I might spend my whole life runnin'; around; Still let the wind kinda blow me around. Part II. The long way home.

Part II: The Long Way Home







I might spend my whole life runnin' around; Still let the wind kinda blow me around.

The thing about 25...

My 25th Quarter-Century Celebration

I thought my year of 25 was terrible. My boyfriend and I broke up-- twice I think-- and after I chased a very unhealthy relationship for a very long time, things had to change. Work was becoming deeply disturbing and saddening, and worst of all, unfulfilling. Some of the important people in my life, or people who I counted among those, faded away. I spent Christmas away from home. And I spent way too much time crying. Even though it started off with a glorious quarter-century birthday party that I threw for myself--I hated 25 for almost everything that happened that year. There was so much sadness and difficulty in most of those 12 months and I wanted to blame it all on the world and being 25. But now I see that all of that pain and hardship had to happen for me to be so disrupted, so shoved out of anything comfortable that I would have to be forced to either continue on completely miserable, or embrace a change.

Don Miller says characters have to be forced to change because they won’t do it willingly. Don Miller is very wise in my opinion. We characters have to sometimes be dragged kicking and screaming for a while or for
several miles before we see the merit in moving forward on our own. I wouldn't say that I am opposed to change; rather I am opposed to chaotic spontaneous unplanned change. And sometimes that how change has to happen so I’m not always quick to embrace or adapt to it. And sometimes I don't even know where to start and what to change so I give up and leave things as they are because they are comfortable and familiar, even if they are miserable.

But I believe that when we are listening and putting our faith in God to lead us, that the way will be just a little easier. And in the same manner, if we insist on our own way, forging ahead regardless, I believe the way will continue to trap us in the bramble as we fight and end up becoming more and more entangled. Everywhere I turned at 25 I was tangled up in all kinds of messes. But I insisted that I was going to cut and hack my way through on my own path. And I led myself into a lot of pain.

It’s easy to get caught up in doing things your own way, and it’s natural to insist on looking ahead and trying to map it out. But life doesn't work that way. Looking back I can see why the places I stumbled were necessary, even though they were and still are hard. That’s the faith part though—trusting enough to take another step even though you might not see the whole staircase. Trusting because you feel in your heart that it’s right, even if you can’t see or touch that reality at that exact moment.

And it’s not just when you have a crappy 25—it’s anytime whether you are 85 or just 5. Or even if you are 3 like my sister Eden, because her life is really tough sometimes with people telling her she is too small for everything and giving her too much cereal or not enough juice. Life is hard at all ages at times. Eden trusts that someone will get her some more juice, and someday she’ll grow bigger. She has the trusting heart of a child. Which is what we all must aspire to have.

Towards the end of my 25, I wasn't happy and I had to do something to change that. And it meant taking a big risk.

And that risk was very scary and very unsettling.  Some might say that risk was irresponsible. It was certainly uncharacteristic. But I’m certain of two things: That risk was necessary; and that risk was exactly the type of risk I needed to take to get my feet pointed in the right direction. In fact, I have never before been so passionate about something, so compelled from within my heart that something had to happen, as I was about this trip.

As I write this, several weeks after my return because of the chaos that swirled up once I got back, I know 100% I did the right things. Reading my journal entries and descriptions of my days that are scribbled out on scrap paper, I get to briefly relive the past few weeks of joy.

I created my own happiness by becoming an active character in my story, trusting my God to lead me, and setting one foot in front of the other. I got on the right path, I finished 25 out strong, and I left without even taking a map. We don't get a map for life anyway, so leaving for a small portion of life without one should not be a huge deal. Plus I had Siri.

Part II is the journey home, the summary of the drafts and notes and pieces of paper and candy wrappers that I scribbled thoughts and experiences on as I made my way North, back to the NoDak. Part II is part resolution, and part beginning because my story has just begun...

5/10/2013. - Day 45 - Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning. Girls in dresses, you take warning, too.

5/10/2013. Some Nights I stay up cashing in my bad luck;
Some nights I call it a draw...




Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning. Girls in dresses, you take warning, too.

The sun is just peeking over the horizon as I reach the end of the boardwalk and make my way down to the sand. I have somehow convinced my body to get out of bed at dawn to see the sunrise on Sullivan's Island this morning. It's a gorgeous morning, with a few other early risers beach combing and walking their dogs. I enjoy the sea salt breeze and sound of the waves as I walk for awhile and soak it all in.

I return home from my morning outing and grab a quick nap before facing my last day in Chucktown. I decide to take the bike downtown one last time and catch a few more shots of my favorites, enjoy the view from the battery, and take in old Charleston once more.

Later in the afternoon I relax at Sullivan's Island and do some beach combing and swimming and sun tanning. It will be cold when I return and there will be no sitting on a beach any time soon after I get back to the Northland. The time to enjoy is now. But then, isn't it always?





On the way home I hit some shops near the beach and then return to get ready for our last hurrah on the town. Of course we are going to Shem Creek because it's been our signature since Jamie landed in Charleston. We have a quiet corner spot in a bar on Shem called Vickery's that's usually not too busy. It's still extremely hot and humid out so we don dresses and head out.

The night that ensues is entertaining. On the drive to Shem, we pass a car that has not only driven directly onto the middle of the median, but has also collided head on with a sturdy palm and knocked it clear over. The car is on top of the palm, in the middle of the road. An omen for the night's events ahead.

We arrive at Shem Creek and head for Vickery's. We have recently realized that a certain gentleman we have run into several times in the last two weeks, and who we continually keep thinking looks familiar, is actually the bar tender who is there every year when we go. He is again here and we make small talk with this man, code named "T.Vickery's," before two strangers take interest in us.

Beside us at the bar sit two middle aged men, one of them very large and very Southern and very loud. Both well watered. They engage in conversation with us, though we try to let on we are not "interested." At some point the smaller one yells out "FARRR-GOOOO," followed by a few expletives. Later, the large Southern gentleman is telling us that it's a shame we are leaving town so soon (it's possible we told him we were just passing through...). He continues about how he has horses and boats and we should come out with him because "nobody knows the backwater like [he] knows the backwater." This is very sketchy. He continues to give Jamie a long drawn out speech about his dogs, their heritage, how this ties in with his previous girlfriend, why he doesn't have a girlfriend anymore, and finally, about his idea for a food truck. He proudly declares to Jamie that the food truck will be called "The Big Southern" because, well, and then he gestures to himself to indicate his point. Well done.

There is also another group of saturated individuals milling around our little corner of Shem, stumbling and falling about. At one point, one of them perches precariously at the bar, opposite us. His eyes are glazed but he is staring intently at me. This signals more trouble.

As soon as we notice the glazed donut across the counter, he rallies himself and starts our way. I apologize for what I have to describe next, but it's important for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is accuracy in story telling. Glaze approaches and stands silently in front of us, before stating that "he just has to say" that I am the "baddest bitch up in this place." Jamie and I stare, stunned, trying to understand his angle. Jamie recovers first and inquires as to what exactly makes me the "baddest bitch," in his mind. He falters, and explains that Jamie is "hot" but returns to me and goes on to then state that I am the "finest motherfucker." Um. OK.
So I think it's better at this point to be "hot" than whatever he is trying for with the verbiage he's slinging in my direction... I'm still unable to say anything; it's too unbelievable. Jamie, however, is enjoying instigating the situation and goes further, asking him if he is sure that he wants to go with "motherfucker" as a descriptor for me. He then presents as though she's hurt his feelings, and counters with a slurred version of "Hey I'm just trying to pay her a compliment, ok?" Jamie pushes further and questions this "compliment." He finally staggers away and we sit quietly for a moment taking in the situation.

It should be noted to any of the gentlemen reading this, if there are any--approaching a girl in a bar is risky business as it is. There are very few respectable outcomes to this approach, so you should be clear on that first. Unless you are asking for directions, inquiring as to what time church services are in the morning, or are looking for advice as to whether or not you should start down that slippery slope that is Gossip Girl--there really aren't a lot of positive conversation starters. I'm not saying every bar meeting is negative; I'm saying know your odds and expectations before you enter the playing field. Next, level of intoxication is also something to consider, and sidling up to a lady when you are largely incapacitated is also a questionable choice. But using the descriptors listed above is never, under any circumstances, acceptable, and I'm not even going to get into why they are never to be used as a compliment. Please tell me that explanation was unnecessary.

Clearly "asking for it."

Of course it couldn't end with that, and later that night (or earlier Saturday morning--however you want to look at it), I received additional confirming details that the males in my demographic are quite colorful. T.Vickery's and I wind up in an awkward situation which involves a conversation about him being included in our evenings out, and our interpretation of this as including a new "friend"; and his interpretation of this being that I "wanted him bad". He stated that he didn't respond to conversation regularly because he was "making me wait for it" and also added that obviously we had two very different ideas of what was "going on here." Astounded, I said, "so what exactly is going on here?" T.Vickery's responds with a question that goes something like, "well, what do you expect, you know? I mean, a girl like you wearing a dress like that?" I repeat back to him for my own understanding that he believes that he has been included in our social activity because I want to sleep with him, and my wearing of a dress (might I add it was about a million degrees out with a million percent humidity) basically means I am ripe for the taking, or ripe for the raping. T.Vickery's thinks it's ridiculous that I would think anything else of our interaction. He charmingly adds that he thinks it's adorable how cute and naive I am. I wish him a good night and step away. Unbelievable. Just un-be-lieve-able. Good night.

5/9/2013. - Day 44 - Sometimes you're the windshield; Sometimes you're the bug. Sometimes it's kind of like that but not really.

5/9/2013. - Day 44 -
Sometimes you're the windshield;
Sometimes you're the bug.
Sometimes it's kind of like that but not really.

I reach up to touch my cheek after I feel something brush lightly against it. I am 98% still asleep and reposition on the couch and drift off. Moments later, I feel something brush my face again and slap at it. Back to sleep. Suddenly, I feel something tickling my neck...

In 0.04 seconds I go from almost completely asleep to an elevated level of hysteria that can only come from realizing that stay hair / piece of dust / mosquito I thought I was slapping at is in fact, a cockroach, which was on my face and is now in my bed.

I am immediately on full alert/karate mode, but not full out crazy mode because the threat has not been neutralized. I leap off the couch while fumbling for my cell phone and the flash light feature that takes FOREVER to load. I want to vomit just thinking about the scenario but I try to keep control of myself. I frantically try to locate the wounded cockroach while simultaneously yelling for Jamie- who responds in a barely audible voice that tells me she doesn't sense the concern coming from mine. I yell again and use a high voice to explain that she needs to awaken and come into the living room RIGHT NOW. There is a pause and a short delay but she does appear.

I stand over the couch poised in battle position, wielding my phone as my weapon of choice. I have spotlighted the wriggling cockroach carcass with my iPhone and instruct her to bring something to finish him off. Jamie enters with a wad of paper towels and calmly removes the intruder. Cue insanity.

I rush to the bathroom to scrub the side of my face, now that I've realized that the half dead cockroach cuddling my neck resulted from the very live cockroach that I slapped and half squished into my face seconds before. Now I really want to puke. I realize the hand I am scrubbing the side of my face with is also the hand I touched the cockroach with. I switch from scrubbing my face to scrubbing my hand. But now I'm touching the hand that touched the cockroach and now I can't breathe and I want to gag and I need to sit down because there's a lot of emotion in this bathroom right now in the middle of the night.

I sit down on top of the stool with my face in my hands and try to breathe normally and think about anything but cockroaches on my face in the night. I exit the bathroom and dance around Jamie's bedroom for awhile and make a few mostly unintelligible  words about fear and feeling sick and how I am not being overly dramatic. I start to walk back to the living room and realize that's where this whole thing started. I return to Jamie's room, crawl into bed with her, make clear that despite the fact that I despise sharing beds there is absolutely no way I am going back to the living room. Jamie mutters something about how I better not bring any roaches into HER bed and I almost lose it, countering with something about how it's HER house that caused me to have a roach on my face. Jamie sees this as not even important enough to remain awake for and is already asleep while I huddle on my side of the bed, clutching the sheets and trying not to vomit.

In the morning, Jamie leaves for work and the day is normal for everyone but me. I'm holding Dodger partially accountable for not acting on the threat and destroying it before it got to me. He and I are on delicate terms for today, but we are stuck with each other. I still feel all those legs touching my cheek and thus feel slightly sick for the remainder of the morning. There's no way I can fathom trying to talk about the incident without freaking out again; and it's all I can do NOT to think about it.

Dodger and I make the short drive to the other side of the apartment complex where there is a hose and a vacuum. After securing Dodger to a post nearby I begin the task of trying to clean out 8,000 miles of debris from the inside of my truck. The second I turn on the vacuum Dodger about hangs himself with his lease trying to flee in fear. I relocate him to the box of the truck and pray he does not leap out in fright. He remains on guard but does not leave the box. We return to the apartment largely without further incident.

Dodger and I play a little ball before I head out for the day. It's another gorgeous and sunny Charleston day, with the heat rising every second. The alligators are also out and about the complex--but given the seal situation in CA, I'm curious enough to look, but not curious enough to approach.

Another day crossing the long bridge into Charleston on two wheels. I weave through the city out to Folly Beach for one last day in the sand. Most of my day I spend napping, reading, and picking up a few sand volleyball games with new friends. A guy in flip flops rides on the back of my motorcycle back to his car after our last game and I head back to the apartment.

Jamie is home when I arrive and we make a last minute decision to try to catch a River Dogs baseball game. Unfortunately, upon arriving we find the general admission lines backed up with a never before seen crowd of baseball fans. We opt to wait in line for a bit but ditch that idea and head downtown for a nice dinner once we realize we will never get in the stadium.  Somewhere in conversation this evening Jamie and I decide I should stay one more day and that way we can spend one more Friday night together. It's a gorgeous night outside and we sit on the back patio of Poogan's Porch and enjoy Southern food. I'm loving fish lately and trying to diversify my palette into one that slightly resembles an adult. Fish is my best attempt as of now. I think I should get points for that since mac and cheese was on the menu and I did not order it.

5/8/2013. - Day 43 - "Watch out for those oak trees -- you won't win." Words from the wise.

5/8/2013. - Day 43 - "Watch out for those oak trees -- you won't win." Words from the wise.

I have selected today to return to Kiawah Island, based on the weather showing today as the warmest sunniest day this week. After taking Dodger out for a quick walk as my surrogate dog mom duties demand, I'm geared up and set to go. It's hot, humid, sunny, and perfect for a bike trip. The ride to Kiawah is gorgeous, and soon I reach the stretch of roadway that is lined with the ancient oak trees. As Jamie left this morning, she warned me to watch out for the oaks today, given their solid stature. I have noted this and maintain a respectful distance.

I reach Kiawah early in the afternoon and start to unpack my saddle bags. My beach gear comes out and my leathers go in. A school bus and it's passengers are nearby. The children are having lunch in the park prior to their departure. As the kids finish their food and file past me on their way to board the bus, one little girl tells me my motorcycle is really cool. I thank her and tell her she's a very nice little girl. The kids all stare as they walk past. My little sisters still think I am cool, too; and they still think I am a really good dancer. Either of those statements are debatable.

For those of you who know me, arriving at a secluded park, seeking quiet and nature--and instead finding an entire bus of loud, sticky pre K students--I was initially terrified. Deep breath in, deep breath out. I love kids. But I'm still young and selfish and immature to sometimes choose to like them only when it's convenient and I don't want quiet or order. I love them in measured doses where there is a pre set time when they will return to their owners. On this trip I'm not feeling exceptionally kid friendly because I don't feel like anything more than a kid myself; just a kid roaming the country in her pickup, learning about the world. I don't really want any responsibility today, even the responsibility of their curiosity and questions. We each keep our distance and then they are loaded up in their bus and off.

A sneak attack by a well camouflaged critter

I make the haul to the mouth of the river, scanning the sands along the way for treasures while simultaneously keeping an eye out for dorsal fins. The tide has receded far back into the sea and has uncovered a wealth of treasures amid the sands. I set up camp a short distance from the water's edge where the river meets the Atlantic and wait. Right on schedule, dorsal fins begin appearing, moving steadily up the river. People again start to gather at the shore but I hang back, acknowledging the dolphins need for space as they feed. I see one dolphin skimming the edge of the beach as he strands the fish he is chasing. It's incredible.

I sit and soak up the sun for a few hours. Today is full of time to sit and think and reflect on the past few weeks. I've enjoyed this trip more than anything in my entire life, but I'm also cognizant of the reality that I need to start doing at least a little bit of planning for the future.

I begin to make my way back to the park entrance, always scanning the ground. There are a multitude of starfish and shells scattered about the beach, along with a few other creatures. I'm mindful to carefully inspect all shells for sea life within.



The sun is hot today and the wind whips around fed by the sea breeze. I stop at Folly Beach on the way home and enjoy the lively atmosphere there. Of course I do a little beach combing because I'm a major addict. Between beach combing and searching for dolphins it's a wonder I get anything else done while I'm in Charleston.




The way home finds me smack in the middle of rush hour traffic, and on the bike. There are two lanes, with an additional merging lane to my right. We are bumper to bumper, and I'm sandwiched in the middle. And then sirens sound somewhere behind us.



Now there is NO place for any sort of emergency vehicles to go that I can see being physically possible given the current traffic situation. However, the merging lane starts to squeeze in towards my lane, and at the same time the outside lane also squeezes in. And I'm directly in the middle as the drivers force cars towards the center in all directions in efforts to clear a path. Sort of unnerving when you have little exterior protection.


I make it out unscathed and arrive back at my home for just a few more days days. Jamie and I make a meal from leftovers in the fridge and settle into our respective areas on the couch for the evening.

Life is good.

5/7/2013. - Day 42 - Not All Who Wander Are Lost...

5/7/2013. - Day 42 - Not All Who Wander Are Lost...

Neverland on King St.

Some Charleston Character and Charm!

Today Charleston is having trouble making up its mind about the weather. About the time I get dressed and head downtown, it decides to cloud up and downpour. Then ten minutes later it is blasting hot and the streets and cobblestone are steaming with mist. Charleston has been very moody on this particular trip.



I have no direction today, I just want to wander downtown and see the sights I never get sick of seeing. I head down King St. and stop in the Magniflous Toy Emporium. It looks just like the toy shops you see in the movies.

There is a piano in the corner playing on its own, a big ferris wheel made of K'Nex, a gumball machine the size of a gorilla, stuffed animals, plastic dinosaurs, and other toys galore. The owner is characteristically wrapped up in showing a young boy the latest and greatest. It reminds me of Neverland and being a kid forever, which is my lifelong goal. I would like to live in here, but instead I buy a few things for my sisters and continue on.

I walk down King St., and venture into the older part of town to explore some of my favorite parts of historical Charleston. I love strolling up and down the old streets and alleys and gazing up at the old buildings with their iron detailing, overflowing window boxes, and colorful complexions. I have no destination and I weave up and down the lanes, sometimes parallel to the carriage tours and bike taxis who share the streets. The old churches and Cathedrals are striking, and some feature graveyards with headstones dating well over a hundred years back.

I head home in time to meet Jamie as she arrives from work. We head to Sesame Burgers with some of Jamie's friends who I've met on past trips. We enjoy the food and company, and of course the sun is shining gloriously so that doesn't hurt either. The night is dampened only by my realization that I should be departing in a few short days...

5/6/2013. - Day 41 - Who Wouldn't Wanna Be Me

5/6/2013. - Day 41 -
Who Wouldn't Wanna Be Me

Got no money in my pocket... I got a hole in my jeans...
Had a job and I lost quit it, but it won't get to me....

(Setting) Running low on cash, running high on life. No plans, no commitments. Just sunshine and time.

As a general rule, when I visit Charleston, or anywhere for that matter, I always have a detailed agenda and structure my time accordingly. Since this trip has no beginning and no end, each day I do whatever the heck I wanna do [GOSH].

So that's what I did today. It was finally sunny. I roamed around, took the bike for a spin, cased out the local beaches, and settled on Isle of Palms. If you skip any day of this blog, skip today. It was a day of relaxation and nothingness. Unless of course you really want to read about someone who's life is absolutely carefree because you need inspiration--then by all means, read on.

I reached Isle of Palms around low tide and immediately began my beach combing. About me: I LOVE beach combing. And it is the only thing in the entire world that I have utmost and unending patience for. I could walk the beach for hours, literally. I absolutely love it.

Today's spoils are particularly fun. I have collected about a dozen sand dollars which I found in a small ridge of sand and shallow water near the beach. I have also found a few interesting shells to take home. I'm elated at the sand dollar find though; a dozen perfect specimens. It's like winning the beach lottery. I'm looking forward to giving them as gifts to my friends at home and hoping they treasure them like I do!

I spend a large part of the day sitting in the sun and thinking about how cold and snowy it is in ND. And laughing a little. I just love Charleston and all it has to offer and today is simply perfect. I return home to socialize with Dodger and greet Jamie. We do a little evening shopping and settle easily into our evening routine on the couch. It's the kind of comfort and familiarity I've been dreaming of and it couldn't be better.

5/5/2013. - Day 40 - He could calm a storm and heal the blind, and I'd bet He'd understand a heart like mine.

5/5/2013. - Day 40 - He could calm a storm and heal the blind, and I'd bet He'd understand a heart like mine.



This morning we get up fairly early and pile into the Toyota for a trek to Kiawah Island, in search of the dolphins. Our research has indicated that there is an area of the island where dolphins have learned to "strand feed" in groups, beaching themselves and the fish they collectively trap on the sand, and then feasting. We are hopeful to see them this morning and have planned our day according to the tides. Dodger is even lucky enough to score a seat in the car and has been warned to be on his best behavior.

The road to Kiawah is beautiful, lined with old oak trees that create a canopy overhead. When we arrive at the park, it's cloudy with a light wind. We make our way to the shore while the waves are still moving out. Low tide will turn to high tide in about a half hour and we need to walk quite a distance to the area where the river meets the ocean. Despite the lack of sun which continues to plague the low country, I'm delighted to be out on the beach, and the prospect of seeing dolphins is always exciting to me.

There are only a few others out this morning, so Dodger gets to go off his leash and run free and chase his tennis ball. Dodger is not always conscious of the tennis ball though, and when something or someone else catches his attention, we frequently end up retrieving the ball ourselves. At any rate, Dodger is happy to have full run of the beach, and we are not terribly upset to oblige him and fetch the ball ourselves now and then.

Our destination is the mouth of the river where it empties into the ocean, as this is rumored as the spot where the dolphins gather at low tide. As we near the inlet where the river meets the ocean, there are a few more people and dog walkers and Dodger (now back on the leash) is fighting Jamie for all she's got. Dog-mom Jamie is annoyed and regretting her decision to bring him. And I am deepening my resolve to wait many years before having children.


As we wait for the dolphins, I explore the beach area and spy a welk shell in the sand and am elated at the find. Then I wade further out into the receding tide and see starfish everywhere. Excitement explodes and I am running about like a child yelling to Jamie about my discoveries. I hold the starfish in my hand and feel their tiny sucker feet moving on my palm. I also spy tons more welk shells. It's as though I have hit the beachcomber jackpot. I race to pick up a large welk, and in all my excitement of the discovery, become careless in my pre-inspection of all beach items. Generally I do not touch beach finds with my bare hands, at least not initially. Usually I inspect them with another object like a stick or rock, and then, only if I determine it's safe, I will pick them up, continuing of course to carefully examine them for creepie-crawlies. But this morning the thought of dolphins and seeing starfish has made me forget my precautionary measures. As I reached down the grab a welk shell and turn it over in my hand, I shrieked and cast it out into the ocean after a crab poked out of it and startled the bejezus out of me.

Rule #1: You MUST inspect all beach materials thoroughly no matter how excited you are about dolphins or any other sea discovery. The consequences range from death to mild embarrassment.

I tried to act normal after this incident but it's highly unlikely no one noticed. I calmed down somewhat afterwards. Jamie is mad she brought both of us now.

Almost exactly at low tide, we began to see dorsal fins. Jamie and I have developed a habit of always being in some sort of scan mode when it comes to dorsal fins. Usually dorsal fins mean excitement; sometimes they mean sharks. We prefer to think optimistically.

Dorsal Fins! Dorsal Fins!!

At the appearance of the [non shark] dorsal fins, the others who were at the shore with us crowded around at the edge of the water while Jamie and I stood back. They were all older folks, likely retired, and we had assumed they would be rule followers when it came to wildlife. Instead, they crowded on the shore. Signs explaining the process of strand feeding warned onlookers to watch from a distance to give the dolphins room to feed, but the seniors ignored them. There were several comments that were made rather loudly by J and I about how we were sure thinking the dolphins WOULD PROBABLY WANT SPACE..., but the older visitors paid no attention. Jamie and I hung back anyway, giving the dolphins room if they wanted it. One particular dolphin was very curious about the humans on shore and was showing off a little for his small audience.

Soon after the turn of the tides, the dolphins were gone and we began the trek back down the beach and to the car. We were still about 150 yards off from the walkway back to the parking lot when the wind picked up. It was evident a hard rain was impending, and we began to run the rest of the length of the beach. As we reached the path to the parking lot, rain began coming down and we were a little less than dry when we got back to the car.

We stopped at Chez Fish for a little lunch, and then returned home for an impromptu nap. The rain continued steadily throughout the afternoon. Early that evening, I attended service at Sea Coast Church. Sea Coast is a large non denominational community with several campuses in Charleston and I found it extremely welcoming and comfortable. There were people with umbrellas standing outside to entry, greeting the congregation members and guests as they made their way through the puddles and into the building. During the service, we were encouraged to light candles at the stations around the sanctuary for people who may need support, loved ones we'd lost, people who had done things to help us, and those who needed prayer. We could also attach their names to a wooden cross hanging above the candles. I found this to be an incredibly powerful practice and lit a few flames. It was a particularly emotional day for a variety of reasons--one being tomorrow marks the 7th anniversary of my brother's best friend's passing. May 6th is a day that never comes and goes without tears since Michael left us that summer. I'm also missing my family a lot today and that adds to the emotion.

It's good to be in church at times like this, to feel surrounded and enveloped in God's love. To have a shoulder to lean on in Jesus during times of grief and missing loved ones, gone or just far away. I'm comforted within the sanctuary and am glad for this moment of overwhelming emotions to have occurred at such a perfect place.

But I thought I ordered CHEESE?!

That evening, Jamie and I gorged on nachos at Juanita Greenberg's in honor of Cinco De Mayo. The popular Mexican place was packed and featured loud live music for the event. After consuming our fill of nachos, and of course, queso (which is cheese if you didn't know), we returned home again, hoping for a tomorrow with no rain.

5/4/2013. - Day 39 - My Southern Comfort Zone

5/4/2013. - Day 3 - My Southern Comfort Zone

Today is Saturday in Charleston and while it started out with a little sun, the sun has quickly hidden itself away in favor of a weekend nap. Generally I wouldn't look to blame this type of behavior, as I myself fancy naps on a regular basis; however, the sun has been resting for a week now, paying no attention while the clouds and rain overrun the atmosphere with darkness and frequent downpours. I've had enough.

It's a little windy with a slight rain coming down when Jamie gets home from work early this afternoon, and we head for the local shopping center. I plan to explore a little while J gets her hair cut. I'm familiar with this particular shopping mecca because it houses some of our favorite finds in Charleston, such as Francesca's, Teal, and Style Exchange. I will have no trouble busying myself while Jamie is gone. The trouble will likely be me finding too many pretty things, and Jamie is terrible at encouraging purchases and no good at helping me keep to a budget.
I like her a lot anyway.

The rain starts coming down more steadily by the time Jamie's appointment is over, and we return home and find ourselves sleeping part of the afternoon away. We have social plans later in the day, but for now we have parked ourselves on the couch to watch the Kentucky Derby coverage, or at that point, the pre-derby content. Somehow we both drifted off to sleep on the couch with Dodger at our feet. I awoke suddenly and blamed Jamie for not waking me up earlier, then learned she had fallen asleep, too. I think for a few moments we both pondered going back to sleep, and then decided to drag ourselves off the couch.

We scrambled to get ready in the scarce amount of time we had before we were supposed to be out the door to meet friends. The locals had already gathered downtown hours before, festively adorned with all matter of hats in honor of the Kentucky Derby. A few days prior, I told Jamie we should make the drive to Kentucky to go watch it, then reconsidered when I saw the distance. The TV would have to suffice. I would have liked to say we at least had fancy hats, but we did not-which is a major derby failure.

With the ladies at Rarebit

We did not join the downtown scene immediately after we made ourselves presentable, but met up with friends at their home and quickly caught the derby coverage before leaving for a cocktail party at an acquaintance's home downtown. After that we put in a request for a table at Rarebit and retired to the Starz Grille and Bar on the rooftop of one of Charleston's historic buildings. The night was not ideal in terms of weather, but the rain did let up long enough for us to enjoy some time outside before dinner.

We were surrounded by other small groups gathered on the rooftop, as a light breeze fanned the flames of the candles scattered about for ambiance, and the sounds of laughter and conversation drifted around our table.

Charleston seems to always feel comfortable, familiar, and old fashioned. It's like finding the perfect vintage piece that's both comfy and charming, fitting perfectly in all the right places, and also quite stylish. People here are friendly and polite, and you feel as though you could have been here a hundred years and at the same time you yearn to spend a hundred more just enjoying the company and the atmosphere. I return every few months for this feeling and to relive the memories of some college antics with my random draw roomie from freshman year at UND-- and of course to make new memories together as we continue to have new adventures operating under the aliases of "adults".

When our table was ready at Rarebit, we enjoyed another amazing meal--does Charleston offer anything less?--and then were off to the Cocktail Club. The Cocktail Club is structured to resemble a building under construction, with simple wall framing dividing some of the rooms. While there, I learned that a "professional yacht racer" is a real job, or so I'm told by a gentleman who claims to be one. If that can be an actual profession then I need to get more creative in my job outlook.

We didn't stay out too late tonight after Friday night's hiatus and headed home on the early side, much to Dodger's delight. Dodger again slept beside me, though I'm not sure he plans on standing watch for cockroaches.

5/3/2013. - Day 38 - Every night’s like a Friday night.

"Well Behaved Women Rarely Make Me a Sandwich."   Nice.

5/3/2013. - Day 38 -
Every night’s like a Friday night.

This makes me laugh. Because I'm apparently 12 years old.

I spent a little time exploring downtown today. The last few days have featured long periods of rain and lower than average temperatures so I’ve been here almost a week with no beach exposure yet. Depressing.

Tonight was also girls’ night out with a few of the ladies that I have gotten to know from my trips to Charleston. J’Pauls gets our vote for dinner, with fantastic seafood, steak, and macaroni and cheese. It should be noted that macaroni and cheese, my go to food of choice, is a widely accepted adult delicacy in the south. Take that, haters.

Ready to hit the town

We went to Hometeam on Sullivan’s Island for after dinner activities and enjoyed the lively atmosphere and live music. Jamie convinced me she was likely incapable of navigating the third floor stairs back home more than once so I was still on Dodger Duty and would have to take him out when we returned later that night. I am also on Jamie duty as the designated driver and that makes me feel less unemployed since I have two souls to care for tonight: J and Dodger.

"Hometeam"

 Girl’s night always reminds me why it’s so important to keep time with your girlfriends no matter what. It’s good for the soul to have some laughter and let loose and talk the night away with the ladies. I must make a note to do this more often.