Experience #33 Two Days of Firsts

There’s something about live entertainment that draws me in. I love the rising curtain and the anticipation of what will unfold on a stage where anything can happen. Pair that with my fascination of acrobatic feats, and it is no surprise that I wished to add Cirque’s Holidaze show to my list as a nice way to wrap up my experiences for the year.

The show was truly spectacular with my favorite act being the gingerbread boy who flipped endlessly through the air with the aid of the gingerbread man’s feet. When I thought he couldn’t possibly perform any more flips in the air, he’d return and complete even more than the time before.

From the balancing, to the jump roping, to the juggling, to the flying through the air, my date had me thinking about what I’d do if I were to perform in a show. I think I’d want to be the acrobat who twirled high above the audience on what appeared to be extra-long curtain sheers. Maybe it has something to do with my fear of heights and not being acrobatic in the least that attracts me to this particular performance. Who knows, maybe I’ll attempt it one day.

The trip to New Orleans was filled with firsts outside of seeing a Cirque performance though. For the first time I tried oysters. They were charbroiled (raw will never touch my lips. I draw the line there.), and I didn’t spit them out. That was a plus. I’m not saying I’m rushing back for more, but hey, I can at least say I tried them.

I also rode a streetcar for the first time. Even with all my excursions into New Orleans, I’ve never had occasion to ride one of the trolley cars. It’s much slower than the New York subway, but I suppose the South does do things at its own pace.

I also wandered into Faulkner House Books for the first time. It’s the smallest bookstore with the biggest reputation among authors. I’d love to be tucked away in a cozy bookstore like this one and sell people books all day. But for now, I couldn’t leave without adding books to my Louisiana books collection.

I also shared a cab with strangers, who ended up not being strangers. I walked through Santa’s Workshop and through Armstrong Park. It was certainly a great two days to wrap up an adventurous year. I look forward to what the rest of the year will bring.

Experience 31 and Unwanted Experience 32

Sometimes what I’ve learned from my experiences about myself has been more important than the actual experienced. Take for example this latest experience. With everything I’ve done with my children, I’ve never taken them to a live show outside of Disney World, so I figured it was about time.

Andrew saw the advertisement for the Phineas and Ferb Live show and asked if he could go. Andrew never asks to do anything, unlike his adventurous sister who constantly asks for things. I immediately purchased tickets to cash in on this rare occasion (Like the same day he asked; I didn’t want him to change his mind).

So Wednesday my two children and my godson piled into my car and headed toward Baton Rouge. (I will mention at this point that I’ve never actually driven to Baton Rouge. Usually someone else drives me. I promise this will become relevant at some point in this story.) From the moment we started down the road, I realized my complete inability to handle noise stimulation.

Two hours in a car with screaming kids, nearly two hours at a show where kids are encouraged to yell in participation, and two hours on a return car trip home plays havoc with my anxiety levels and makes me want to run towards an empty room in the middle of nowhere.

Surprisingly, my children remained quiet during the show as they watched attentively. It was the screaming kids around us this time causing the noise. I suppose my three had exhausted themselves in the car on the way to the show. Their one constant complaint was of wanting a snack, which they couldn’t eat in the River Center theatre. They sold the snacks, but you couldn’t bring them into the theatre, which didn’t make sense to me and definitely didn’t make sense to the three who kept asking for them. Cara’s only comment on the whole experience was that next time she wanted tickets in the front row because she wanted to be able to go on stage like the other kids that were able to dance with the characters. My first thought was how could my kids be so different? Andrew would have hid under the chair in mortification at the mere suggestion, and my daughter wanted to be onstage dancing so everyone could see her.

It was on the way home that my noise threshold reached excess. My GPS and I have a love hate relationship- it loves to get me lost and I hate it. Anyway, I ended up lost. (I still don’t know exactly where I was.) The kind police officer who gave me my first ever speeding ticket was ever so kind when he explained how to return to a place that I was familiar with. The kids, sensing that I was moments from a breakdown, remained quiet for ten minutes, the first time of the entire journey. (Maybe that had more to do with the police officer than me though since my yelling for quiet hadn’t made much of an impact before.)

After dropping my godson off, my children sensed my stress and did what they always do in that situation. They decided it was about time I laughed. My son succeeded first, but then my daughter said, “Raise your hand if you want boobies when you’re older.” That was it; the car was filled with laughter instead of quiet tension.(She always manages to come up with something that I have to wonder what is going on in that little head of hers.)

My children are great, though the next time we go see a show, it will have to be a much shorter car ride. But I’ll have to pay for that unwanted ticket before there is a next show. Sigh.

Experience #30 Become a Published Author

When I was in fifth grade I discovered a book’s magical ability to swallow you into an entirely different world. I devoured book after book, reading my way through the public library’s stock. It didn’t take me long to figure out that I wanted to create those escapes instead of just read myself into them.

My first story was nothing more than white paper folded in half with a red and blue marker title. (Not unlike what my daughter comes up with today). After several such “books,” I wrote what I believed to be my masterpiece. In seventh grade, I received an ivory Brother typewriter for Christmas and then I commenced the slow, tedious task of typing my great story without typing lessons. I surrendered to the arduous process, and an aunt took pity on me and finished typing that first story, all 128 pages.

Thrilled when she handed me those three neat and bound manuscripts, I preceded to share the story with anyone and everyone, anxiously awaiting their feedback. Was it so horrible that I should give it up or was it the best thing they’d ever read and I was on my way to becoming the author I dreamed of becoming?

That manuscript truly had a long way to go before it would be considered good by my standards today, but the process isn’t so different than what I’m doing right now. My book, Muddy Bayou, is now available to the public, and I wait anxiously for people to read it, wondering if people will deem it good or horrible.

Except of course today the stakes are higher. I’m no longer the eleven-year-old that didn’t understand what it took to become an author. I’ve always been the storyteller though. Even before I knew to write the stories down, I’ve enjoyed entertaining people with stories.

And a storyteller isn’t a storyteller without an audience. For years, I’ve kept my audience confined to a small few, but if there was ever a time to go for that dream, this would be the year. This year when I crammed everything that I’ve put off doing my entire life into one year, including putting my book out there for a wider audience, is the perfect year to take such risks.

I anxiously await your opinions, but I’m already working on the next story I will tell. I won’t take so long to share this one with my audience though.

My new website has a special page for you to leave your opinions once you’ve finished reading the book. So let me know what you think by leaving me a message and sharing your opinions with others who may want to become an audience of my storytelling.

Experience #29 Dating Etiquette

"Can we still be friends?” I’d like money for every time I’ve heard that this year. Just how many friends does a girl need though?

When I made my list way back last December, I was newly single and not ready to change that status just yet, but I figured I would be at some point. Dating is a foreign concept for me. I started dating my ex-husband when I was seventeen years old, and at that time dating still meant asking my parent’s permission and being home before curfew. That time is a long way off, but some things have not changed. After a year of dating , I’ve decided I don’t care for it much. Why might you ask?

1.       Dating is a game of numbers. Apparently, the more people you date the better. One date told me, I needed to date as many people as possible to figure out what I wanted. In theory I suppose it’s not a  terrible idea if you’re not quite sure what you like. In practice though, I’d say differently. My cousin has about eight women he’s dating at any given time. It seems to be his number. He claims he’s looking for the right one, but he does admit that he can’t keep them straight sometimes. So after trying to keep the names of his dates straight, I constantly think on my own dates if I’m one of eight or whatever this guy’s magic number seems to be. I like to know my odds, and the guessing that goes along with the game does not work for me either. It’s difficult to impress someone who can’t even keep your name straight.

2.       Dating requires a certain flair for dishonesty. Is it so difficult to tell someone, hey I don’t see a future with you, but we can have a little fun tonight? Or how about I’m dating everyone who’ll tell me yes so I can figure out what I want? Or even better, I’m really not interested in a relationship right now but this was fun. I haven’t met too many people who enjoy being single, but the way this game is played, many will be single a very long time or otherwise they will settle for whoever comes along that doesn’t play by these rules. Which brings me the last reason I haven’t taken to dating.

3.       Patience. I have none. Zilch. I don’t like games where I have to follow someone else’s rules. I’m not impressed by messages that pop up on my screen that say hey beautiful or even worse, hey sexy by people I don’t even know. I don’t want married men approaching me when they have supposedly already found Mrs. Right. When I find Mr. Right, I don’t want him to have Mrs. Right waiting at home. If you want to get my attention, find out who I am first because none of those things impress me. (Someone actually told me he never read a book in his life after I told him I was a writer. Really? Was I supposed to be enthralled by this?) I don’t want to wait around for someone to tell me that they just aren’t interested at this time when they’ve clearly shown it through their behavior.

Because when it’s all said it done, I already know what I want. I’m not looking for a bunch of people to be small pieces of my life, I’m looking for someone to share my entire life. I know that may come as a shocker to those people who think I’m missing the romantic trait, but I do think love should be like a country song (The good love ones of course). I do think one conversation can decide whether you’re interested in a person or not. I don’t think I need to date eighty guys to figure out what I want; I just need to meet the one guy that figures out that I’m the one and he convinces me of that (or hey, it’s the twenty-first century, it can work the other way around, too).

I’m not saying I believe in the fairy tale version of love either. I think the reason why first marriages fail is because people learn the hard way that love actually takes work. Not the day to day compromise of living together but the actual love that comes so easy in the beginning requires effort to maintain.  I also believe that if you play love as a game and you win, you might not be satisfied with the prize forever if it was simply about the winning.

So I will do it like I do everything else,  my own way.  It does mean I go on fewer dates, but it also means that the ones that I do accept actually mean something.

Experience #27 Hello Web

It’s amazing how productive I can be when I tell myself I have to complete my list of 33 by the end of the month. In January I was worried that I wouldn’t get this far, and now the year is nearly over. I will admit that I’m worried that I won’t finish, but I haven’t entered into panic mode yet, so for right now, nothing crazy happening. (Notice the use of yet. I should probably not be left unsupervised if December 31 comes around and I haven’t accomplished 33. I am a perfectionist after all, and not completing a list will ruin perfection. You can’t mess with perfection.)

Back to being productive though. For the last few years I’ve said I wanted to have my own website. It’s what writers are supposed to do. At least that’s what I read in writer’s magazines and writers have told me at writer’s conferences. It’s one of the things that I didn’t place high on my list of priorities though, mostly because I know nothing about website creation. This goes along with one of my perfectionist strategies that has worked well for me: avoid what you don’t know to prevent a meltdown when you fail. Obviously, this strategy does not fit in well with the adventures of 2011. Along with this year’s adventurous spirit, I’ve also decided that I need to get serious with writing.

Hence, my very own website is born at jessicatastet.com.

I’d like to say it was easy or fun, but it was neither. I only confirmed that I know nothing about website creation, and lack of knowledge is not something I admit to easily. Not being website savvy meant spending hours reading about how to do the slightest adjustment, and many moments of frustration when it just wouldn’t do what I wanted. (I must add that I’ve come to the conclusion that this perfectionist personality trait may need to be left behind along with some other traits that just don’t work anymore.)

It’s all been worth it though. My site is up and running, and I’m quite proud of how it turned out. I’ve even posted a sample from my upcoming book, Muddy Bayou. To find out more about the book, keep checking my blog and website in the next coming week.

Experience #26 Anybody for Some Football?

This past Friday I did something I never thought I’d do. I attended an LSU football game. I know. Doesn’t really seem like a big deal. But frankly even though this particular item had made it onto my original list of experiences, it was one I thought I’d never complete. I added backup items on my list just for this purpose

It’s not that I didn’t want to check this one off my list. Obviously I had willingly added it to my list. But the fact that I understand nothing about football did have plenty to do with my reluctance. I mean I know that the players make touchdowns and the team has a quarterback. I haven’t completely lived under a rock living in this area of big football fans. The simple truth is my attention span tends to wander when I don’t understand something... quite frequently I might add.

What I learned at the game though was sometimes people watching makes attending a football game worthwhile. (I’m sorry to all you football fans.)  I came away from the game believing that people are passionate about football in ways that I just may never understand.

While my friend extolled the complexities of the game to me, I occasionally (so maybe more than occasionally) stole glances around at nearby fans. Most watched the game quietly at the anxiety-filled moments or cheered at the exciting ones. The interesting fans yelled and cursed as if they had a direct connection to the coach’s earphones. One particular old man nearing 90, if not having already arrived, cursed in a manner that made me openly stare before I realized that my occasional glance had gone on too long.

Of course besides from people watching, I also noticed that nearly an entire stadium of over 93,000 people were wearing purple and gold. One lady’s sweater was mistaken for crimson and a nearby fan jumped all over that. I was glad I’d gone buy a purple shirt. For once, I didn’t mind dressing like everyone else. Don’t worry it won’t happen again.

The most surprising part of the day was that I actually enjoyed watching the game. I even found myself standing when not being told to do so to see. Typically when I’m put in a large group of people my attention span is like a child on a sugar high. I actually managed to pay attention to about 80 percent of the game and even more surprisingly with a little help from a friend to understand what was happening.

Who knew?

Up a Wall

Julius Caesar said, I came, I saw, I conquered. I returned to the rock walls at Slidell Rocks, I studied them closely, and the conquering part? Well that is where things get interesting.

I enlisted my sister as my spotter this time around. She promised she wouldn’t let me fall, though she also wouldn’t make promises to not laugh at me. So after we let the children run around a bit, it was time to take on the wall. The wall is a thirty-five foot straight climb. It doesn’t sound like a great distance, but when you’re staring up at it – or down – the distance feels much too far.

My sister and I clipped into the harness gear, and I was feeling a bit uneasy. (Okay, that is an understatement. Have I mentioned yet that I’m terrified of heights?)

My son rushed over and asked, “Mom, give me twenty bucks.”

“Why?” I asked, thinking this was a good stall tactic (on my part that is).

“So I can buy snacks in case you don’t make it.”

My sister chimed in with a smile. “Where are the car keys in case you don’t make it.”

At this point I’d already placed my hands on the rocks in starting position. This was not easing my tension.

My godchild Hayden chimed in. “Oohh, she’s not going to make it.”

At this point I made a comment about bringing the wrong cheerleaders with me today. Everyone laughed as I attempted to climb, teasing that I was going to fall or that I wasn’t going to make it.

I didn’t make it. I didn’t even reach my head above the yellow line on this first attempt. So I immediately tried again. This time my “cheerleaders” were distracted and were trying to tackle some rocks of their own. I made it higher, but I had trouble finding the rocks I could use to push myself further up that wall.

My sister’s job was to lower me so I could return to the floor. At this point she hadn’t quite got the hang of it, and she released me too fast. I slammed into the wall -  not even the one I was climbing.

I drew the attention of the owner, who walked over and said in a sarcastic, but the nicest way possible that it had been very graceful.

It had been plenty of things, but graceful was not one of them.

I took a break and watched others climb up the walls, amazed by how some made it look so easy. I hadn’t even made it high enough for my fear of heights to really kick in.

I decided to try again on a different wall. This wall still stood thirty-five feet tall, but it had larger rocks. (Large in rock climbing does not come anywhere near my definition of large however. It simply meant I could place my toe on the rock versus the tip of my shoe.)

This time my “cheerleaders” stood quietly around. My son had designated himself as photographer, and he stood by waiting.

This time as I climbed I had to think about what rocks I could use to push myself further to the top since the rocks were spread further apart. When I reached the half way mark, my sister started helping with the path, and Andrew began snapping pictures. Cara also shouted out “Go Mommy” during this. About three  quarters up, with my heart pounding and blood pumping, my son called up for a picture. I looked down and the distance between myself and the ground hit me. (Insert a few choice words that I hope Andrew wasn’t able to read on my lips.) The fear of heights had kicked in AND I realized that I’d also have to go down.

After returning my eyes back to the wall ahead of me instead of below where the people looked much too small, I took several deep breaths. I decided that I was going to make it to the top just because I’d said I was going to do it, and I did not want to have to repeat this again.

With hands shaking, I pulled myself up to the top, my sister calling for me to touch the bar at the top.

I looked down again, my heart pounding harder. My sister called and asked if I was ready to come down. Hmmm…. No. She laughed and asked if I was going to stay up there. Hmmm… maybe. She had after all let me slam into a wall at only ten feet up. Thirty-five feet was a long way down.

Maybe I’d climb down a bit first. Of course, that’s not how it’s done. You have to let yourself go, hold onto the rope, and trust that they will lower you down slowly as you kick yourself away from the wall.

My daughter took off running, yelling that she couldn’t watch this. Truthfully, I didn’t want to watch this either. After struggling down the wall a bit, I finally let go of the wall and kicked myself off. (I’m not saying this was graceful either.) She did bring me down without incident though.

Though I probably took three times as long as everyone else to climb to the top, I did it. And though my entire body was shaking as I reached the ground, I still made it to the top. I also have the video to prove it. Andrew figured out how to use the video feature on my camera and thought it would be funny to record me coming down. I suppose he thought I’d slam into the wall, too.

Experience #25 Be Careful What You Wish For

This weekend I wanted adventure. I wanted a distraction from all the work I’ve been doing. I just wanted an escape before I had to get back to the school schedule and final that’s due in a week. Next time I will be more specific with my request for adventure.

On Friday I had to go to New Orleans for my appointment at the American Laser Center. It was the last appointment of the day so it was dark and everything had closed when I exited the building.

The first sign of trouble was when I couldn’t get my key to open my door. I thought the battery might be weak inside of the key, but it turned out to be the other battery, the one in my car.

So there I was in the middle of an empty parking lot, doors locked, waiting on my sister and her husband to come rescue me.

For an hour and a half I was paranoid for every cat that crept across the parking lot or piece of paper that flipped across in the wind.

When someone pulled up and switched out their vehicle for an empty car across the parking lot, my imagination streamed scenarios of CSI quality with a story spinning in my head of a body dump and facing danger as a witness. (Did I mention that my imagination is crazier than most?)

It all turned out okay in the end, but I was determined that Saturday I would have an adventure of a different variety.

I actually went out the first time as a single woman… in my entire life. Every other time I’ve gone out it has been with the ex-husband or a boyfriend. My friend Paula and I had a nice girl’s day/night out, with others joining in of course.

I also answered the question that Donna and I discussed a few weeks ago when we’d gone watch her son’s band play. How many drinks does it take to be the first one on the dance floor? Apparently for me the number is six, which of course leads to the fact that I can’t recall the last time I’ve been on a dance floor. Add another one to that list for the year. Paula was quite helpful this weekend. She’s even agreed to future experiences.

Saturday definitely made up for Friday’s unexpected nerve-wracking experience. Saturday night’s ending was ten times better and much more promising.

I did learn something this weekend that caught me by surprise. Apparently everyone is learning that if they do something with me, I will write about it later. That’s probably true. Might be why I’m having trouble finding people to join in anymore. It is true in most cases, but I only ever make fun of myself, I promise. So no need to worry (So Paula all those things that you told me not to write about, you’re safe… for now).

The Cats and Experience #24

I learned the hard way that I’m not an inside animal person. At the same time I moved into my new house, I gave in to my children’s repeated requests for a pet and agreed that they could bring two kittens into a house that I’d painstakingly painted and decorated.

I believe that I’ve exhibited more patience than I ever have in my entire life during the past few months of sharing my living area with these cats, affectionately called Scooter and Milkshake. They remained inside even as they ripped holes in Cara’s new comforter and scratched the paint off the freshly painted door frames. I tolerated the rearranging of doll furniture in the dollhouse I’d spent months building and carefully gluing each shingle on its Victorian frame. I did lose my cool when they shattered an expensive vase by pulling everything off my dining room table. In the middle of the night while picking shards of glass from the floor, Andrew begged with chocked up voice, providing ideas to prevent it from ever happening again.

I watched as they began to destroy my house as my children became more creative in their excuses and their solutions to the problems. Looking at their longing faces, I couldn’t bring myself to remove the cats from my house though they ripped through every material surface I’d redecorated with.

That is until this past weekend when I finally put them out. So what finally made me decide that our inside pets would become outside pets? That would be the decision of our pets that they were too delicate for the litter box and the bath tub would be much nicer.

This was the final straw. After several days of this, I gave fair warning to my children that I was moving the cats to our patio. The days leading up to that move was filled with more begging and guilt trips than I care to mention.

The day of the move was tear filled, and I may have given in to stop the water show if the cats had not reminded me that morning with the bath tub. I moved them outside. They didn’t appreciate it however. The cats continually tried to sneak back in every time the door opened, and several times Saturday, Andrew chased one or the other through the house. His concern means that every twenty or thirty minutes he checks to make sure they are still there (side effect being that he gets out from in front the television more).

Cara broke down into sobs when Andrew told her that her cat had run away. (It had not.) So though I did not change my mind with the waterworks, I was feeling pretty guilty.

I decided to take them to the skating rink for the first time. My daughter had recently gone for a birthday party, and she’d been asking daily to go back. My son had never been on skates and had slipped and said he wouldn’t mind trying (This is my code to move ahead at full speed and get him to do it since he never tries anything).

I had not worn skates for over ten years, but I found myself promising Andrew that I would do it with him. The whole time I was convincing him it would be okay, I was also thinking that the floor would be much further down than it was the last time I’d skated.

I did it though just to get Andrew to put the skates on.

I didn’t fall, but I also didn’t remember how to skate so it made for a very anxiety- filled and unnerving experience. I also learned that though I’m looking for adventure this year, my son is not. It seems that though my daughter leaps into adventure, my son needs to be given more time to decide on his own to try something… or not. There is no leading him into adventure.

So I’m not sure how many of my experiences he will be participating in the future. It’s best that I stop pushing so he doesn’t drive me mad. I did get him to put on the skates, but he quit as soon as he fell, which was before he even made it to the rink.

I did succeed in getting their minds off of the cats for a few hours though. Of course, when we returned after dark they were crawling around outside searching for their hiding and sleeping cats.

The cats remain outside. The only one thanking me is the house though.

Experience #23 Finding a Picture that doesn't Evoke the Delete Button

There’s something to be said about feeling beautiful. When I imagine beauty, I recall the glossy pictures of the fashion magazines that I’d comb through as a teenager, hoping that their secrets would be hidden somewhere in the beautiful and flawless faces.

All vanity aside, feeling beautiful doesn’t really happen often. Most of the time we judge ourselves in comparison to our ideal beauty standards and usually we fail miserably. I know I will never match the models I used to know by name and all their vital statistics.

I hate photographs of myself. I view them with a critical eye and see fault in each one. I’ve deleted more pictures of myself than I’ve ever saved. I joke that if I take one hundred pictures, I might get lucky and like one, maybe.

When I decided to take pictures for my website and book cover, I knew that I wasn’t going to be taking them myself for they’d never survive my harsh opinion. So I enlisted the help of Paula who is beginning what I’d call a long, prosperous career in photography. Even after seeing her beautiful pictures, I was still leery. It would still be me in front of the camera.

We chose typical Louisiana settings for the photos because my book is set in a fictional South Louisiana town. The locations were places I knew and had visited before. I thought this might bring comfort to an anxiety filled experience. Paula clicked away as I wondered what I was supposed to do with her lens pointed at me. I trusted that she knew what she was doing, because I didn’t.

In the end, the pictures came out amazing. It fascinates me how a photographer sees something through the lens that the normal critical eye will miss. I suppose she sees the world through her own special lens in the same way I see a story- in a way only I can see it.

This experience puts me one step closer to publishing my book, which was the whole goal of this experience- to lead me closer to what I’ve always wanted since I wrote my first story in sixth grade. She even snapped a picture that I’m going to use for the cover.

Do check out Paula’s website. She does wonders with a camera. Everyone should feel beautiful at some point in life and a photograph can make it possible to remember that moment.

Paula’s website: www.infocusforalloccassions.com

Birthday Wishes

Saturday night I had the perfect moment under the stars. Sitting around a bonfire with my daughter laying across my lap, I managed to feel how insignificant all my latest worries really are compared to the vastness of the dark. Not a small feat considering that I could make worrying a sport. As she and I gazed up at the stars with her tiny voice telling me to look at how beautiful they were, I released a deep breath into the open sky and decided that it was okay that yet again I didn’t have all of the answers.

This perfect moment came at the end of a horrible week where the tension had been building slowly each day. I’d had a terrible birthday. Not that birthdays are typically all that great. Who wants to celebrate getting older after 21? I have the added bonus of teaching teenagers who believe anything over twenty is old. They certainly have a way to make a person feel ancient even at my age.

Normally, I don’t think much about aging. I’m sure there will be a number I reach that it will begin to bother me, but it hasn’t happened yet, so I’m not going to dwell on it and create a problem before it arises.

What does bother me is the sense of failure that comes as each birthday ticks by. The sense that I haven’t achieved all that I wish to achieve hits home every birthday. And this year was no different.

Before sitting out under the stars Saturday night, I was feeling lost once again. A feeling I thought I’d left behind after I’d made first one decision than another to take in the direction I believed I needed to go.

That was until this birthday week hit. Added to the normal failure I experience at this time of the year, my final divorce papers had arrived by mail Saturday morning. The sense of failure had enveloped me in a dark cloud, and I began to question once again what I was doing.

I’d made all these decisions to get to this place in my life where I felt I should be, but nothing ever went exactly as planned. Had I simply made more of a mess of things?

Some of the frustration and disappointment is impatience, but some of it is that I still have so much to learn. One of those lessons I still struggle with is to live in the moment and know with certainty that everything will work out as it was meant to. I’m still working on Faith. I’d say It’s more like a math problem that every time I work it out, I get a different answer. I’m still trying to find the correct answer.

The 33 experiences were supposed to help with that, and it has some. But now it has become a race to finish them before the end of the year. I intended the experiences to be about learning to live in the moment. But those moments come like my moment under the stars, surrounded by the family who are always there me.

Apparently, my life is a work in progress and not for those who scare easily. I do believe that it will be a great ride, and hopefully, one I don’t have to enjoy alone forever. It makes me appreciate those who are there for me even more though.

Experience #22 The Myrtles

Though I refuse to watch horror movies, I love a good ghost story. How’s that for contradictions. I’ve wanted to go to the Myrtles Plantation ever since a student brought in a picture of him and his sister with ghosts standing near them in the background. Unlike most people, I wanted to see a ghost.

So this experience wasn’t difficult to add to my list, but it is one of those things that you always say you want to do, but it’s easy to put off. Unless you have this handy list you’re making your way through.

I arrived at the Myrtles in time to check in and have dinner at The Carriage House. The Carriage House is a restaurant located on the grounds of the Myrtles. It’ a very nice place, and I’d recommend the Feliciana Eggplant Stacker. It was two breaded and fried slices of eggplant with stuffed crab between them and shrimp etouffee sauce poured over the top. It was delicious.

After dinner, we visited the gift shop before our mystery tour began. The mystery tour runs only on Friday and Saturday night, and our 8:30 tour was packed with 47 people. The mystery tour involves a little history mixed in with the tales of the hauntings that tour guides and guests have experienced.

During this tour, I learned that William Winters, whose room we would be occupying that night, had been shot outside the house and had managed to make it to the seventeenth step before dying in his wife’s arms. On the positive side, no one has really reported any haunting incidents in our room. By this time in the tour, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to wake up to a ghost in my room. See one, yes, but not one staring at me while I slept.

After our tour, we explored the grounds in the dark. Contrary to when we drove up and the grounds were warmed by the sun and appeared serene and majestic, the dark created shadows and eeriness. It was easier to believe at night that ghosts haunted the house and grounds.

We spoke to several other guests sitting out in rockers. They’d stayed once before and had rented the entire house. Two men had showed up in the middle of the night with ghost hunting equipment, and they’d let them in to test their rooms. The stairs where William Winters had died had registered as well as the bed in a room that has been nicknamed the doll’s room after a doll that makes her way around the house, on her own.

I didn’t wake up to the party sounds at three in the morning that we were told to listen for. I was so tired from working all week that I ended up sleeping straight through the night. I didn’t even wake up for the normal creaks and noises of a house over two hundred years old.

So I still didn’t get to see a ghost. I do think that some people tend to scare themselves more than any ghosts can do. I’m content with not being scared with the whole experience.

The next morning we did the historical tour which runs during the day. I’d definitely recommend that tour. We also walked around the grounds in the daylight where things didn’t feel creepy. It was definitely an experience I’ll remember.

The William Winter's room where we stayed.

My blog was awarded the Versatile Blogger Award on October 9, 2011 by My Life, One Story at a Time. Thank you Donna. Her blog can be found at http://mylife-in-stories.blogspot.com/ She's a great friend. I do hope you stop by to visit to read about her "Lucy" adventures.

So, in receiving this award, I was given two things to do.
1) admit seven random things about myself, and 2) nominate five other versatile bloggers for this award.

I found neither very easy to do, but here goes.
1. I love reading horoscopes… sometimes just to see if they will be wrong that day.


2. I have an obsession with lipstick. At one time I had forty different shades. I’ve downgraded since due to lack of space.

3. If you want to know what mood I’m in, pay attention to what song or songs I listen to over and over. Right now Adele plays in my ipod on a continuous basis.

4. I visited a physic this year as the beginning of my list of 33 experiences for 2011. I’m still recovering.

5. I bought my first home as a single woman, and though there were comments all along the process about doing it on my own, I wouldn’t have done it any other way. I’ve completely redone the inside in terms of décor. This was an item on my list of life, not just the 33 experiences of the year.

6. I’m publishing my first book, Muddy Bayou, this year. I’ve decided to do it like everything else this year, and just take charge of the project and do it myself.

7. I love the paranormal. From Charmed, to Buffy the Vampire Slayer, to Harry Potter, I tend to enjoy the unbelievable.


These are the five blogs I finally decided upon. The process was extremely long and difficult.


http://alicepyne.blogspot.com/ Alice is a teenager with terminal cancer. She is an inspiration.

http://tere-tere.blogspot.com/ I love Tere’s funny take on everything.

http://letsmosey.wordpress.com/ Lee is someone else with a list for the year.

http://www.ahthepossibilities.com/ I love to read Sarah’s blog for her positive take on life.

http://www.karilife.com Kari writes a little bit about everything.

Experience #21 The Experience that Wasn't

I’ve always wanted to go rock wall climbing. I’d pass in front of the walls at amusement parks and wonder if I would be able to make it to the top. Of course, I never tried because I didn’t want anyone laughing if I couldn’t make it two feet off the ground. That, of course, made it the perfect item to add to my list for the year.

I decided to take the kids to Slidell Rocks, a rock climbing gym, this weekend. I’d mentioned this experience to the children, and Cara insisted that she wanted to do this one with me. Her brother, on the other hand, insisted that it was something that he only wanted to watch. I couldn’t convince anyone else to come with us, so unfortunately the experience ended up being a kids only experience. Each climber needs a spotter, and I did not have one of those.


Cara on one of her five trips to the top.





  Being the spotter for my children was an experience in itself though. Cara took to it like everything else she attempts. She pushed herself until she made it to the top, and she now proudly brags to everyone that she made it to the top five times. Andrew did it as he does everything… hesitantly. We were in the gym nearly an hour before he’d try a harness line climb, and the only way to get him above the yellow line (the line you have to wear a harness above) was to bribe him with ice cream. He never made it to the top, a fact his sister has reminded him of in visual graph form, but I’m proud of him for even trying with his intense fear of heights.


Andrew about to reach the yellow line
that he will only push his head right over.



They have both decided they want to return to the gym, so we are planning a second visit. This next time though I want to be a climber as well as the spotter. So I’ve decided I need to look early for that person who thinks they can keep up with this list as I hurry to the finish line. The qualifications are simple. 1) Positive support 2) No laughing, even if I only get two feet in the air 3) No backing out.

I also have a few other things on my list for the year that we can talk about. Leave a message if you’re interested.

Andrew hanging upside down like Spiderman.



Cara not wanting to be outdone by big brother.

Experience #20 Dinner Experiment

When throwing a dinner party, one should probably experiment with the recipes before the night of the party. One should also remember that you don’t need to have the wine because guests usually bring wine to the party. And of course, dinner party will be successful with all that wine flowing anyway, so it turns out, one may not need to worry about the food all that much.

This weekend I hosted my first ever couple’s dinner party. I always imagined having good friends who’d show up and have a good time over my extravagantly set table that utilizes all my dishes. It seems I’ve finally reached that point.

I’ve had many parties before. When it comes to the cooking though, I wouldn’t advise anyone to try my method. It requires more luck than skill, and luckily that seems to be what I have. I choose random recipes on the internet that sound appealing to me, but then when I don’t like the ingredients, I don’t add them. I do improvise and add in whatever I think I’d like though.

I ended up serving my guests seafood fondue as an appetizer. It was my favorite dish of the night, and the recipe did have a fair amount of tweaking involved. I also served Jack Daniels chicken, pineapple rice, salad, and dinner rolls. I couldn’t find a recipe for the pineapple rice that I liked, so I just made the whole thing up.

Luckily, no one got hurt (i.e. food poisoning) in the process.

Each couple arrived with a bottle of wine, and we opened three bottles for the seven guests. The conversation flowed as freely as the wine, and everyone had a great time. It was a unique blend of friends. People from all different backgrounds and different points in their lives laughing and conversating. This variety is what makes my life so rich. I do not have to search far for someone to have a similar experience I can draw from or for someone to seek out my advice on my own experiences.

I truly have the greatest friends. (And it doesn’t hurt that they’ll eat my food experiments and tell me they are delicious.)

After doing all those dishes from my table where I’d spared no dish, I did regret not having a dish washer, but I’m already looking forward to hosting another dinner party. Dishes be damned.



My version of Cheesy Shrimp Fondue

1 can tiny shrimp- drained
1 can crab meat (or the real Southern version I was lucky enough to have a brother-in-law peeled
2 packages cream cheese
1 can condensed cream of shrimp soup
1 cup sour cream (I put half of the large container- I didn’t feel like measuring)
½ tsp. salt ( I also added a bit of pepper here)
1/8 tsp. garlic powder
Dash (or several... Who am I kidding? Everyone knows I like hot stuff) of hot sauce
½ tsp. of Worcestershire sauce
A bit of Louisiana seasoning

Combine cream cheese, sour cream, and can of shrimp soup; warm. Add all the seasonings. Heat over low heat until smooth; stir occasionally. Add shrimp and crab; heat thoroughly. Serve with Tostitos.

Experience #19 Going Exotic

I’m back at the list of thirty-three experiences. I discovered recently that it’s easy to get caught up in the daily grind of life, but the time left in this year has begun to tick louder than that faint whisper I heard the first half of the year when I began this journey. I have many experiences to go before a new year dawns, so I’m getting back to the list with a renewed vigor.

Which led me into two days of food experimentation. In addition to Sushi, I had listed trying ethnic food on my list. I’m not a big food experimenter. Usually just the smell of most food causes me not to want to eat it, so actually putting it onto my list was a big deal.

First, Saturday night, I tried Thai. I actually tasted the Thai tea. I don’t ingest any caffeine, so even its slightest addition bothers me, but I did try it. Well, if two sips count, I tried it. In my experimenting parameters, it counts so I’m just going to go with that. I ate Thai fried rice, but messed up by not getting it as hot as it could go during my experimentation. Next time, I will just go for it. I figure all that hot sauce I pour on everything has to have built up some tolerance.

Then, my book club selection this month, Secret Daughter, was set in India, so Monday night’s hostess served Indian fare at our dinner meeting. The food was absolutely wonderful. Amazing how ethnic spices can transform chicken and potatoes, which I eat all the time, into something completely different. I left book club with the recipes for some experimentation on my own ethnic meals at home.

I realized after Monday night that I’ve definitely branched out of my narrow food choices. Once I wouldn’t even eat Chinese food at a Chinese restaurant, now I eat Chinese, Japanese, Thai, and Indian. Who knows what will be next? Maybe people will stop calling me a picky eater. (I’m actually pretty sure the list of disgusting food I refuse to try hasn’t shortened all that much, but there is hope.)

Moving Day

I’m back. No, I didn’t get sucked into this unending hole of moving. At least I think that’s the light beyond the pile of boxes.

The house has been an experience that I wouldn’t want to repeat too many times in my life time. Like none. I have said that the next time I move, I will sell all my belongings and buy new things just so I don’t have to pack and move everything again.

I have nearly transformed every room in the house into how I envisioned it though. This involved plenty cans of paint and several small home improvement projects. When I announced that I needed help painting though, I learned that people have many things to say that all lead to them not liking to paint. Everyone stayed away. Everyone did show up to help move my belongings though. (I think if they would have known exactly how much I own, they would have volunteered to paint instead.) Much was said moving day about my apparent fondness for shopping. I don’t hear complaints when I pass things onto them though. At the end of the day, every box was moved into my house, but it didn’t appear as if there would be room for us to actually live with our things. I may like to shop, but I can also organize. Everything will always find a place… eventually.

The first day/night I spent in the new place, I decided to do something that I’ve never done in my life… cut grass. It was a matter-of-fact decision. It needed to be cut, and I’m the only adult living in the house. So I did it. No big deal. Well, apparently it is hard work and you should actually check on the amount of gasoline before you run out in the middle of the yard, but hey, no big deal. The next day I was sick…. my sinuses. Coincidence? Does it really matter? It’s not as if I can declare myself allergic to grass and stop cutting it every time it decides to grow. I’m still the only adult living here. It won’t cut itself for me no matter how many times I curse at the blisters I got from pushing the lawn mower.

Besides that, the house is great. I’m down to putting the finishing touches and only three boxes to unpack. I actually see a future where I’m living in it instead of moving into it, and that is a happy thought.

Tales of Moving

I was sitting on the front porch swing the other night talking on the phone when my mother called me inside to dinner. Without thinking, I told my friend that I was being called to dinner.

“It’s not weird being back home?” my friend asked.

It isn’t…. most of the time.

After thirteen years of not living at home, I’m living with my parents for a few weeks until my house is move-in ready. Having not lived at home for so long, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I was young when I moved out, and my parents set the rules until the day I moved into my first apartment as a married woman. I haven’t had their rules for a very long time, and though there still aren’t any rules, per se, there is respect for them as my parents and the gratefulness for their allowing me to stay here. It is awkward to be a mother living with my mother. Too much mothering going around some days that the children can take advantage of and not in any of the beneficial ways. Which is partly why it is a temporary living arrangement. Not to mention I have grown rather fond of my independence.

There’s also the little matter of no internet here. The first night I went to sleep early because I didn’t know what to do with myself when I couldn’t go online. The second night I picked up a book to avoid the withdrawal.

I’ve figured out that too much of my time is drained by being online. And though I will soon have it hooked up in the new house, it may be a good idea to limit some of my use. There’s so many things that I could be spending my time on besides glued to a computer that I think I needed the realization and the withdrawal to show me exactly how much time I’m wasting.

I’ve also experienced what it feels like to slow down and just spend time with people in simple conversation instead of rushing off to accomplish whatever is next on my list. I’m not likely to want to rush back into the hurried pace I keep to accomplish a to-do list just yet.

And though my move in date approaches, I think I will take advantage of this unexpected time with family as well as a little less technology.

Back to School, Again

If I needed a reminder that school is back in session, I would just need to check the status of my Facebook teacher friends. All of them have spent hours this weekend writing lesson plans. Welcome to the beginning of a new school year.

My first day of school Friday went smoothly. First days usually do. It seems that after the long summer break of not grading papers and planning lessons I have loads of patience. The maintenance of this patience is always the troubling area.

Usually every year I set some kind of goal that I try to work toward for the school year. The last two years it has simply been to make it to the end of the school year with my sanity firmly in place. This year I’ve decided to try and maintain those levels of patience that I tend to have in great quantities the first week of school.

This means that when the kid that wasn’t paying attention to me asks a question, I’m going to smile and answer it. When the student who has asked me for a pencil ten days in a row asks again, I will hand one over. When my journalism student tells me that they don’t have their story on the day that the newspaper is due, I won’t…. Well, that may be pushing the reservoir of patience that I have. Basically, I’m going to try to curtail my natural sarcasm with deep breaths and patience.

I don't really have a plan yet. I figure I will survive by taking deep breaths and reminding myself that patience will not raise my tension levels to astronomical proportions.  I'm not sure how you practice having patience any other way but by giving it a try.

I believe it is possible though. I know it is possible. I will tell myself that until May and see how it works.

Experience #18 Painting and the Perfectionist



I’ll admit, my list of experiences was put on hold the last month as I attempted to buy a house and to be a good college student (now however, I’m only trying to survive and finish). Painting was on my original list of thirty-three, and a fellow teacher invited me to attend a party at Painting with a Twist. She even made mention of me adding it to my list because of course, no one has seen the completed list. Her invitation served as a reminder that I’m only half through my list, and the year will not wait for me to accomplish my list before it comes to that rapid finale.



Donna "Lucy" and I showing off our finished paintings
 at Painting with a twist.



So Wednesday afternoon I found myself having a painting lesson at Painting with a Twist. Teacher friend had chosen the St. Louis Cathedral with azaleas as her painting.

The display painting was a beautiful painting, but as I stared at it waiting for the class to begin, I thought there was no way that it was going to happen on my partially outlined, colorless canvas.

After thirty minutes of painting, listening to directions, and attempting to make my painting look like the display, I gave up on that lofty ideal and decided to make it look like it wasn’t painted by a kindergartener.

Best friend “Lucy” was no help on that level. She encouraged failure with the tip that I could tell everyone that I was attempting to make it look like my six-year old had painted it. Have to love her.

Somewhere in the middle of it, after I stopped listening to painting directions and began to consider the painting itself as an imperfect representation, painting actually became relaxing. I’m an admitted perfectionist, and I won’t usually try things like this because I know it won’t meet my perfect ideal. But somewhere around attempting to do two-toned azaleas and making a mess of the grass, I stopped caring that it wasn’t perfect.

All in all, I enjoyed painting. I have a feeling I will not want to see a paint brush for a very long time after I finish painting inside the house I mentioned earlier. But the experience was a much needed one at this moment in my life.

I planned to hang the painting in a deep, dark closet, but my daughter loves the painting and has asked to hang it in her new room. What can I say? She’s six and doesn’t understand yet that the lines are supposed to be straight. Of course, she also informed me that I should have taken her to the class because she is the one who wants to learn how to paint. I may be holding a paint brush sooner than I’d like. I believe I need to choose something abstract next time, without any lines that I’m expected to get straight.

My finished painting. If you don't look too closely,
 it will look decent.

The Dreaded Back to School Shopping

Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a fan of shopping. I consider it to be a hobby of mine and often joke that I would like to be a professional shopper just so I could spend other people’s money. I never seem to grow tired of it. That’s until it comes to shopping for back to school. There’s something about it that puts a finality to summer that makes me grouchy.

Even with all of this dislike, my children are usually pretty easy to appease. Uniforms make shopping easy, even if they are boring and ugly as my daughter points out. Still, they are quite content with the standard uniforms and never really make specific requests. That is until this year.

Apparently, all of the nine year old boys that my son knows are wearing Reebok Zigs. Hmmm…. Is my nine year old growing up? I’ll leave that to contemplate later.

What was important was finding these shoes. He of course didn’t know the name of the shoes. I brought him to several shoe stores where he passed over every shoe looking for what he could only describe as being blue with a wavy bottom.

We ended up at the mall where we made our way through several more shoe stores with him taking all of five seconds to glance at the available shoes and tell me he didn’t like any of them.

I must say, to my own surprise, I hadn’t lost my patience at this point. I actually encouraged him to keep looking for the shoes he wanted.

We finally located the shoes in Foot Locker. They had the shoe, but not the color he wanted. So I finally got a look at the shoes we’d gone to five shoe stores looking for. All I will say is that I thought they were the ugliest shoes and gulp…. Seventy-five dollars.

Was I really going to pay that much for a shoe that he would outgrow in five months max?

I studied the shoe and then his face for a long time, asking him several times if this was the shoe he really wanted (adding that it was ugly and if I paid that much money for a shoe he’d have to wear it until it fell apart.)

He remained steadfast in his desire for the shoe.

His determination to have those shoes brought me back to the school shopping I’d done at that age. I’d wanted the expensive clothes that everyone else was wearing, but my mom had always said no. My mom still tells the story about a pair of Guess jeans I carried around the store, wanting desperately, but my mom had warned me that it would be the only jeans I’d get if she had to pay that much money for them. I’d ended up putting the jeans back on the rack, but it hadn’t stopped me from wanting them.

Sigh. Yes, you guessed it. I shelled out the eighty- five dollars after tax for the shoes. They should arrive any day, since they are so popular we actually had to order his size.

I know that this was only the beginning of his requests. (I’m mentally blocking out the knowledge that fashionista's dauther’s requests will come fast and hard.) I think I’m in trouble.

My Harry Potter Weekend

This weekend was what I’ll call my fix for my Harry Potter addiction. Considering that I trekked to Florida to the theme park, to New York to the Exhibit, and between my son and I, we own wands, broom, books, movies, candy, oh you get the picture. An addiction is the obvious conclusion.

Harry Potter gift bags.

First, Saturday was my son’s birthday party. He loves Harry Potter nearly as much as I do, so he chose to go with a Harry Potter theme. Normally this would mean that I go into full scale party planning, but this year his party was at Pinocchio’s Pizza Place. Unfortunately, the place only allows you to bring in a cake.

This presented a problem for my itching party planning skills (Not to mention that addiction to everything Harry Potter). I got creative anyway and made cute broomstick gift bags.

Yes, I encourage my son to follow my addiction, and he handed them to his friends, including the chocolate frog inside each bag. (This was technically against Pinocchio’s rules. But I figured I’d be bold, and no one would stop me.)

Sunday, he and I made it to the movie theater to watch the new film. The delay was due only to the required babysitter for my daughter. My son wanted to be camped out Thursday night at the theater with everyone else waiting impatiently. I was with him, but I did have to be the responsible mom as well as feed the Harry Potter addiction.

The movie did not disappoint. I have been a fan of the books since I picked up the first book thirteen years ago at a book fair. Seeing the culmination of all those years of books and movies on screen was quite emotional. (Yes, I cried, but I also laughed.) I’d waited for this movie to come out to end this epic saga since its release date was announced, but it was bittersweet for there would be no more waiting. I had felt the same way at the end of Book 7.

Watching this great story, listening to an audience who claps along with parts or sniffles through emotional scenes makes me want to create a story that I feel the same way as when I read or watch the stories of Harry Potter. I want to create something that brings me to tears and causes a few laughs as J.K. Rowling’s stories have always done for me.

This is what I’ve always wanted to do since I penned that first story in sixth grade that went on for over a hundred pages, and I was so proud of it when I finished. (Though I would never let anyone see it today.)

Though I sometimes lose sight of this dream in my day to day life, it’s stories like Harry Potter that remind me and inspire me to keep that dream working in my head. I think this above all is what draws me to the Harry Potter stories above all others.

I’m already planning to return to the theater to see it again. This time I’m looking for company that doesn’t ask me a million questions throughout like my son. I want to sit quiet and watch it unfold once again as it all comes to an end.

Who gets the Toaster?

It’s no secret that I’m divorced. I’ve joined the other half of the population that didn’t end up in marital bliss. As a perfectionist, this probably should bother me, but I actually found the whole process to be quite liberating.

As a planner, I pretty much planned every detail of the disentanglement, but life is not like that list I wrote down on paper and surprises did pop up along the way. I was talking to a friend who has recently decided to join my side of the population, and the conversation veered toward the effects of divorce on other areas besides living standard. What people don’t talk about is that along with the divorce settlement of who gets the toaster, the community property settlement involves the splitting of friendships.

In the divorce everything gets split in half, and it seems as though friends hurry to choose which side of the great divide they’d like to end up on. I’m not complaining about my settlement of the few friends who I managed to negotiate, but I do question how people who you called your friends for years choose to pick sides.

In elementary school there were these groups of girls that if you were lucky enough to be invited to be one of them, you’d have the whole group as your instant BFF’s. Of course, that only lasted until you did something that the group’s leader didn’t like and then you lost the entire group as your friends. This is how it feels as you walk away from your old life.

The problem I have with this whole system is that my definition of a friend does not include someone who stops being friends with me because I do something they don’t like. In elementary school, those girls weren’t really friends. I’m sure they were quite successful in whatever career they had chosen to train for so young.

Maybe I expect too much, but if I call you my friend, I expect a little more than being dropped because I’m no longer the “her” in the his and her. I’m not saying that it isn’t difficult balancing two people who’ve decided they no longer can stand to be in the same room with each other. But a friend should mean a little more than that toaster.

It’s actually been quite a liberating experience for me to lose all those people who at one time treated me like a friend. The people left around me, the ones who have been there every step of the way, are the people I can truly call friends. All those others who chose so easily to kick me out of the group were only acquaintances. The same acquaintances who now don’t even bother to tell me hello in Wal-Mart as if it is dangerous to talk to the enemy on the other side of the divide. I will have numerous acquaintances that come and go throughout my life, but it’s always nice knowing who your real friends are and who only pretended to be.

Agree or disagree with me? Voice your opinions under comments.

Experience #17 The Beach

My second vacation of the summer consisted of two things that I’ve never really been fond of: the beach and camping. Only one of these items made it onto my list for the year though, and that would be the beach (On a side note, going camping would only make the list of things I do under threat of bodily harm).

The beach is great in theory. The evoked imagery is one of relaxing. However, I don’t like sand. I do not have a developed appreciation for the grittiness between my toes. I don’t like having sand in every crevice of my body and be left wondering how in the world it managed to find its way there.

So why did I put it on my list then? The answer is provided by just recapping previous vacations where one of the main forms of entertainment was waiting in lines and being crowded with all the other crazy people who believe a vacation means fighting the crowds at whatever theme park we have landed ourselves in that summer. (In the last few years, we have been to Disney World three times, Universal Studios, SeaWorld, Six Flags, and a few water parks for good measure.) After two vacations last summer where we forgot our sanity at the entrance gate, I decided that my next vacation would involve sitting and doing absolutely nothing but relaxing. New York ended up coming next on the whole vacation train, but I was determined to gain an appreciation for a relaxing vacation one way or another. And of course, everyone says that a beach is a relaxing vacation.

I don’t know if I’m cut out for it though. In the whole building appreciation theme of this vacation, I walked out into the ocean, cringing when my feet would brush something in the sand below. I built a sand castle with my children and then walked back out into the ocean to rinse all the sand that managed to find its way into every crevice of my body. I will now have to vacuum every inch of my car to get all the sand out that the ocean water did not wash out of those same crevices. I could probably build my own beach with all the sand that found its way inside, but then I’d have to deal with all that sand again. Not an entertaining idea.

I’ve come to the conclusion that my definition of relaxing is probably as unique as I am. Unfortunately, I haven’t found what is relaxing for me yet.

As far as the camping experience, I’ll say that I have never been fond of it in my life. I blame my parents for dragging me through Mississippi campgrounds on my first ever camping experience. (In a Tent!) As a fifteen year old, the idea of public bath houses and sleeping outside in a tent with all nature has to offer is just a bit traumatic. (Did I mention we spent a week in a tent with it raining through the seams of that same tent?!)

My parents loved camping, and proceeded to buy a camper when we returned from that life affirming trip (That would be life-affirming for me. I affirmed that I did not like camping). The purchase of said camper meant I had to be dragged through more campgrounds, but this time in a camper. I will admit that my parents have upgraded their campers every few years, so that going camping with them now involves full size showers, washer and dryer, and flat screen TVs larger than the one I own in my apartment. Even still, I haven’t gone camping in eight years with them. I don’t know how I’ve managed to get away with that in my family, but I suppose I’m still that rebellious teenager who refused to go camping. My children however would have been the bodily harm factor if they had not been able to attend the annual fourth of July camping trip. Andrew had last gone days before his first birthday, and Cara had never been exposed. (I mean, I didn’t want to traumatize them. They of course were jumping up and down excited.)

This camping experience wasn’t a horrible one, but again, I realized that it isn’t my idea of relaxing either.

Everything in my life is at this in-a-hurry, high speed pace, and neither camping nor the beach is conducive to my pace. I suppose I haven’t learned to relax yet. I will have to keep trying to find that place or hobby that finally allows for relaxation.

Experience #16 The Circus

Awe. Wonder. Amazement. The circus has the ability to make even adults feel like children again. Barnum and Baily’s 200 Spectacular certainly delivered on their promise of a spectacular performance. The acrobatic feats were jaw dropping and the stunts bordered on insane. There were elephants, tigers, and clowns (oh, my.)

My favorite, and what has always been my favorite, is the tight rope walkers. When I was a child, I’d watch the circus on television and wish to be able to balance delicately above an audience and swing through the air to feel the sensation of flying. Flying has always appealed to me (of course, it doesn’t entirely go along with that phobia I have of falling from high places.)

After the walkers performed, my daughter turned to me and said she wanted to do that when she was older. I had to smile (though for a split second I worried about how many stitches she’d have if she attempted anything like that at home.) Hadn’t I been her age when I first wanted to soar through the air?

The two times I’d gone to a circus as a child, it had been to small ones nowhere near the grand scale performed in the arena. At both of those events, the air flyers had not been part of the act. When I saw the advertisement for the circus, I immediately thought back to watching the acrobatic flyers on television when I was a child. And though it had not been written on this year’s list, I immediately thought of it as an addition.

Of course, my son’s favorite act was the seven dirt bikes racing around inside a metal ball and not colliding. If he decides to attempt a stunt like that at any age, I will probably experience a heart attack (so not on my list of experiences.)

It was a fantastic experience. As I near the half way mark on my list of experiences, I realize that I want to continue doing this for a long time to come. I may be writing a new list every year.