Results tagged "Atlantic Ocean"

I’ve entered into this kind of surreal place, and it’s not just because they remade Footloose.

And I wasn’t really going to talk about it, but now that I’m here…. Because you see, I started this blog a million years ago (3 years ago) and a lot can change in that time. Just about everything was different then — although I’m very much the same person give or take a few changes in interest. But when I started this blog, it wasn’t intended to be personal — it just happened. AND I think I told five people about it… my husband, my then-employees and my parents. Okay, six. I told six people. Then I told my sisters, equaling eight and my now-brother-in-law (nine). A few months into it, I told Facebook — and then Twitter…That’s when I lost count and started blathering on about it to complete strangers on the internet…. Lovely people, mind you — with teeth and clean hair, but strangers, nonetheless. And now it’s all out there, and that’s okay… Because it HAS to be, unlike the entertainment industry that thought it would be a good idea to remake Footloose.

But that isn’t all.

It is during this time of blindly yapping around the internet, sharing my life and thoughts with anyone that cares, that I have also taken time off from being a public person. Not that I was ever very public to begin with… hanging back at the events, leaving before anyone else arrives, driving around and around the block (again) in order to avoid having to run into anyone that might know me… sending others in lieu. But those fun days of attempting to be an extroverted introvert happily ended when I closed the doors to my design studio and had kids. I settled in, became a homebody… and remarkably, calmed the F down while also losing touch with my local contacts and business associates. Not to mention, do you know what happens to the brain of a pregnant mother of a three year old? No? Yes? Maybe? I’d tell you but I forgot. Indecision, complete and total memory loss, and the inability to respond to emails. So if I met you once and I don’t remember, let’s just blame Kevin Bacon for allowing them to remake Footloose.

But it hit me the other day, when speaking with another parent from Will’s preschool class, that suddenly there is a whole group of people that are in the process of getting to know me, and vice verse, that may already “know me” through this blog. Some are people that I barely know, because of geographic proximity — which is, DUH, inevitable (thanks Elly, still cooking?), others that I have met briefly and sadly forgot, and then the ones that know me because of this blog, and I’m only meeting now, which leaves me speechless. Because what did I think was going to happen!?

Where we live is incredibly small…. A thin strip of sand jutting out into the Atlantic Ocean being held together by dunes that are tormented daily. And it’s bizarre. Talking to someone that already knows you… Not because they heard about you from someone else, but because you told them yourself. ON THE INTERNET. In your own voice, with your own words, opinions, and (oh no don’t say it) FEELINGS. But what did I think was going to happen (repeated on purpose)!? It isn’t exactly a bad thing… it’s just, I don’t know — ALREADY OUT THERE, kind of like the ORIGINAL VERSION OF FOOTLOOSE. Right?

And if you’re you, Hi! I’m Me! I’m glad you stopped in to read…
Me? I’m good, just taking advantage of the fact that you already read this blog…
Because as corny as it may sound, I’m kind of glad that everything that you’ve read ahead of this point is over with, and you ALREADY KNOW….
It’s like getting it all out of the way! Now we can just fall into a conversation like we’ve known each other for years… and years…
Like 30 years when unaffected small towns in the mid-west banned music and dancing….

Earlier this week I went to Target. As many of you can imagine, I have very little patience for stores that liken themselves to the size and variety of the Atlantic Ocean, but my shopping list included such a range of items that it seemed silly to not go for the convenience factor. Because, obviously, it isn’t the conformity that makes me uncomfortable… no, it’s merely the options and amount of STUFF available for consumption… that and the logo, but who am I to critique the masses?

And so, as we wound are way around shoes and into sporting goods, pausing for a sec to wonder in awe at the new Apple counter, we suddenly found ourselves amid a tizzy of frantic patio and garden enthusiasts… Intrigued, we wandered a little closer to find the seasonal garden department in shambles… hoses all over the place, terracotta pots strewn among the plastics, watering cans and muck boots mingling amongst each other, and the worst — little bags of plant seeds, completely uncategorized… just laying all over the place like no one CARED TO NOTICE…. CUCUMBERS ARE NOT PERENNIALS!!  My head was going to explode. Backing out of this maze of discontent was my only option for escape… And as the hives slowly began to surface on the back of my neck… I suddenly caught sight of a relatively organized seed console. Bags of mixed wild flower seeds at a $1 each. Needless to say, my reaction was gluttonous. Who says anything in excess is bad?

As custom for the first weekend of Spring, this weather is playing tricks on us…

Our yard is not ready….

But we can still look back at last year… waiting, waiting, waiting…

Today is my sister Kate’s birthday. Please note, the name is Kate. Not Katie. Add an ‘ie’ to the end and prepare to feel the wrath of a lifetime of correcting people over and over again via intensely deep and non-flinching glare.

I was on an island at an overnight summer camp event off the coast of Connecticut when Kate was born…. Which was pure insanity. Not because myself and about 100 other kids were on this island, running wild, acting like natives and only being monitored by teenagers that were so TOTALLY looking after us… at night, in the dark, with maybe one or two real adults supervising the monitoring. With flashlights and FIRE. And not because we were allowed to stay up all night scaring the shit out of each other with the SCARIEST STORIES OF ALL TIME… Oh no… not any of this… because on this particular night… while I thought about my new sibling being brought into this world, the tail of HURRICANE BOB was thrashing the coastline. While I was on an island, right smack in the middle of it. And while we ran amuck on the rocky beaches with gail force winds beneath our wings… we stayed up almost all night… crash landing in tents that swayed along with the island that I was sure was about to release and make way across the Atlantic to Africa… we slept.

And the next morning, my Dad was at the dock waiting… Kate had arrived.

Happy Birthday!

Last week I was out walking with my son and parents in my hometown. It wasn’t too cold and it was before the storm of the century — which just turned out to be a snow storm anyway… We walked over a familiar bridge that crosses over the local train line to Manhattan, and when we came to the top of the stairs to descend… it happened again. Dizzy, ears ringing… pull it together… you’ve stood in this same spot hundreds of times in your life… pull it in.. vision focused. Whew, panic attack averted… but for what?

A few years ago… wait, no – many years ago.. because, right? who am I kidding… We went to Bermuda in the off season. It was Marchish and the island was empty… with the exception of the locals–WHO HATED US. But being full of ourselves we were immune to noticing the discerning “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE NOW” glances. Blame it on ignorance – we were on vacation and dammit, that island was OURS.

One night we were strolling along looking for a nice restaurant when we found the perfect establishment… through the windows we could feel the vibe pulling us in… a tiny little hole in the wall bistro.. people were laughing, the food looked awesome… it was as if there was a vacuum sucking us off the street–we read the menu outside… FIVE STARS — And, open in March(ish). We entered… We entered only to be met by a woman that quickly escorted us out… “I couldn’t possibly seat you without a reservation”, as we eyed the many open tables.

Now. Mr. Sal did not care…  I, however, felt that if we didn’t eat at this restaurant before leaving the island that the island would have defeated us… and please bare with me because I swear this post is going somewhere…  Clearly, we were not from there. Clearly, we were Yankees stomping the English land. But clearly we were not traipsing about in matching “BERMUDA!” tee shirts. Several calls were made – no answer. Time was desperate as we were flying out in a day or two. I felt severely NOT at ease. Finally, a man answered… “They don’t take reservations because they are only open on a limited basis.” WHAT? Firstly, what is with the word “THEY” as I quickly reeled back with dominate rapport — the exact words the woman had tossed at us while showing us the curb. “What did she look like?” Oh — and my tone softened as I described her as if she were standing in front of me. “Okay, I will make an exception – how about dinner at 9pm”. SUCCESS.

That night, after a few cocktails, we floated down the cobbled street to what had been built up in my mind to be the most amazing eatery in the entire world… We entered… only to be greeted by the same woman glaring at us… “oh YOU“. “THE GUESTS of HONOR“. “We Saved our BEST Table for you!“… the sarcasm froze the room. Literally. The other diners stared… the wait staff froze mid-spoonage. Platisicized, we were lifted onto one of those music video conveyor belts and unwillingly displaced from the doorway to our table. “What CAN I GET YOU“… “Anything for YOU.”  We wanted to get up and run out of what had now become Mrs. Lovett’s pie shop on Fleet Street. But then… sigh… but then the chef appeared and explained that we had walked into a private party the evening before and that in her excitement, the owner — that was leasing the space from another proprietor, had breached an agreement by uttering the word “reservation”. That, in fact — the restaurant was opened just for us — hoping to fill the rest of the tables in the off-season month. DEFEAT.

The next day, having barely touched the food that we were sure had been laced with meth, we decided to do a bit of sight seeing… the air was crisp–sky bluer than blue. We climbed the lighthouse stairs to the small opening–Mr. Sal went straight out while I froze at the door. All I could see was the thinnest of thin wrought iron railing at about knees height… I envisioned myself falling… I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I pulled myself back inside and sat on the floor. Frozen. What was happening? I was not afraid of heights.

From that day forward I have had panic attacks at ranging heights… from the top of the stairs at the train station.. to cathedral ceilings… to mall escalators… to dunes. It had been only a few years before this experience that I enjoyed climbing numerous cathedral domes and leaned daringly over ledges while traveling in Europe… As I kid I freely leaped off cliffs into miniscule bodies of water… “Bowls” if you will. So, after evaluating and talking to the experts that seem to think that “vertigo” is a made up word that only pertains to the planet Mars… I have decided that I need to go back to Bermuda to apologize. Come full circle. Find the woman that I know is still damning me to this day… and explain the confusion. Lift her curse… This is the only way. 

I guess the time has come for reality to finally hit the Hamptons. I mean really. Those of us that live here know how tough it can be… I mean just now I had to lift a finger. I was thinking yesterday about how what we need is a serious reality check. Out here, sitting in the Atlantic Ocean — just a barrier for the Connecticut coastline… the tip of the sandbar, if you will. Not unlike the beacon  of light that shoots from the Vegas skyline… And then, as it comes to pass–and before I get all existential…because it is Groundhog Day… starring Bill Murray, and I’m in no mood for chitchat–The Jersey Shore is thinking about paying us a visit.

I know.
I didn’t know who they were either until I decided to roll off my pedestal and get a clue.

Because I know the Jersey Shore cast members are all REALITY professionals that will treat the Hamptons like their very own stomping ground… Not having watched MTV in a really long time… and then sitting glued with eyes peeled open in mesmerizing awe… Coming to the realization that there is hope for mental dullness…. in a really REAL way.