For Ellie

I finally finished my latest labor of love, this one for Elizabeth Ann McConathy, Ellie for short. She was born Jan. 23 and I finally met her earlier this month and got to give her (and mom Tara) her birthday gift. Since no one knew until the big day if she would be a boy or a girl, I had to go with a gender-neutral theme and fill in her name and vital information in pink once she made her appearance. Sorry the picture isn't the greatest, but believe me it looked pretty good all framed up in pink. Of all things, the text part gave me the most trouble. I must have started, pulled it all out and re-started 10 different times. Now that I've finished Ava's and Ellie's, I better get busy on the new baby's, huh?

Sunday column: Taking back the summer

Ahhh, take me back to the days when summer meant vacation:

On the beach in Pensacola in 1991, before I was concerned about skin cancer, obviously.

1993, first family vacation to Disney World!

In the mountains of Colorado with Hollie and the Biersmiths, 1996.

Mission trip to Mexico with First Presbyterian Church, 1999

Family trip to Washington, D.C., 2002

Since I officially entered “the real world” about six years ago, the summer months have not delivered the excitement and relaxation they did during my days as a student.
Back then, summer was a seemingly endless stretch of laziness and freedom, sprinkled with a few out-of-town trips. Even once I turned 16 and started working, showing up at a part-time job in a ponytail and flip-flops wasn’t exactly hard work. The best part was I worked with my friends and had plenty of spending money to waste on things like Route 44 cherry limeades from Sonic and really bad movies at the Tinseltown in West Monroe.
I traveled to Mexico for a few mission trips, went to the mountains in Colorado (where it snowed one day in June), toured the historical landmarks in Washington, D.C., partied in New Orleans and did a lot of lying around on the beach in Florida.
Even taking classes at Louisiana Tech during the summer was a breeze because everyone was more laid back, the classes whizzed by on an accelerated schedule and I still found myself with plenty of free time to leisurely sip my Route 44 cherry limeades.
But ever since that graduation day in May 2003, when I faced the wide open future of working as a professional for the first time in my life, summer has lost much of its charm.
Those of us who aren’t fortunate enough to enjoy a school schedule that allows for a three-month break know that work is the same no matter what month the calendar is on. Sure, we all have our crazy times of the year, but we’ve still got to show up at the same time every day and perform our daily grind. If we’re lucky, we get a week or two of vacation. But, I’ve always found that it takes about half the week of vacation to actually unwind and before you know it, Monday rolls around again and you’ve got to face an overflowing e-mail inbox and countless voicemail messages back at the office. What a drag.
Despite the harsh reality of summer as a full-time worker, I’ve resolved to change my attitude this year. I will try to savor the summer, rather that write it off as a time only students and teachers can enjoy. I want to take back the summer!
Nevermind that I used my precious week of vacation back in January to recover from the holiday madness. I don’t need time off to make the summer fun; I can squeeze in fun things at night and on weekends. Here are a few ideas I came up with to help myself take advantage of the hot and humid time of year that soon will be upon us.
• Get outside more often. I hate the heat as much as the next person, but the weather isn’t so bad in the evenings once the sun starts to set. Working in an office with no windows and darting from the air-conditioned car into the air-conditioned house is standard procedure for me during the summer, but I’m feeling the need for some fresh air. When I was younger, I’d spend summer days on the softball field, at the park and in the backyard “digging a hole to China” with my brother and sisters (Dad didn’t like that little project). This year, I’m going to extend my daily walks with Casey the dog, get out to Lincoln Parish Park more often and just sit in the backyard coated in Off with a tall glass of water — or a Route 44 cherry limeade.
• Watch more bad movies. Every week when Friday rolls around, my husband takes it as his cue to start asking me to go see a movie at the theater. I don’t know how this happened, but somehow I stopped going to the movie theater except on very rare occasions. Well, not anymore. In the tradition of my teenage years of cash burning a hole in my pocket and nowhere else to go, I’m going to go see more movies this summer. And I won’t let it bother me if the movie isn’t an Academy Award winner. I’m just going to enjoy the freezing air conditioning, the overpriced concessions and a little quality time with my husband.
• Take on a couple of (doable) projects. My mom was the queen of the summertime projects back when my three siblings and I were growing up. This was probably out of sheer necessity, because how else do you keep four kids occupied for three months while school is out? She’d cook up some crafty ideas and help us put our own spin on them, and it always left us with something to hold up and feel proud of at the end of the summer. I’m not going to get too ambitious and say that I’m going to sew myself a new wardrobe over the summer, but I am going to peel myself off the couch after work and try to be a little productive.
My summer 2009 experiment could prove to be a smashing success or a disastrous disappointment. Either way, though, I’ve got to at least try. I just can’t let the students have all the fun.

Proof

See, I wasn't kidding about the blue Jell-O or the press-on nails. Although it isn't the greatest picture in the world, if you look closely you'll see them. Here are Tara, me and Erin in 1992 enjoying a snack on the floor at Grandma and Grandpa's house. Good times.

And here are our craft projects of the moment. Looks like we were working our way through the ceramics that lined the dusty shelves of Craft Corner. I don't believe any of these works of art made it home with us at the end of the week. We left them in Bunkie for Grandma and Grandpa to "admire."

Sunday column: Family (again)

The state of the economy has forced people here and across the country to do many things they otherwise never would have dreamed of.
Thought you’d never buy furniture at a thrift store or forgo one season without adding a few new wardrobe items? How about this one — moving back in with Mom and Dad? How many of us loaded up our college-bound cars years ago with every intention to never look back?
The global economic meltdown is forcing many of us to consider some possibilities and make decisions we never thought we’d have to. Returning to Mom and Dad’s house may be one of them. But, I wonder, is it really that bad?
Especially for families with children, sharing a home with your parents, or your spouse’s parents, could have a couple of perks. I know for most people it is not an ideal scenario, but these days we’re all having to “turn lemons into lemonade,” as the cliché goes.
I was fortunate enough to have a close relationship with my grandparents while they were living. Although we didn’t live in the same city, much less the same house, I still treasure the time spent with them and the memories we made.
When I met my husband, I remember feeling more than a twinge of jealousy when he told me that three of his four grandparents are still living. Mine have been gone for years, and I miss them.
After all, my mom never kept several flavors of ice cream in the freezer year-round, or let me eat blue Jell-O with my fingers out of a big bowl on the living room floor, or play endless games of Monopoly and Scrabble with me. Those are the kinds of things only grandparents would do.
I grew up with two cousins close to my age, and our tradition every summer was to spend a week together at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. They lived in a tiny town with just a Wal-Mart and a Piggly Wiggly, so we three girls were creative in the ways we entertained ourselves through the years. But, we were certainly never bored.
Grandma, a retired nurse, and Grandpa, an artist and carpenter, tolerated our antics (such as half-hour giggling fits, half-finished craft projects and many unsuccessful attempts at press-on nails) with saintly patience and humor. Would Mom and Dad have been so agreeable? No way. That’s what’s special about grandparents.
I’m sure they were exhausted and relieved every year when our parents rolled into the driveway to pick us up, but that never stopped them from hosting us again the next summer.
I can only imagine how many more fond memories I would have if we’d all lived in the same city. Yet, I’m grateful for the closeness we did have, especially once I realized that not everyone’s extended family lives within driving distance.
So, maybe the kids are a little more spoiled when Grandma and Grandpa are around, but it usually doesn’t cause much harm. The closeness of family is a gift not everyone is fortunate enough to enjoy, so those of us who have it should appreciate it. Even if we unexpectedly find ourselves in close quarters.
I’ll be the first to admit that family relationships are challenging, and that’s putting it mildly. Sometimes we wonder how we’re even related to those people. But when it comes down to it, the lucky ones can always rely on family, despite our differences.
In recent months we’ve all seen how unstable things can really be. We question the reliability of our jobs, our finances and even our government. Those of us with families we can count on must truly realize how fortunate we are.
We may grow out of the phase where a little blue Jell-O and some press-on nails are all it takes to make our day. But, when the people who wanted to see us smile back then are still there for us now, that’s something to truly be happy about.

The sound of home

Although this may not be the greatest photo, it shows a windchime/suncatcher that's special to me. Way back when, in my single days, I ordered a windchime just like this and it followed me from apartment to apartment, city to city for years.
One especially fond memory is when I lived on Louisa Boulevard in Lafayette in an old house that had been turned into three one-bedroom apartments. Mine was set up shotgun-style, and I loved it dearly. Plus, the rent was ridiculously cheap — $415 a month, I believe. I hung the windchime by my back door and could hear it tinkling as I washed dishes (there was no dishwasher) and looked out on the backyard, where my neighbor, a chef, had built a wagonwheel herb garden. Boy, was life simple then. Although, of course, it didn't feel that way at the time.
Anyway, after all those years, my favorite windchime had been bleached out by the sun and I left it to Carolyn after I got married and moved north. I never did find another windchime I liked as much.
Imagine my surprise a week ago when Mom surprised me with a brand new one. I hung it by the front door today, and its gentle chimes have brought back memories and made this place feel a little more like home.

As promised ...

Look! Look! I'm posting on consecutive days! My 2009 non-resolution just may be kicking in early. Yep, I'm going to try — try! — to post much more frequently in the New Year. It would be nice if my supposed co-author (ahem) would help out. Maybe he'll strike up a non-resolution of his own, and then this blog would be a really good read (or at least, there would be more stuff to read; I'll settle for quantity over quality).
In the meantime, for your viewing pleasure I have this to share:

Lavender therapy bag with lovely cherry blossom print slipcover.

The bag sans slipcover.

And here's what my beautiful and talented sisters made me for Christmas:

Not the best representation of the beautiful framed photo from Julie. She took the photo at a park she visited whilst in France this summer.

Cute hand-painted sign from Carolyn (please excuse the horrible wallpaper — clearly, not my choice).

Carolyn strikes again: Can you believe this hand-painted mug featuring a portrait of my favorite cat? And yes, Caddy's eyes really are that neon green.

So, promises kept! That's a good way to start 2009. Happy New Year ... anything's got to be better than 2008, right?

Christmas comedown

So Christmas came and went without much fanfare, which is a good thing. And, I'm proud to report that my handmade holiday was a success! The only store-bought gift this year was for Nick, but I balanced it out with a handmade gift, too.
Here's a few images from my Christmas projects:

Lentils, navy beans and lavender was the filling for the therapy bags I made for the women on my Christmas list. They can be microwaved or popped in the freezer to melt away a headache or to help you relax. After this project, lavender is my new favorite scent!

After a lot of agonizing, I finally settled on making these lined drawstring bags for the men on my list. Men are incredibly hard to make things for, but I figured if we filled these bags with some treats, who wouldn't love them?

And here are some of the treats: Nick's homemade contribution — yummy marshmallow chocolate squares with nuts. Delish!

Carolyn (a recent college graduate!) and Nick ham it up at the extended family Christmas party.

For my next post, I'll share:
1. Photos of the actual therapy bags I made (need to go take some before I give the last one away).
2. Photos of the awesome handmade Christmas gifts I received.
and
3. A New Year's non-resolution (because if I call it a resolution, I will inevitably break it).

Special holiday column: Christmas music

Christmas music seems to be a love-hate kind of a thing. People either love it or hate it, and there doesn't seem to be any in-between.
I'm one of the love-it types. Once Dec. 1 rolls around each year, I'm scrambling for my favorite Christmas music CDs, much to the irritation of my husband. My top three Christmas CDs? Harry Connick Jr., Diana Krall and Aaron Neville. All of these stick with the traditional arrangements of the holiday classics but still manage to give them a special touch. It makes for delightful Christmas listening.
I think my love of Christmas music stems from my junior high choir experience. I was one of the fortunate ones deemed good enough at auditions to be chosen for the choir (although the standards couldn't have been terribly high, because now that I'm an adult, I realize I was no Charlotte Church).
The best thing about junior high choir was the two major productions each year — the Christmas concert and the spring musical. Ms. Couvillion, the choir director, was a fantastic and encouraging teacher who we all admired. When she found out I was taking piano lessons, she bestowed the ultimate responsibility on me by asking me to play the piano accompaniment to one of the songs in the Christmas concert.
I was thrilled — and terrified. I immediately went home and practiced "The First Noel" until my fingers cramped. It was an easy song to play, but I wanted to make sure I didn't screw up on the big day.
When that day arrived, my mind raced with the lyrics to the carols on our program, the advice Ms. Couvillion had given us about not locking our knees on stage and, of course, the timing of my piano debut.
When the moment arrived for "The First Noel," all my practice paid off. Yes, I may have rushed through the song just a little (in my hurry to get that terrifying two minutes behind me), but all in all, it was a success.
To this day, "The First Noel" is always on my top three list of all-time favorite Christmas carols. It's followed closely by "Christmas Time is Here" (from A Charlie Brown Christmas) and "O Holy Night."
The hands-down best version of "O Holy Night," my mom would be quick to point out, is by Aaron Neville. Walk into my parents house at any time during the weeks leading up to Christmas and there's a 99.9 percent chance Mom will have this song, cranked loud enough to be heard throughout the house, on repeat.
One year, Mom's Aaron Neville Christmas CD got "lost" (well, she couldn't find it, but I don't know if it was technically lost. It likely was hijacked by one of my siblings and stashed in a super-secret location, never to be found again).
Could we have Christmas without Aaron's soulful rendition of "O Holy Night" being played around the clock? Not prepared to risk it, good old Dad promptly went out and bought Mom a replacement CD. Whew, crisis avoided.
Despite the slight overkill through the years, Aaron is still one of my standby favorites.

Sunday column: Family

Disclaimer: I feel fairly confident that my family members mentioned in the column that follows have a thick enough skin to appreciate the humor I was attempting. If not, however, read at your own risk. And grow a thicker skin!

“When our relatives are at home, we have to think of all their good points or it would be impossible to endure them.”
— George Bernard Shaw

Family is a wonderful thing, especially around the holidays, right?
True, but let’s be honest — everyone’s family has its own set of idiosyncrasies and challenges. These are the things that are glossed over in the holiday made-for-TV movies and Christmas carols. They are what makes us wonder why we willingly drove two hours or more to spend time with these people who know how to push all of our buttons and inevitably do so, year after year.
So in the spirit of the holidays, I’d like to present a more realistic family portrait of my own. As the oldest of four children, it has been my pleasure and my curse to watch the three people I claim as siblings develop into functioning adults. Well, at least we’re functioning most of the time. The beauty of this exercise is I get to leave myself out of the picture because not only am I the oldest and the bossiest, I’m the writer. They won’t get their say until well after this is printed and sitting in driveways.

No. 2 of 4: The brother
As one of only two men trying to hold their own in a household of women, I have to give my brother credit for being the underdog. As my sisters and I agonized over hair styles, boyfriends and clothes, he understandably holed himself up in his room with only his friends and his electronics to console him.
Phillip, a Louisiana Tech alumnus, has been the only one of us four to choose a major that could actually guarantee a healthy bank account. And believe me, he’s worked that angle for all it’s worth. Although he will go to his grave denying it, Phillip is a true yuppie at heart, evidenced by his downtown apartment furnished with Pottery Barn and Ikea designs, his souped-up black BMW and the fact that he will drink only gourmet coffee, freshly ground and French pressed.
But despite all of that, he’s actually a nice guy. He’s helped me move countless times (although he probably has kept count and will hold it against me to the end), and he was even a Boy Scout. This is probably why, to this day, I have a soft spot for Boy Scouts.
In a one-on-one situation, Phillip is easy-going and fun to be around. But bring the whole family into the mix and there will be trouble. Especially when No. 3 of 4 is around. The tension, and the sarcasm, get thick.

No. 3 of 4: The middle sister
When I refer to her as the Black Sheep of the Family, don’t think I’m hurling a stinging insult her way. Carolyn embraced this title years ago and certainly has lived up to it. A painter, a raw-foodist and lover of all music that would make most normal people run screaming, she is truly unique. But in addition to all that, Carolyn is a hard worker and, when the mood strikes, can make the people around her feel happy and alive. When the mood doesn’t strike, though, she can make your blood boil in 10 seconds or less.
Middle-child syndrome was rough on her, and her episodes of acting out probably permanently made my parents dread answering the phone.
It seems South Louisiana suits her best, since that’s where she’s stayed the longest. And in just a few weeks, she’ll graduate from the University of Louisiana at Lafayette with a degree in painting (see, I was right about Phillip — engineers can pay the bills. Painters and writers, not so much).

No. 4 of 4: The baby sister
Is it wrong that sometimes I still think of her as a kindergartner? It’s strange that I do, especially when I’m helping her edit a 300-level English paper she’s written for one of the many advanced courses she’s taking at the University of Louisiana at Monroe. I guess at any age, the youngest sibling is always considered “the baby.” And in our family, Julie is usually the peacemaker, too. She’s as flexible and easy-going as they come — probably out of sheer necessity. Growing up with three older siblings like us, she had to be laid back simply to survive.
Don’t let her low profile fool you, though, because her tongue can cut deeply if you touch a nerve. This is probably another survival mechanism developed from years of watching the three older ones go at it.
Julie and I have a lot in common, which makes being her big sister even more fun. I’ve dragged her around as my sidekick for years, and I hope she knows I plan to continue doing so for many more to come.

This may be the first holiday in years that the four of us won’t all be together under one roof, which I admit feels strange. However, experiences in the recent past make me think that it may not be the worst thing in the world. Now that we’ve all got unlimited text messaging, we can pick and choose what we say to whom and when. If we all text carefully, then this may prove to be the best holiday yet.

Happy Birthday to me

OK, this post is a week late, but you get the idea. Instead of posting a goofy picture of myself, I'm posting a festive photo of Caddy. She quite enjoyed the birthday celebration, as you can tell! That's what happens when you're the blogger — you get to decide when to post goofy photos (too bad Phillip, Carolyn and Julie).
Although I don't know if getting another year older is something to celebrate at this point in my life, it was a great day (actually, a great week) anyway. Good thing I married such a thoughtful man!

Another special day

Happy birthday Bubba! Back in 1992 you had a pretty awesome family birthday party, complete with a three-layer cake. Hope this year can measure up! Go torture some kitties and have a ball!

A special day

Happy birthday Julie! Hope your day is as great as it was back in 1991 — when you turned 3! Do the happy dance (see below)!

She can name that bug!

Now here's a girl who knows her bugs, and isn't afraid to touch them!
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2008/08/080807-insectarium-video-ap.html
Anne is now officially my go-to girl when I have insect questions.
She rocks! I need to get myself down to New Orleans to check out the Insectarium.

Featured artist

While I've been working day-to-day all summer, the more artistic members of my family have been, like, creating cool stuff! Carolyn sent me these previews of her paintings (complete with commentary!) and I had to share. My favorite is the ones with the dark blues. Looks like she's had a much more productive summer than I have. Good for her! Enjoy!

For Mama

Enjoy!

Sunday column: Maybe being a yuppie isn't so bad

My brother and I have a recurring argument that surfaces nearly every time we see each other: Who is the bigger yuppie?
He contends that I'm the yuppie of the family, since I drive a Volkswagen and have a Mac computer at home. I say he's the yuppie, because he's a coffee snob and has a downtown loft apartment filled with "modern" furniture.
Just for the record, I think I've got the majority of the family siding with me. But, he'd never accept that.
Phillip is a fellow Louisiana Tech graduate, but his Tech experience was a little different from mine. He majored in electrical engineering and immediately upon graduation went to work for Entergy in Little Rock, Ark.
I, on the other hand, was a liberal arts student whose first job after college graduation was waiting tables.
His starting salary out of college was more than I made after three years spent working as a journalist. Go figure.
The good thing is we both like what we do, and that's what's really important, right?
Despite the disparity in our paychecks and our ongoing "who's the yuppie" feud, Phillip and I see eye-to-eye in one area. We're both trying to reduce waste and energy consumption in our lives.
When I talked to Phillip earlier this week, I realized how his life is an example of our generation's heightened awareness of global climate and energy issues.
As a single working professional, he's not feeling the squeeze of the high cost of gas and everything else as sharply as the rest of us are. For example, he recently purchased a brand new computer desk in his favorite "modern" design which, despite its sale price, was more than I'd dream of spending on a piece of furniture right now.
Nevertheless, Phillip is downsizing in other areas. He recently moved to downtown Little Rock, within walking distance from his office. He bought a bike and rides it to work and to the Little Rock River Market, where he buys fresh, locally grown fruits and vegetables.
And, even more telling, he sold one of his two BMWs (yes, he had two BMWs and he's not even 30) and is considering selling the other so he can get a smaller, more efficient vehicle.
Why is my brother making these changes when he clearly can afford two car notes and gas for both cars, not to mention insurance and extra cash for enjoying Little Rock's abundant night life?
I think it's because he's aware of the impact his lifestyle has on the world, and he wants to be a conscious and thoughtful citizen.
This really isn't that novel of an idea for Phillip, who is also an avid outdoorsman. In his many years of Boy Scouts, camping trips and hiking trails, he's always been a low-impact camper. He feels it's important to leave a campsite the way he found it in order to preserve the wilderness area.
Along with many others, he's taking the ethical idea of low environmental impact and applying it not only to camping, but now also to day-to-day life.
There are many ways to apply this principle in real life; it just takes thoughtfulness and a shift in priorities.
Maybe people like Phillip are helping to redefine the word "yuppie." Much has changed since the term first became part of the American vernacular back in the '80s. Instead of simply referring to elitist young urban professionals with money to burn, maybe it's evolving to describe young professionals who are a little more concerned about the environment they're leaving future generations and a little less worried about buying the latest brand name products.
If that's the case, then Phillip and I might be a little more eager to be named "biggest yuppie in the family." It could be a label to take pride in, rather than something to be ashamed of.

Sunday column: I'm not yelling, this is how I talk

There are plenty of ways to categorize people: young, old; fat, skinny; outgoing, shy; neat, messy. You get the idea.
It recently occurred to me that there is another, very telling, way to separate the people you meet at any given time: loud and not loud.
You may think that there are plenty of people who don't fall into either category, but this is not the case. It may take time, but eventually you will find that a person is either loud or not loud. There really is no in-between.
I am a loud person. I realize this about myself, and I accept it. I'm OK with being loud and I don't particularly want to change that about myself. Not all loud people feel this way, though, which I think is a shame.
Maybe the reason I'm so comfortable with my loudness is because I grew up in a very loud family. My dad is Italian, so high volume and explosive outbursts are to be expected. My mom's side, which doesn't boast a stereotypical loud lineage, also has two levels: loud and louder.
As you can see, I come by it honestly.
Our family home was always humming at varying levels of loud. There was the everyday loud, which consisted of yells of "Mom!" ringing throughout the house, someone talking in an eardrum-bursting high pitch to one of the many pets and music blasting from a stereo.
Then, there was mega-loud, which happened anytime someone did something — either good or bad — out of the ordinary. This includes birthdays, holidays, arguments, exciting purchases, a friend coming over … that type of thing.
Clearly, it doesn't take much for us to turn up the volume.
Now, some people don't think that being loud is an endearing quality. I can't understand why, but there are people who simply do not feel the need to raise their voice.
How you can get though life without yelling, squealing, cheering or otherwise being loud is beyond me. But apparently, it happens.
Fortunately, I've always surrounded myself with fellow loud people. This wasn't a conscious decision on my part, but it has worked out nicely.
My best friend and her family are another group that embraces their loudness, which could be one of the reasons we've always gotten along so swimmingly.
Both of us absolutely hate for someone to tell us, "Calm down." Those two simple words are guaranteed to make us even more excited, usually not in a good way.
I think that most loud people are built differently from not loud people. Our sense of volume is skewed, and there are times when we honestly don't think we're being loud.
I can't count the number of times I've been talking with someone when they'll interrupt me to say, "Emily you are really being loud." Usually, it's in an inappropriate place, such as in the middle of a class or when a couple is exchanging vows during their wedding or something. The thing is, I thought I was whispering. Oops.
Here's what happens when a loud person such as myself marries a not loud person: The not loud spouse says the phrase, "Why are you yelling?" as much, if not more, than he or she says, "I love you."
It's something both people will just have to get used to.
I try to monitor my volume, really I do. But it's just so unnatural for me to lower my voice.
To all the not loud people out there, I ask you to not look down on emotional, over-the-top people like me. What we have to say is just as legitimate as what you have to say — we just want to make sure everyone can hear us.

Au revoir

Julie has been living it up in France this week — doesn't she look like she's having a great time! We know she is, but we miss her. Can't wait to hear all about her trip when she gets home next weekend. I'll make her speak in French, of course!

Sunday column: Vacation on my mind

Nick plays in the sand for as long as he can stand it.

Thanks Mom and Dad, for all the great family vacations at the beach!

In spite of all my attempts to control it, my mind has been wandering all week.
Before I can even realize, I’m picturing seagulls winging overhead, feeling hot sand burning my feet and tasting saltwater.
I guess my mind has been on vacation as my body works through the regular daily routine at work and at home.
The beach, to me, is the ultimate vacation. I have my parents to thank for this, because every summer when I was growing up, we took a vacation to the beach. Thinking about it now, as an adult, it was probably the most practical vacation option for our family. We’d pack up a couple of ice chests of food (vacation food was much better than the food we ate at home; it included treats like Lunchables and non-healthy snacks) and bring our beach toys, which served us faithfully year after year. All Mom and Dad had to pay for was gas to and from the beach, our hotel room and a few cheap souvenirs at the end of the trip.
See, the beach was what we did on vacation. We didn’t go to amusement parks or water parks or museums or shopping, we went to the beach — for hours upon end, every day. Thinking back, it’s pretty amazing that playing on the beach was enough to keep all six of us occupied and happy for the entirety of our vacation the decade or so we did this.
The occasional jelly fish sting or sand in the eye was really the only complaint I can remember coming up in all those years.
Sometimes we did mix it up in the summer, with a trip to Disney World here, a week in Hot Springs, Ark., there. But, I think we all agreed that the beach was the best.
That’s why, even once our family vacations dissipated as my siblings and I went off to college and got jobs, every chance I got I’d head for the beach.
Although Pensacola, Fla., was my family’s beach of choice, I’m really not particular when it comes to getting a chance to bake in the sun and watch the tide roll in. Give me Gulf Shores, Ala., South Padre Island, Texas, heck, even Grand Isle and I’m happy.
So when I was planning my wedding last summer, it was a given to me that the honeymoon destination would be the beach. Luckily, my husband agreed (good thing, because I’d already made reservations).
Thoughts of the sand, the waves and the seafood dinners consoled me when my husband dragged me from our wedding reception. I was having so much fun being surrounded by the people I love, I didn’t want our wedding to end. But I knew the next day we’d be beach-bound, so I went willingly as he steered me out the door of the reception hall.
The next morning we woke up early and got on the road. Several hours and one car mishap later (I told you, I have have The Curse of the Vehicle Breakdown), we had arrived. For the last hour of our drive, I had my window rolled down so I could smell the salty, fishy perfume that lingers along the coast.
We checked into the hotel, admired the view from our balcony and headed down to the beach. It was windy, warm and wonderful; I knew the next five days would be pure bliss.
My plans for our vacation included walking along the beach, reading on the beach, getting out in the waves and eating seafood for dinner every night. Although I didn’t run them by him, I thought my husband had similar plans. What else would one do at the beach?
As it turns out, the beach doesn’t actually agree with my husband too well. He’s got this sensitive skin that makes the sun, salt and sand, which I adore, become quite painful after about 30 minutes. So, hours spent languishing on a beach towel at water’s edge wasn’t his idea of heaven.
Like any newlywed couple, we compromised. After all, our honeymoon was meant to be enjoyed by both of us. We relaxed in the shade of our balcony while still being able to take in the full ocean view. We took walks on the beach at sunset, when the sun wasn’t as intense. One thing we did not have to compromise on, however, was the seafood. That was an indulgence we both took full advantage of.
In the short amount of time that I’ve been married, I’ve learned something nearly every day. On our honeymoon, I learned my first lesson — the next time we take a vacation, I need to let my husband actively participate in the planning process.

Meet the artist

Tonight was the gallery opening at ThousandWords, featuring photographs by Julie Scalfano! She did great, and her pictures were definitely the best in the gallery (I'm not prejudiced or anything). She was poised and happy and I think she even enjoyed herself!
Julie also was featured in a story about the gallery opening in the Ruston Daily Leader, as well as on this blog.
She rocks!