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.

connecting with strangers

On the first leg of my ride home from a (wild) wedding in Santa Rosa, Calif. last weekend, I sat next to an elderly couple from East Knoxville, Tenn. They were short, gray haired and nearing 80 years old. The wife pulled pills from a baggie early on and gave them to her husband, who dutifully took them as he coughed. “He has chronic bronchitis,” she said as she leaned to me. “He’s not contagious. We had to take him to the hospital earlier this week.”

And so began a 2-hour conversation with two of the nicest people I have met.

I never did learn their names. I learned that they have three grown children, including a professor at UCSF and an artist who lives on a ranch without water in the woods in Montana. The husband is a retired Presbyterian minister who ran camps all over the country. They live on a 5-acre farm with her sister, who is a widow, and the three of them have dinner together every night. The couple met at Maryville College in Tennessee and have been married 57 years.

“My parents have been married 36 years,” I say, “and every year, I say, ‘Yay, keep going!’”

“Oh, that’s nothing! They’re still young in their marriage” the woman said with a glint in her eye. “After 50 years, you don’t know any other way of living.”

The couple laughed together and fed off each other. At one point she said, “That tickles my funny bone.”

I told them what I do, and they said, “We’re grateful for you and your work.” The husband was reading a book on how to be more considerate. He chuckled that he was reading it, then said seriously as he peered through his glasses: “You never do stop working at it. People often don’t listen to each other because they can’t wait for what they’re going to say next.”

As the plane got ready to land, the husband said something, but I couldn’t hear him. The wife said, “We’ve really enjoyed visiting with you. We’ll think of you every time we listen to NPR.”

I said, “It’s nice connecting with nice people.” I had the urge to give her my card. I had to urge to ask them if I could visit them on their farm and talk about what it was like living in the 30s and 40s. But the moment passed, and I took the experience for what it was: connecting with nice, wise people on a trip across the country.

more voiceovers. yeah yeah yeah

Last week, my coworker asked me to be a 75-year-old Palestinian woman. Anyone who knows my voice might think this is hilarious. I sound like I’m 12. But I loved sitting in the booth where Jack Speer and Lakshmi Singh report the news live each day at the top of the hour in Studio 2A. With the eyes of two engineers on me and the producer, I was so nervous I was shaking. I cleared my throat and coughed to rough up my voice, but it didn’t work.

They must have thought I did OK, though, cause on Friday, I was asked to be a South Korean woman. But some coworkers teased me for sounding like a late night smooth operator.

this city is small

On Wednesday, I went to Poste for drinks with coworkers. We stood outside in the courtyard behind the restaurant that’s part of Hotel Monaco and drank $4 glasses of wine. Then I noticed a woman I recognized but I couldn’t remember how — until about 15 min. later I realized I met her Tahoe in March. Later, after the sun set, about six of us sat around a small circular table lit by a fake candle with a battery. Mid conversation, I looked to my left, and there was a former volleyball teammate on a date. And to my right, was a guy who works with C. in Sen. Stabenow’s office, whom I’d seen a few weekends prior. I was surrounded by people I knew in what is considered a big city. But it often feels amazingly small. Or am I just getting older?