the chase

A. has been in California for a week for work. He’s there with a buddy of his — they’re on a project together and had to gather research from the Marines. (A. says facetiously that if he says “gay” all of the time and learns how to dip, he’ll be “good to go” — a Marine saying.) He’s stuck till tonight — if not longer — since all flights into Washington National were canceled yesterday because D.C. got more than two feet of snow in what people are calling “The Great Blizzard of 2010.”

Anyway, A. and his buddy went on a hike in Joshua Tree last week, and his buddy asked him what A. and I do during the week. A said: “Well, we go climbing… and sometimes I chase her around my apartment.” A. and I both laughed when he told me this story — it’s not something you readily say to people. His buddy was slightly disturbed because he said it reminded him of his parents, who still flirt like teenagers and grab each other.

But I think it’s wonderful: There is something hilarious and magical and unencumbered in “the chase.” One of the nights it happened, A. and I were playing chess on his round leather ottoman, and he said something snarky and I went to grab him and he jumped up and tried to get away, and before you know it, we were literally running circles around the ottoman and then around the kitchen and I was laughing hysterically like a four-year-old until we both collapsed in a dizzy, happy spell.

the duponts

Two weeks ago, I was part of a team that won a DuPont Award for NPR for candid conversations with people who live in York, Pa., about race and the 2008 election. Michele Norris and Steve Inskeep accepted it in the dome in the journalism school at Columbia University in New York — and afterward Michele came up to me to thank me for my part getting it on the Web. She said the project is being taught in 12 universities in the U.S. — and she’s happy that it’s archived (the display got a bit messed up with our redesign in August, but we’re working on it). I look up to Michele — her intelligence, charisma and most importantly how she treats people — so I was flattered and proud that she thanked me personally. Two years ago, I would have never guessed I’d be in this position at NPR. And I’m so happy.

costa rican adventures

I’ll admit I was scared. Working in the news business, I have read about quite a few planes crashes this past year. So getting on a 12-seat propeller plane to fly from San Jose to the Osa Peninsula made my legs quiver. I sat in front of A., and reached back with my right hand to get a handful of hiking pants and squeezed, white knuckled, as we took off. I envisioned crashes and flames — and, oh I know, it sounds so dramatic. When I expressed my fears to A., he gave me one of his teasing smiles and said: “There’s no one I’d rather die with” (what a sweet way to… make me more fearful.)

When we landed safely, we walked into the type of heat that feels like you’re walking into an exhaust cloud, without the fumes. We found a toothless cab driver from Puerto Jimenez who drove us to our little spot in paradise: Ojo del Mar. Nico, our German hostess (A. and I had a bet going – he thought she was a man, I thought she was a woman, guess who won!), greeted us as we walked into the main open-air cabin with a stacked bookshelf, huge kitchen with hanging pots and pans, long picnic table and hammocks. It was quiet. It was hot. And it was exactly what I needed.

We swam in the gulf that afternoon (it was wayyyy too rocky and we both scraped our legs) and gawked at the crabs in the sand. That evening, we had our first organic, communal dinner and met families from Switzerland and Atlanta, a woman traveling by herself from San Francisco and recently-married couple who live in Denver. The father of the family from Atlanta spoke slowly. “What do you hope to get out of this experience?” he asked A., who had no idea how to answer that kind of hippie drivel. But P. turned out to be super cool. “Did you hear how quietly and slowly P. talked?” A. asked me later that night. By the end of the week, we were just as relaxed and speaking just as quietly and slowly and asking the same question (okay, this isn’t true, but we at least were giving off the same vibe). We had pushed the city energy out of ourselves and immersed ourselves in the jungle.

The next four days included long hikes where we came across families of spider and capuchin monkeys playing with each other and chasing each other through the tall trees. We swam in the gulf as the sun set and the pelicans dramatically dove near us and gulped down fish (we didn’t see any fish). We kayaked and paddled directly past a massive sea turtle (which made me shudder a bit, I was startled — and A. laughed and said, “Are you really afraid of a turtle? They have tiny legs. They can’t swim very fast.” Those are mighty fine points). We climbed a tree house and up a waterfall. We hiked into Corcovado National Park with our guide, Jason, and drank from a coconut and saw sleeping bats, an anteater and caotis. We juggled a soccer ball with P.’s 7-year-old son. We played game after game of chess as we drank red wine (Imperial beer for A.) and waited for our healthy, tasty dinners — Mahi Mahi, beet salad, chicken with Gorgonzola and pineapple. We took showers outdoors with a cold-water hose (it wasn’t too cold, but with no water pressure, the conditioner build up was out of control). We spent hours reading and slept in a mosquito-net covered bed and listened to the howler monkeys and the birds and the raccoons and whatever-the-hell-animal-is-out-there-and-could-eat-me (read: jaguar) in the middle of the night (it was really cool, I exaggerate, but I did make A. come with me to the bathroom in the middle of the night one night. And a jaguar did kill a cow in the nearby pastures the night before New Years Eve).

And after five days and nights at Ojo without phones or email or communication with the outside world, I felt truly rejuvenated. (Not to mention A. is a fantastic travel partner.) The last morning I took a 7:30 a.m. yoga class while looking at the ocean. And when we had to wait in line for three hours at the airport just to check in (we got there 2.5 hours ahead of time) and then run for our connecting flight in Charlotte, N.C. (through customs and security and across the airport in 15 minutes), it didn’t affect the buzz. A couple on our short flight from Charlotte to D.C. even gave us an Uno pizza they had bought — they must have sensed we hadn’t eaten since 9 a.m.

Last Wednesday, I returned to work and my body felt tingly and I didn’t feel like I had to run to get anything done. And my coworker C. pointed at me and said, “She looks so relaxed, I want to look like that.” I’m still trying to hold on to my buzz, but it’s slowly wearing off. I think I’ll join the ranks of millions of Americans who have said it — and thousands who have followed through: I could live in Costa Rica. Or, at least, go back to visit regularly.

the boots that keep on giving

I’ve never been much of a shopper. I’m most certainly not a shoe shopper, much less a boot shopper. I’d rather sit in the dentist’s chair than shop for shoes. (Okay, I exaggerate).

But I have only ever bought one pair of boots a year, and I wear them down till I’m walking on metal or nubs of heels. And I have only ever owned ankle-high boots — I have thick(er) soccer thighs that don’t lend to knee-high boots.

But it all may have changed this fall. Oh yes. I found a pair of boots I fell in love with — boots that make me smile and dance and twirl when I put them on. I wear them with skirts and with jeans — and I can walk home the two miles from work in them. They were pricey, but I bit my tongue and splurged.

And they are more than worth it: They’re the boots that keep on giving. I get compliments on them nearly every day I wear them — from the 50-something white manager with round glasses at Safeway: “Darlin’, I love your boots!” to the hefty black man waiting for the bus: “Damn baby, nice boots.” There was the lady who grabbed her lover’s arm as she passed me, “Did you see those boots?!” There was my coworker who told me one day in the bathroom she would wrestle me to the ground for them. And then my other coworker, who after two months of admiring them finally decided she would buy them for herself — the best form of flattery! — but she discovered they’re on back order till February.

I love my boots, I love my boots!

assateague

When A. and I asked for a back country pass two weekends ago at Assateague along the Maryland shore, the ranger looked at us and raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I’m just warning you, since it rained last night, the bugs are going to be terrible.” A female ranger yelled from the back room in agreement. “We’ve had people go out and turn back, upset with us,” he said. A. and I looked at each other, slightly bewildered, but said we still wanted to do it. “Yeah?” A. asked me, to be sure. “Yeah,” I said. “Let’s do it.” The ranger said: “Make sure you get 50 to 60 percent deet.” It was 40 percent chance of thunderstorms — and the skies weren’t promising — but this was an adventure.

After filling up with eggs and bacon at “The Best Breakfast Place In The Country,” and grabbing my much-craved latte, we swung by cousin’s place in Ocean City. B. had said her husband J. calls Assateague “Assfatigue.” B. and J. smiled and shook their heads that we were going to brave the bugs and rain. “Keep us posted! You can always sleep on the couch!” they said.

By 2 p.m., we were ready for our four-mile hike. The clouds cleared, the sun was high and the beaches were packed. Wild horses grazed in the brush near the parking lot. We lathered up with sunscreen, loaded our packs on our backs, and trekked on the hard-packed sand on the ocean’s shore. After two miles, sweating in the heat, we threw our packs down, ate trail mix, changed into our suits behind scant bushes and literally ran into the warm ocean to play in the waves. The rip tide carried us both down the coast and we joyfully gave into it.

We arrived at the campsite well before dark and went on a hunt for firewood (it wasn’t easy among the burrs, a few of which caught in A.’s foot.) We sprayed bug spray on exposed skin (thank goodness we had repellant). We set up the tent on the beach, and as the sun went down, A. lit the stove for our dinner of pork and beans, corn, green beans and Lipton noodles. In the far-off distance, the sky lit up with lightning. Above us, the stars shone brilliantly — and I wished I could remember more constellations besides the dippers.

A. made a fire, and we sat on a towel — salty, happily dirty and relaxed — before running back into the dark ocean. But the best part was there were only three other tents. The rangers must have scared everyone away. It was gorgeous, quiet and soul-charging. And all to ourselves.

.

bird poop on the head

A pigeon, who was high up in the rafters, pooped on my head last Friday. I was at the U.S. Open in New York, watching a nail-biting 5-set match between U.S. player Taylor Dent and Spain’s Ivan Navarro. And then splat — green and gooey — on my face, white shirt and hair. Friends were quick with the napkins to wipe it off (ew!) and then of course someone said, “It’s good luck.”

Oddly enough, my close friend P. also got pooped on, by a bird, the same Friday. For her, it was in the morning when she arrived at the Detroit airport from San Francisco. She said, “My grandma told me it’s good luck, but I told her that’s just what people say to make you feel better.”

I think it’s karma cause I laughed uproariously at my cousin a few weeks ago when a seagull pooped on her at the beach.

thanks for the furlough

Last week, I was scheduled three furlough days — where I had to use vacation or take them unpaid. I ultimately decided not to go anywhere because my brother was staying with me and arriving from Bangalore, India, where he spent the summer. But as the days approached, I couldn’t believe I was taking a “staycation” and not jetting off to a new, exciting place.

But the time was glorious. I slept in and sipped coffee on the couch in the morning. I met girlfriends for mid-afternoon coffees. I bought myself a funky dress and some sandals. I saw a matinee of Funny People by myself and then read my book on the water in Georgetown while sipping an iced chai. I repotted a plant, cleaned my room, did laundry, went on a run, and made myself a dinner of salmon, corn on the cob and salad.

And on Wednesday, A. played hooky and booked a white water kayaking trip to Harpers Ferry, W. Va. He did the work — he found the river guides, mapped it, drove and prepaid. All he asked is that I pack a lunch — I filled a bag of PB&J, peaches, apples, bananas, trail mix and protein bars and coconut water. It was hot and sunny. We put on PFDs (personal floating devices) and helmets and rowed our way down the river through relatively mild rapids (I still have blisters on my lower fingers from the workout). As dusk approached, we split a burger in a restaurant in an old red train car across from the train station in downtown Harpers Ferry. And when we got home — smelling of river water — at 8:30 p.m. on my last day of furlough, I was worn out and happy.

Time off — even if it’s forced and you don’t go anywhere — is an amazing, healthy treat.

the first tri

I finished my first (sprint) triathlon in Brigantine, N.J., last weekend with B. She does it every year with her sister — and she doesn’t train. But her sister was on vacation in Italy, so I stood in as the loyal friend. I signed up three weeks ahead of time — and I didn’t train either. And, well, that was stupid.

So, the lessons learned: Training will make it less painful. Don’t swallow the salt water (I did). Positive self talk really does work (I said over and over again on the last two miles of the four-mile run: “I am a warrior, I am strong, I am an athlete.”) And having support (her parents were the pit crew), a quiet beach house to hang out at, and a big breakfast and coffee waiting are amazing incentives. Let’s do it next year, B.!

no sleep for the happy

Oh, I’m so behind in my postings. And part of that is because I’ve been traveling — and hanging out with A., who has picked me up from the airport twice.

On Tuesday, A. and I played tennis in Alexandria. He picked me up from the Metro (he’s always early, and was leaning against his red Mazda when I arrived. It’s the little things). We drove to some courts with lights near woods and volleyed the ball back and forth, making each other sprint all over the court. When we were tired of playing, I had so much energy, I wanted to run — so we jogged slowly around a dark soccer field to cool down. When we got in the car, it was 9:30 p.m., and I said, “Oh, it’s so early!”

And then I marveled at myself. Did I really say that on a school night? Maybe it’s because it’s summer and the days are long, or because I’m happy, or because I just want to be awake to enjoy all the little things — but my concept of time in the last month has changed. I haven’t needed or wanted sleep (not nearly as much as I did before). I can get by on 5 hours — and 8 hours is, well, 8 is really satisfying. But not important. I said to A. about a week ago: “You have to know that I LOVE sleep — and I don’t want to sleep when I’m spending time with you.”

But this feeling is so much more than A. — and maybe that’s why it’s so satisfying. I’m happy in general. I love my job, and my coworkers — so many of them make me laugh and bring me joy day-to-day — including last night as we drank Spotted Cow beer from Wisconsin and pomegranate vodka martinis on the roof.

This summer, so far, I’ve also been on several spontaneous trips, including to California for an amazingly fun wedding; Detroit to see my parents; Alabama for the Fourth of JU-lie (as they say down there), where we went waterskiing and ate juicy watermelon and BBQ.

I am headed to Bethany Beach next weekend for four days to see my mom’s side of the family. The following week, J. is visiting from Somiland. On Aug. 1, I’m headed to a N.J. with two of my favorite girlfriends S. and B. to eat pasta, do a mini triathlon and hang out on the Jersey shore. In August, I’m planning another five-day trip to San Francisco to go camping in Yosemite with some of my closest college girlfriends. And over Labor Day, I have tickets to the U.S. Open in New York with R. and K.

Who needs sleep when there is so much to do, see — and feel?

appalachia and babies

I spent 36 hours with A. this weekend. That’s the most time I’ve spent with anyone in a very long time, and it was easy and relaxed. On Sunday, we drove out to the Appalachian trail near Front Royal, Va. As we walked along, in search of a stream, A. stopped fast and grabbed my arm. Up ahead, a good 100 yards, was a black bear with three cubs. The bear looked to be foraging for food, and it didn’t hear us or see us. As we whispered, I pulled out my camera, but my zoom isn’t strong enough, so I only got black dots between fuzzy trees. We stood and watched, frozen and fascinated.

Of course, we turned around and took a different path, up and away from the bears, chatting and walking through cobwebs. It was clear no one had been on this path in a long time. We crossed over Skyline Drive and went down a different trail, swatting away bugs in the humidity. That’s when we came across the frame of an old car — it looked to be from the 1930s. It didn’t have wheels or an engine or a roof. But it was deep under the dirt and foliage, as if no one had seen it for years, completely suspended in time.

A while later, around 6 p.m., after eating bananas and trail mix and chugging down water, we got back into the car. As we slowly drove along, we saw a deer run to the road, with two fumbling fawns along its legs. They had big floppy ears and were so cute, it made my heart leap. I love being out in nature, exploring and discovering and appreciating the moment. It’s quiet and still and I can hear myself think. I can’t wait to go back.