open anatomy of my elbow though. This was the surgery however that killed my 40 year softball career.), anyway, the same orthopedic promptly screwed another plate and six screws in my ankle. Then he stapled my skin together. He could not put my ankle in a cast so I had to wear a boot. During the Magic show C and M had a good time pushing me and my boot around in a wheelchair with reckless abandonment. Venders found it amusing and because of that we were able to pick up fashion lines that otherwise would never have talk to a new business like us. By the end of the show we were buying suits and other clothing from designers living in Denmark, Italy, Canada, London, and other places around the world. Corporate Skirts was going to bring international fashion forward business wear to the small North Carolina town of Wilmington. It was very cool. 

Upon our return, C, M, and I in my boot, started the repair and remodeling of the 1700 sq. ft. of retail space. It took three months to turn the space from a dance bar into a classy women's business clothing boutique. Once again I played the General Contractor using the guys who built my house, and the three of us gals did whatever work we could in between to save time and money.  

When we finally opened the doors we were greeted with positive responces. We were featured in two local magazines which helped us advertise and I was even given a fashion makeover writing job in one of them. Before the year was over M got a higher paying job (she was the only one getting a paycheck) and moved on leaving C and I to continue without her, which was fine because C had learned the tricks of the retail trade very quickly and was doing everything M could do and more therefore, M had become too expensive to keep anyway. With her gone we had more money to pay our tailor, the same tailor who did alterations for Jos. A. Bank. We had built a tailoring room in the back of the store so we could custom fit the business suits we sold to women like Jos. A. Bank did for men. It was a good concept for female bankers, attorneys, and any other profession where women needed to wear a suit. It was what set Corporate Skirts apart from other boutiques. We were really on to something, and 2008 proved to be very exciting! 

2007 pt.2: Italy trip #2; Sarah's Wedding

Ben's sister, Step-dad, Mom, Ben, Sarah, Dana (my niece), my Mom, me, & C
(Sarah's something borrowed was my veil)

While Sarah was at UNCG she met the love of her life in a man named Ben. After Ben's graduation, and during Sarah's senior year of college, they got married. (He and I graduated at the same time. Sarah would graduate in the Spring of 2008).

I wish I could say the planning for the event was smooth, but is it ever? The drama started early when Sarah decided to support tolerance and wanted C to officiate over the wedding ceremony. Sarah isn't a religious person so she toyed with the idea of a modern gay friendly wedding. Of course this concept didn't sit well with her father Mark (which was understandable) so, he decided early not to attend. Personally, I was intrigued that C (or anyone for that matter) could go online and pay $15 to become a .com Minister with Universal Ministries. This certificate allowed C to perform weddings, but she can not get married herself...go figure!

But, as all early wedding decisions go, this officiating idea came and went and Sarah moved on to other more traditional options. Unfortunately the damage between Mark and Sarah was so old and extensive that Mark would not consider the inevitable changes planning for a wedding goes through as normal. He treated the two like they were foolishly indecisive. During a dinner Sarah, Ben and Mark were having to discuss plans for the union Mark called his daughter's future husband a wimp and said he would not pay for anything. The two young lovers simply got up from the table and left Mark to think about his self-inflected exclusion. On the ride home, both Sarah and Ben made three wedding decisions that stuck; 1) they decided to have a small traditional ceremony in an old traditional palace, with 2) a Destination Wedding in Venice Italy and 3), they would not ask Mark for a dime.  

   

The beauty of a Destination Wedding (DW) is many-fold. The best reason is that the wedding includes the Honeymoon. After the ceremony Sarah and Ben traveled North to Austria and Switzerland for a couple of weeks to enjoy the homelands of some of Ben's favorite music composers (Ben plays the piano). When they returned to the states as Mr. & Mrs., they had incredible wedding memories stamped in their passports. The whole thing was quite romantic.

After the wedding it's an Italian tradition to walk the couple around town to show them off and take pictures. While Sarah and Ben did their walk Italians cheered and tourists congratulated the couple when they passed. It was warmly validating. 

Great Reason #2 for a DW is that for the guests who attend it's a good reason to vacation. Those of us who flew to Italy for the wedding had plenty of time to spend together sightseeing because Sarah had done such a superb job planning the event. As a group we experienced Murano Glass works, museums, beautiful architecture, and stained-glass windows. Since we had ample time for leisure, we ate, drank, and walked to our hearts content. Our small group, consisting of multiple last names, got along superbly too. I especially enjoyed the company of my Mom. It was like we were on the same page after all our trials and errors. It was evident she had become 'one of the girls,' or was it I had become one of the elders....oh now that's scary!

(Fur stole complements of Mark's Mother)

Another good reason for a DW is that those who want to attend pay to do it. For Sarah and Ben this kept the cost of the wedding down. For family members and friends who could not go to Italy Sarah organized a simple reception that would take place state-side the following January. Mark attended the reception but he wasn't in good form. He was so high on something he couldn't stand straight let alone see clearly. He stumbled through the Father-Daughter dance while saying disrespectful things to Sarah. He was also seen heavily petting his date in a booth next to his own Mother (Sarah's Grandmother). Mark isn't an evil person, he simply has a difficult time dealing with not being in control. His reaction over Sarah's wedding was a perfect example of Mark's contempt for independence. To date he believes he has nothing to apologize for. Some might disagree.

Anyway, after the Italian ceremony, and after Sarah and Ben left for their honeymoon, the rest of us guests went our separate ways and experienced Europe as we wished. C and I set out for a 10 day excursion to southern Italy. To help our photos become more interesting, we brought a small yellow plastic rubber race ducky named Pedro to take pictures of at all the cool places we visited and/or stumbled into because we were lost. Italy has the most confusing roads ever! One can go around in circles for hours and never know where they are. (C and I did that a lot.) Anyway, the game was on to use Pedro the Duck as a Where's Pedro in our Italy photo album.

Venice

Our first destination after leaving Venice was Florence...or Firenze. We visited Duomo, Uffizi and all the churches in between. By this time historic churches were beautiful and inspiring. By the time we reached the end of our trip both C and I didn't care if we ever walked into a church again. However, if there's one thing I love about the Renaissance its how the walls of not only churches, but palaces, government building, and dance halls became canvases for the poor yet creative. Hell, in Italy the amount of graffiti everywhere, especially on trains, makes it look like graffiti is not only legal, but encouraged. Sometimes I wonder if that modern artistic expression is nothing more than the evolution of independent Renaissance art.      

Florence

C's and my second destination was Sienna where we walked the streets enjoying local eateries and pubs. If I were to ever go back to Italy I would spend more time in Sienna, and I would do it while the vineyards were in bloom. The place is quaint and quiet, but maybe that was because in Sienna C and I had a room that wasn't next to an elevator. One sure thing about hotels in Italy is that they have thin walls and very small, yet loud, elevators. 

While we were walking the less confusing streets of Sienna C and I stumbled into a small hole-in-the-wall bar called Bella Vista Social Pub. They liked that we were Americans who knew a thing or two about football and paid for all our drinks. After our night-on-the-town C and I stumbled through the quiet thin streets to our hotel and considered the evening a Go USA success. 

Sienna

Our third stop was in Roma where C and I spent Christmas. In Rome we visited the Vatican where I attempted to put Pedro on a statue for a picture. I was promptly yelled at for touching. Roman solders seemed to be everywhere. Consequently, I consider Rome a very safe place. There were cameras at intersections, on buildings facing the sidewalks, and in alleyways. There were even officers in what looked like large phone booths on random streets. Its kind of reassuring and creepy at the same time.  

On Christmas Eve we bought a bottle of Absinthe. Neither one of us had ever tried the stuff so we were excited about spending Christmas with it. 

On Christmas day we toasted to the Holidays and went out into the confusing streets of Rome to celebrate. We walked around like we didn't care where we were going. Which was a good thing considering we had no sense of directions at this point anyway. About 8pm we walked into a gay bar and sat down at a table with a couple of locals and had a few beers. I vaguely remember the bar except that the people were very talkative and liked that we were surfers. By this time the Absinthe was in full effect and I was feeling pretty good. I'm sure C and I talked shit like pros with the rest of the patrons, and maybe even a wardrobe malfunction happened, but I can't remember. 

After we finished our 6 or more beers, C and I went out into the streets again to find our way back to the Hotel Nardizzi to pass out. When we woke up the next morning we checked out the pictures we took Christmas night while drunk. Apparently on the walk to the hotel we gave our camera to random strangers because there were a bunch of photos taken of us. Neither one of us remembers any of it. It's a good time to point out that the Absinthe in Italy is much better than the stuff one gets in the states. In fact, there is no comparison. My abs may of hurt from all the laughing we did while enjoying the evenings festivities, however neither C nor I woke up with rip-roaring hangovers. That says a lot! 

Christmas in Rome

(We don't remember having this picture taken at the Fontana di Trevi)

Our final destination was Naples where they were having a trash strike. The most confusing place of all Italy to walk was covered with a stench that gave the place a real grossness. As I mentioned before, one thing I noticed about Italy was all the graffiti. Its everywhere! Its more so in Naples. Add two weeks of trash and, well, you get the picture. If I were to make one recommendation concerning Italy I would say, "avoid Naples." Its not as beautiful as the rest of the Italian boot. 

Napels 

By now C and I had visited all the churches, museums and art galleries our eyes could hold so all we did in Naples was walk around and get lost. At one point we passed the Castello Dell'ovo and stopped for a look inside. It has an interesting history and beautiful views of Naples, the Tyrrhenian and Mediterranean Seas, and Capri (on a clear day). In fact, it was from its tower that we decided to go to Capri for a day. 

Castel dell'Ovo (in Italian, Egg Castle) is a castle located on the former island of Megaride, now a peninsula, on the gulf of Naples (Southern Italy). The castle's name comes from a medieval legend which tells that the Roman poet Virgil, who developed a medieval reputation as a great sorcerer as well, put a magical egg in the foundations to support them.                 (P.S. We didn't find any egg shells.)

Capri is a very pretty island, but also very high dollar and touristy. While there C and I rented scooters and cruised around. We rode up to the Seggiovia di Monte Solaro and took the chairlift to the top of Monte Solaro. It was a spectacular three hundred and sixty degree view. On the scooter ride back to the rental place C and I got competitive (shocker) and raced through the narrow streets of Via Provincilale di Anacapri. The race ended when we got to the crowded mid section of Capri and had to break for pedestrians every ten feet. We both declared ourselves winners.  

Capri

On the boat ride back to Naples we were two content people. That night we went to a local pub and had a few to commemorate our last night in Italy. Unfortunately we both got drunk and walked around the trash filled streets for two hours looking for the Hotel Eropeo where we were staying. Then, because the walls were so thin, we were up at dawn listening to guests chatting and dragging their luggage across the floors and into the teeny-tiny elevator. At this point C and I were ready to leave Italy and head on home for a good nights sleep. 

C

On the return to the states C and I had a 14 hour, over night layover in London. To pass the time we went to dinner and then visited some of the places I had heard about on the news like Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abby, and Big Ben. As we walked around I found it funny that the Londoners felt the need to paint Look Right on the streets. I figure its British humor directed at us Americans tourists. Or did the English think it was necessary? Either way, Look Right is painted all over the roads in London just in case one forgets when they cross to the other side.   

After taking in the night lights of London we went back to the Sofitel London Gatwick Hotel and crashed for night. We had an early flight to catch.

London

C and I returned to the states tired, yet full of incredible memories. And when we went through our pictures we were grateful for Sarah and Ben's idea of a DW. Over the years I have traveled the world and visited some of the most beautiful places and beaches God artistically created, but when it comes to a non-surfing trip, Italy will always be one of my favorite places to go...all except for Naples. The truth is, one day I'd like to return to the beautiful boot of the Mediterranean and witness once again the miles of Sunflowers, vineyards, and beaches (even though there are no waves).  But for now, I thank Sarah for prompting me to go in the first place...twice! 

                                                Thanks Sarah and Ben for making it happen... 

...and Congratulations!

When you arise in the morning, think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive - to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love.

Marcus Aurelius

2007 pt.1: Graduation

     

Finally!, years of tests, teacher's opinions which had to be right in order to pass the class, my own ineligible notes, and 8am classes...over! While most people who spend 7 years in college become doctors, I learned how to make pottery, how to draw a picture with chalk, how to survive a heart ripping divorce, and how to love many things. At my Department Graduation my Adviser said of me, "It was a pleasure having Tamara in class. Workshopping with her was an interesting and insightful moment. She's very direct while being articulate, heartfelt and encouraging. She would be a good teacher..." They didn't tell me I would write a masterpiece one day. I swallowed that chunk of humility with a vodka tonic. My Mom called me tenacious. After looking it up in my worn out Oxford American Dictionary, which I use with my now crumbling Bartett's Roget's Thesaurus, I was grateful for the underground complement. 

School is about figuring out who you are, what you believed in, what feels right, sounds correct, works with your body type etc. It's an awakening to the the things you can respect, trust, love & commit too. So I figured in my mid-life crisis I needed to reconnect with some of the fundamentals I missed while surfing my way through high school. When I started college my ground rules were simple. I'd take 12 hours a semester and I'd refuse to go to summer school. I got odd jobs in the summer to stay busy. I stuck to my plan and upon graduation I had discovered a whole new set of personal values. I discovered the innate and smart blond inside of me with something to add to the world other than being someone's wing-[wo]man.  

Going back to school helped me think young. One thing about growing old is if you're not carful modern concepts, ideas and TV shows can pass you by. Over time this can make a person feel lost and disconnected, regardless of facebook. I enjoyed participating in current affairs with free-spirited students. They helped me with the full University experience, that and the fact that I was in college alongside my daughter. During my college years I totaled 15 phone numbers from students, 5 invitations for drinks from my professors, 3 offers to go surfing in Costa Rica, and unlimited choices of study groups. I was definitely more popular than I was in high school. How redeeming is that!?! I recommend everyone going through a mid-life crises regain their ingrained ego by going back to college.    

At 40+ I had to study extra hard to remember proper nouns and timeline dates, so I was that person that actually read the homework. In truth I spent obnoxious amounts of $$$ buying New Addition books that were nothing more then old editions with the chapters moved around (what a scam that is!). I never sold the books back because deep down I'm a goofy nerd and I couldn't help but find "the facts" in the required readings interesting. I now have shelves of wisdom I keep for future references, however, promptly upon graduation, I burned all my math books in a very satisfying bonfire. 

What I didn't like about school were tests. Multiple choice ones gave my body heat flashes, and I'd get dizzy trying to use the process of elimination technique when, in my philosophical mind, all applied. I was better at the quizzes I could bluff through with a maddening number of words. It's a Liberal Arts technique that took me over 100 hours of class participation and a semester of Epistemology to master. My one school folly was that I cheated to get a C in Computer Class. I couldn't grasp the concept of a spreadsheet so I copied off of the 18 year old kid sitting next to me. One of Sarah's high school friends did my Powerpoint assignment, which I got and A on. My one failure was in Intro To Spanish Literature because the teacher taught the class in spanish and I couldn't hang. However I was so interested in the readings (which were in spanish) I bought the books in their English translation and read them. The teacher wasn't impressed and still gave me an F.     

In 2004 I entered the Creative Writing program at UNCW with the dream of becoming a poet. It quickly became obvious that there was a hellish future in poetry. In workshops my professors told me, "You have censorship issues," and the students said, "We don't get it. You need to stay away from the Thesaurus." I took everything they wrote on my papers to heart, but discovered my personal demon was the fear of my sentences being misunderstood. And when my words didn't help people make the metaphysical leaps I anticipated, I'd get frustrated. I lied to myself thinking it was my age. The truth was, I discovered so many voice options they confounded even me. I also have issues with past and present tenses. They sublime in my brain. I mean seriously, what about the past doesn't transfer into the present anyway? Like, you live to perform live, and, read again what was read? Anywho, I'm now the queen of constant revisions.  

  

For one poem I wrote in 2005, and tend to like, I worked on the voice for 6 months until I came up with an inner child. I found her voice a good way to stay away from the big words I was learning in my Thesaurus and the philosophy mumbo-jumbo I was addicted to. The poem goes like this...  

Night Lights

(fiction) 

by Tamara Paul

There are a lot of little night lights in my new home.

I count them all the time but I can not count past ten so I count to ten twice.

There are more I leave behind.

Some of them call me into a room as if they were my friend,

like the big tulip light with a white butterfly on it.

It glows orange and green on the red walls of Mommy's office.

Mommy's office has no big lights.

She says that she cannot work in big lights.

She says too much light hurts her eyes.

I guess the big lights give her all those blue boo boos.

She says she does not want to see the men she works with either.

I do not understand all that,

but I guess that is why Mommy likes to buy pretty night lights.

I like to look at them, and I try to count them. 

Some night lights are on the counters,

other lights hide behind plants.

An angel light glows behind a picture of Grandma holding a water bucket.

She is on a farm. She was four like me.

I like that picture. Her face is dirty but she is smiling.

She must of been having fun on that farm. 

I know I would like it.

Grandma gave me Tickles.

She said she knew what it was like when Daddies go away.

She said Tickles would understand too.

I guess Tickles is smarter than I am.

Big lights do not scare him.

We like to cuddle. 

There are lots of Tinker-bell lights on the walls.

They show me where the light switch is 

and they give me the light I need to go pee pee at nighttime while Mommy is working.

Sometimes I sleep next to the light that looks like a yellow glass part of the moon.

There is a little blue star hanging from its tip top. 

I like that one the best.

Tickle likes it too.

It glows next to the couch in our big room.

I sleep on the couch sometimes.

That way I do not have to hear Mommy cry at night.

That makes me sad and I cry too.

Mommy will not cuddle with me.

She says that is why I have Tickles.

Maybe tomorrow I will try to count all the night lights again with Tickles help.

He is smarter that I am.

He can count past ten,

but has not taught me how yet.

In my short stories the young voice tended to disagree with my world experiences so I spent many Creative Writing projects trying to find an adult voice that didn't sound like a rambling Ayn Rand. By the time I graduated in 2007 I had so many voices in my head that they'd spend way too much time arguing about word play. I loved it though, and wrote the ramblings down on expensive internet accessible typewriters that would crash every two years and take my "art" pieces with them to the trash heap. Good thing I'm accustomed to pushing PRINT. Upon graduation I embraced the fact that writing gets me higher than any drug I ever took. I still dream of the day it will pay my AT&T bills. 

On the occasion of my graduation I bought for myself Hans; a 2005 black manual 6speed V8 BMW 645ci. He's pure road sex!

My Infinity G35 had become a money issue and it was time to let him go. The dealership in Raleigh had already replaced the clutch once. I blame the malfunction on the time C took a Porsche off the line. She won! That was impressive. It goes to show you that sometimes it's not horses but technique. But my biggest money issue with the Baby was with the tires. The front and the back tires were different sizes so they couldn't be rotated and the Baby liked expensive tires that softened up while driving. One year when I took the Baby to Snowshoe he got stuck and I had to have him pulled out. It bent something that made the Baby wear down tires in an odd way. He also started skipping on meandering turns. It was a little scary at high speeds. 

I checked out our local BMW dealership and found a black 645 that was hot as hell but it was an automatic. I researched the internet and found Hans in Pittsburg (yes, Hans is a European Steeler). I made a trade-in deal over the phone which equaled Hans being paid for in full! So the following weekend C and I drove the Baby 10 hours 23 minutes up to Pennsylvania. It was a beautiful drive through the mountains, but it was a better drive home with rotatable run-flats (there's no place in Hans for a spare tire), and cool moving headlamps. Within the first hour of driving my new BMW I discovered that "Efficient Dynamics Pleasures" meant Hans was much smarter than I am, even with a college education. He's got more bells and warning lights than I had ever seen. Good thing he came with 3 owner's manuals. I keep a 5 euro bill in his visor to help me understand his sophisticated touchiness. 

Because Hans was from Steeler Land the first thing I did was to convert him with an Oakland Raiders emblem. I stuck it on his trunk. He's also the first car I ever had that I haven't put surf racks on. (Gratefully I ride a 5'2" kneeboard that fits inside with me.) The sexiest thing about Hans, besides his looks, is his giddy-up horses. Once C and I were driving back from Myrtle Beach and I passed a left-lane driver who was doing the side-by-side thing with the car in the right lane. I used the left turn lane, which was short in length but nothing compared to Hans' down-shifting magnitude, to pass the left-lane driver. The slow driver got so pissed he called Highway Patrol. I was pulled within two miles. The officer complimented on Hans (which happens a lot) while giving me only a warning citation. The slow left-lane driver, who had pulled over with me to confirm his complaint, watched. The officer told him to go away. If I wasn't attached I'd go out the fine outstanding officer. I like people who understand the thrill of being born addicted to the fast lane.  

All-in-all, graduating from college and getting a new car was a highlight in 2007. But the biggest highlight of the year was Sarah's wedding in Italy... That will be explained in 2007 pt.2. 

"Freewill is a corollary of consciousness: to say that we are free is merely to mean we know what we are doing." (The Story of Philosophy; by Will Durant, 1961)       

2006 Pt.2: My Dad

    Greg

"Greg was born a rascal," his sister told me, "His charm could melt buttercream icing off an ice cream cake. But because of his lifestyle, he had chosen Hell for all eternity." she added. My Aunt was a little on the religious side. She also embraced Native Americanism. A couple of things I remember about her were her prayers, and that she liked to judge people. Both her and my Uncle were quick to snub when call for. Personally, I always thought the Bible explained human frailty and the necessity of human grace pretty well. Every one of us is broken. That's one of the reasons God created humor, and time.   

My Grandma told me Greg was a smuck. "He was no good from the start," she said.

My Mom didn't really talk about him unless I brought it up. 

"How'd you two meet?" I asked one day.  

"We met at a military dance while your Dad was in the service. He was a good looking guy and I was flattered that he took notice of me." she said. Who wouldn't want an athletic, ambitious, hard working valedictorian for a wife in the 1950s? Especially if you were a free spirit like my Dad.

When I visited Greg in November of 2006, he told me he worked for my Grandpa at his gas station. He said my Grandpa set him up with my Mom and that he was happy to marry her. "Your Mom is a smart woman," he said, "she always had it together. It was impressive." He also told me my Grandpa was a hard man. That when he drank he got mean and verbally abusive. My Dad told me my Grandpa treated women like shit too. I knew this about my Grandpa. What I didn't know, was that my Dad and my Grandpa were drinking buddies. 

Both my parent's stories agree on one fact, soon after my Mom and Dad met they got married. 

                                              

1957 

In 1961 we were a family 

In 1962 My Mom and Dad were divorced. I once found papers in my Grandma's basement that reveled court proceedings of when my Dad tried to sue my Mom for money. He was supposed to pay child support but never did, so, to get out of trouble he sued my Mom claiming she made enough money for everyone and therefore didn't need help from him. Apparently he asked the court to award him alimony from her. 

It was true my Mom had a good job and was making stable money for a woman and single Mother of two in the 1960s. My mom is smart, hardworking and dedicated to being an alpha female, and when the courts decided in her favor my Dad moved on with his own life. He never paid child support and my Mom never took him to court for it. They just let each other go. 

Within the next few years my Dad remarried and divorced again. He had two more kids, another boy, and another girl. The first time I met them was at the reunion for our Dad's side of the family (See: 1993-94: Costa Rica #2 & Personal Stepping Stones, April 27, 2011). My half siblings lived in Washington State. My Mom moved us to sunny California. Only Oregon was between our geography, but it might have well been a universe.   

One day in 1970, while we lived in Mountain View, my Dad called my Mom saying he was in town and wanted to spend the day with my brother and me. When he showed up at the house he had a girl with long red hair hanging from his arm. We (except my Mom) went to my religious Aunt's house for the day. I don't remember much about the visit, but I do remember hopping up on my Dad's lap and asking him, "What do I call you?" "Call me Greg." he replied. My 10 year old giddiness turned into confusion. "Okay Dad," I said, and I jumped from his lap and went outside to play with my cousins. From then on I considered him a novelty. Like a Christmas toy in a locked wooden case. One that can't be played with because it's valuable and might break. 

                                      

1975

When I contacted my Dad back in the early 90s he was happy to hear from me. For a while we exchanged simple letters and Christmas cards. The letters eventually tapered off, yet the Christmas cards kept coming.  My Dad's Common Law wife Dee was sending my family the season greetings. She'd often write a personal note in them telling me how good Greg was doing. Sometimes there was even a few words from him attached. He'd ask a question and/or relay a broad bush-stroke of information about himself. I knew he would never come out to see me and going out to see him wasn't high on my priority list in the 90s. I was seeing the rest of the world instead. But the man had entered my conscience and over the years I wouldn't let him go completely. 

Lil'C & Greg

Life moved on after the letters stopped and thoughts about my Dad would fade in and out of my mind like whimsical happenstances. Then in 2006 my half brother called to tell me Greg was dying of lung cancer. "His time is short. If you ever want to meet him it's now. I can pick you up at the Seattle airport if you'd like and drive you out to his place. Then I'll come get you and take you back to the airport." I was there within the week, grateful my half brother was looking out for me. 

The drive out to Spokane from Seattle was fascinating. I found out that my half brother worked in the ER at W. Seattle General Hospital. We talked about my half sister and how she's got a kid and is doing hair in a small shop on the outskirts of Seattle. The two don't see each other often. Then we talked about Dad. He told me that Dad doesn't get out of Spokane much and hasn't been to Seattle to see relatives in a long time. My half brother told me about the years of drug use too, "He's been doing all kinds of stuff for a long time. I haven't seen him in awhile so I'm not sure how things stand now. Try not to get your hopes up too high for anything." 

"I have no expectations." I confirmed. When we pulled into the driveway butterflies started flittering in my belly.  

We knocked on the door of the old house with a strange damp smell. The weather was cold and there was a light layer of snow on the ground. Dee opened the door and welcomed us in as the long lost relatives we were. Hugs all around. The inside of their place was like a old mountain cabin. Everything was made of wood. I walked through the small kitchen, past the log stove with a warm fire glowing from it, and into the living room there Greg was. I saw this old frail man, made of nothing but skin and bones, struggling to stand up from his personal recliner. "Hi. Tammy!" he said with a big smile. I loved him immediately.

Dee & Greg

Dee cooked us dinner and we chatted about the weather and Greg's bees which he factors out to farmers for pollination and sells their honey. "Dee and I eat two tablespoons of their pure honey everyday." he told me, "It's good for the digestive system." During the meal I couldn't take my eyes off of the man who held some visible keys to my nature. I watched his eye expressions and hand movements to see if they were like mine. I watched his mouth under his beard to see if we had the same smile. I also wanted to see if we walked the same, but he was so weak he didn't move far from his chair. 

young Greg

young me

 After dinner my half brother left leaving me alone in my Dad's house with the couple I had only known through letters. 

"Do you smoke?" Dad asked.

"Sometimes." By now I had cut my cigarettes down to maybe two a day. They were more for relaxing on the deck or socializing then anything else. Greg and Dee had been smoking non stop.

"Do you smoke weed?" Greg asked.

"Sometimes." 

"Would you like to?" 

"Absolutely." I replied.

While he rolled a joint from one of his selections of weed, (he had three yummy types in a Teflon container), we chatted about his drug years. He told me he took lots of trips down the West Coast delivering and picking up all types of drugs. "I was using them too." he said matter-of-factly. "When I saw you in Mountain View I was bringing down a bunch of weed to sell on the coast. When I got to Mexico I picked up Peyote and sold it on the ride back to Washington. One of the major reasons I never saw you and your brother was because there was always a possibility the heat was on. I didn't want to bring them around you guys." 

I wasn't sure I believed that excuse, but the truth was I had forgiven him long ago and didn't really care about any excuse. I was 46 and had been through enough life experiences to realize that some relationships are best left alone. It was obvious that my Mom and Greg were two totally different people from the start, and that the union would have been a bumpy roller-coaster at best anyway, especially with all the drinking and drugs Greg did over his lifetime. 

"Did you ever get busted?" I asked.

"Once I got pulled over while on my way to the East Coast with a van full of weed and Acid. I was high on the Acid and had just smoked a joint. The officer could smell it. He wanted to search the van but I somehow talked him out of it. That was the closes I ever came to being arrested in over 30 years of running drugs." ("His charm could melt buttercream icing off an ice cream cake.") There were many other traveling and drug experimenting stories he told me. Those will be in the book Lil'C and I collaborate on later if we ever get the chance. 

Lil'C & Greg

I couldn't help think at some point, that while I was in high school doing lots of drugs myself, that my Dad could have been the one who brought some of them into the So. Cal. area from Canada, Washington, Mexico and beyond. My Dad told me he hung out with surfers in the 70s. "I had a good friend in Encinitas who surfed." he said. We even reminisced about the different types of weed that was around in the 70s. I had always heard that if you are to connect with someone you do not really know, you should always start with any point of commonness, ironically illegal substances was it between my Dad and me.         

I spent the next few days enjoying our visit and walking around his land. I saw the bees he was so excited about and all the equipment he owned for working on cars and trucks, which was another hobby he had. I also met his long-time friends. They all treated me like I was their own blood. "We're having a living wake party for your Dad next month. Can you come out?" Lil'C asked me. "Absolutely," I confirmed. Lil'C had worked with my Dad for a long long time putting his bee's honey into jars and selling it. She also had a beautiful vegetable garden (still does) and buys and sells classic cars. We became instant friends and writing companions.   

When the week was over my half brother came to pick me up and take me to the airport. During the drive we talked about what I experienced. While I told him about my new relationships he didn't hide his disdain for our Dad, much like my brother did when I asked him to come out to Washington with me. It was interesting how both of Greg's sons didn't want anything to do with him, but his daughters found it easy to let bygones be bygones. My half sister is very independent and charismatic. We hit it off at the reunion, and again when she drove over from Seattle to spend a night with me while I was around Spokane. Even though both of Greg's marriages ended in multi-dimensional feuds it was evident his little girls still loved their Dad, while his boys thought Greg was an ass. 

At the airport I gave my half brother a heartfelt hug and thanked him for all he did. "I know you took time out for me and I'm extreemly grateful for it." I said to him, "You changed my life forever. I wish we lived closer so we all could do more together." 

"Me too." he said, "I'll see you when you come out next month for the wake."

 "Cool." I replied, and we tightly hugged our goodbyes.      

Trip #2

When I returned to Seattle I brought C with me and Shaun flew in from Chicago with his guitar. I rented a car and the three of us did the beautiful drive down I90 through Snoqualmie Pass to Spokane. From the moment my Dad looked into Shaun's eyes the granddad/grandson connection was clear. My Dad was a classic hippie and Shaun resembles one two generations hence, slightly more modern in style.         

Before the living wake the three of us hung out with Greg smoking weed (except C) and chatted about the lives we lead and lead. We also chatted about conceptual ideas like instigators, motivators, and agitators. Then I had to ask a question that was on my mind since my first visit. "Dad, I have to tell you, your front door smells like marijuana plants. Why is that?" He broke out in a big grin, "Weed is growing under the house."  

"What?"

"Yeah, it keeps things cheeper when all I have to do is go out and pick from the garden." he said. 

"I guess so. Hey, um, can we see them?" I asked cautiously.

"Sure." he said proudly.

With Dee under his arm holding him up he walked us outside through the wintry snow to his basement around the back of the house. When he opened the heavy wooden door we saw inside, literally under his house, about 100 marijuana plants of all sizes under a complex system of lights. There were starter plants lined up in small plastic pots in the middle of the large room and bigger plants closer to the walls. The more mature plants had bright red hairs on big round buds almost too weighty for the plant to hold up. The aroma hit us instantly. I had never seen anything like it. Shaun, C and I, stood stunned and impressed. "Wow," was all we could say. Apparently my Dad was an expert weed grower, and had been for over 30 years! 

                                           

The living wake was held at Lil'C's house. A few of Greg's friends and business partners were there, and a few relatives from Indiana which I hadn't seen since 1993. My half sister showed up but my half brother stayed in Seattle. There was live music going on and Shaun played some of his own songs for Greg which was magical. The moment Shaun started to sing tears began to flow from the man who never though he'd ever see his only grandson (Greg has three other granddaughters). Personally, I was excited that I was able to give both of them this time. It was a one of those small big things we can give to forgive, like Velveeda & Shells.

One of my Dad's favorite foods was Kraft Mac & Cheese. When I found this out I thought it was my duty to step up the cheese factor a notch.

"Have you ever tried Velveeda?" I asked him.

"Nooooo." He said with suspicion.

"Oh my gosh it's unbelievable! You gotta to have some. I'll be right back." 

"Where you goin'?"

"To the store."

When I returned I fixed up two boxes of the creamy cheesy shells. With our full bowls in front of us I informed him that his taste buds are in for a party. He smelled his spoonful before sticking it in his mouth. Suddenly his eyes drifted into Velveeda heaven. 

"Wow! This stuff is fantastic." 

"I know right!" 

"This is such fantastic stuff." he repeated. I smiled like a giddy 10 year old. We ate the rest of our meal in a delirious silence. I couldn't help but be proud.  

  

When all the visiting was over Shaun, C and I loaded up the rental car bound for the Seattle airport. But I didn't leave empty handed. I made a new dearest friend and Sis, Lil'C. And through her I now get untainted honey for all the holidays. (Lil'C has her own company called Lil' Carol's Bee Products.) He gave C and me his blessings saying with a wink, "True love is a glorious madness." My Dad gave me a large art book he drew in during the 90s and the sweater my Mom had knitted him in the 1960s which had race cars on it. "I'd been saving it all these years hoping I could give it to you or your brother one day." he told me. "It's in the right hands considering what's on it." I said putting the sweater on. It fit. 

Finally, slowly and methodically, Dad packed up some of his home grown weed, "For the trip home." he said. "Thanks." came the tears. 

The goodbyes were sad knowing my Dad and I would never see each other again. But in my heart I was glad that I could even say goodbye to him at all. Somehow the two visits I had with the man connected some inner circle in my life, and I believe it was somewhat the same for him. My Dad was a man who asked questions about human thoughts, pondered the ways of earth rotations, and valued living with simplicity. He wasn't the master of the universe, but he was a very funny guy with lots of entertaining stories and a kind soul. And that's all I needed to know about him. When my Dad finally passed away I had no regrets, and I pray I healed some of his. After all, I wouldn't want him (or anyone) in Hell for all eternity. 

Greg and my Aunt

The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!"

-Jack Kerouac