Archive: July 2007

I imagine that pasta dough, after being extruded to make spaghetti, would feel close to how I feel after this week at work: pressured, limp, and strung out. Long workdays and surprise assignments resulted in late arrivals at home, grouchiness, and home-front sniping. The days went quickly, but only because my workload was so high that there wasn’t nearly enough time. As soon as I checked something off my list, four more would take its place. I was running on a treadmill with the incline constantly increasing. I hate running.

This morning, I fought back tears as I drove to work. The grim knowledge that I had been on the job market for 10 weeks and had nothing to show for it except a spreadsheet showing 47 applications, 2 interviews, and 2 subsequent rejections was almost too much to bear alongside such weighty unhappiness at work. Part of me debated that it would be better for me to just get the crying over with before I got to the office, but some stubborn imp wanted to prove that I didn’t have to cry. I wasn’t that tired. Things weren’t that bad. Grow up, already, I told myself rather harshly. So I didn’t cry.

Chaos greeted me as I stepped into the reception area of the office. We were having some construction done to make more efficient workspaces, which meant that my workspace was being downsized to a standard cubicle. I didn’t really mind because my desk was way too big for me, but the construction people were supposed to be finished with the space where I sit by the end of the day on Wednesday. Coming in this morning to pieces of file cabinets and desks strewn about meant that I would have to revert to my makeshift workspace in the conference room, again. Sigh.

After five crunched hours of work and a grueling three-hour meeting, I finally emerged to see my finished cubicle. It was nothing special. Beige. Padded. I rolled up my sleeves and headed toward the contents of my desk, contained in bright red Staples copy boxes. As I unpacked, I took small, quiet pleasure in building my new space. I hooked up my phone, set up my docking station, laid out my big calendar, put up pictures of JG and me. Not bad at all, I thought.

I drove home with a settled mind, breathing easily. Somewhere, between figuring out where my stapler should go and labeling my surge protector, organizing my cubicle had quieted me down. I was no longer a tornado, taking everything in my path. I paused to think about how grateful I was for the peace and sent up a little wish that it would stay with me, for just a little bit.

JG welcomed me home with a hug and a perfect summer dinner. Tomorrow morning, we’re heading to the beach with for the day with friends. Things are looking up.

When the cousins, aunts, and uncles of JG’s family assemble, competition reigns and bragging rights are the only trophy.

“Bet you can’t fit ten grapes in your mouth.”

“Who can toss the most bottle caps in the bowl?”

“Ha, I finished the crossword that you couldn’t!”

“But can anyone make it from here?”

And so on.

On the beach, the whole family partakes in a variety of sport events to see who’s got game: quoits, four-square, paddle ball, bocce, Frisbee, and some melee called “rundown.” After working up a sweat, they all plunge into the ocean to see who can catch the best wave. And then more running around or tossing things. I don’t know the specifics; I abstain from all of that athletic activity in favor of other worthwhile endeavors like napping.

Unfortunately, with all of the unfriendly weather that frequented the Jersey shore last week, the possibilities for beach athletics were few and far between. What is a pack of competition-driven relatives to do?

Set up a tournament of Wii bowling, of course!

JG’s uncle received the game system for Father’s Day and brought it along for everyone to try. It was the perfect venue for exerting indoor restlessness and spectator heckling. I took one for the team (ahem) and bowed out of the tournament so that there would be sixteen participants – “the perfect number!” JG crowed – but I volunteered to draw up tidy brackets and keep score throughout the proceedings. We randomly seeded the bowlers and set up a double-elimination system with brackets for winners and losers. In an effort to keep the smack-talking to a minimum, I dubbed the latter the “elimination bracket.”

Play began on Independence Day with the following highlights:

• Mimi bowled for the first time and was ridiculously good. She said, “This isn’t so hard! Like that beer pong you all talk about.”
• I got to make a personal avatar (a Mii) and I turned out so cute! Even though I didn’t bowl in the tournament, I got to mill around in the background and that was thrill enough for me.
• One of the aunts bowled seven strikes in a row, resulting in the nickname, “Seven-Pack.” She earned the tournament’s highest score of 259.

With the onset of good weather on the last beach day, the tournament was abandoned with two rounds to play. I guess we’ll never know who would have been the 2007 Wii Bowling Champion, which is a shame because no one gets to brag. Ah, well. There’s always speculation, I guess, as with any sports commentary worth its salt.

Much to the collective chagrin of vacationers at Ocean City, New Jersey, the weather was highly uncooperative on Independence Day. Gray clouds? Wind? Rain?! How unpatriotic! Like good Americans, JG’s family and I grumbled about the inclement conditions and the resulting lack of fireworks and then had our fill of traditional July 4th goodies, like margaritas and taco dip. Because nothing says, “Happy Birthday, America!” like Mexican food.

The spate of gloomy weather was even more significant to JG and me because we arrived in Ocean City on July 3, which left us with only three days to spend on the beach. I woke up early on the morning of the 4th and watched the sky progress from dark gray to lighter gray; there was no perceivable sunrise, which was not a favorable omen when you are going for hot and sunny. JG and I ate our breakfast donuts and watched the clouds in between solving crossword puzzle clues. Surely, the dark weather wouldn’t last past lunchtime.

Now, I am not at all a beach person. The feeling of sand between my toes makes me feel gritty, waves of stinging salt water always seem to buffet me so that my eyes burn and my mouth fills, sunscreen makes me break out, and I hate sweating, which is pretty much all I do while I bake in the sun. Needless to say, I was not looking forward to the actual beach time as much as JG was, but the sight of the beach after lunch was a letdown, even for me. On the busiest day of the summer at Ocean City, there was a mere smattering of folks set up on the sand. The sky was an ominous shade of gunmetal and the wind was so strong that birds flying against it simply hovered in one place, as though on a midair treadmill. The lifeguards were huddled on the stand in bright orange, nylon coverall-type outfits, not looking at all ready to plunge into the ocean. We planted our chairs in the sand, suited up in sweatshirts and baseball caps, and hunkered down for the long winter. I mean, the afternoon.

Two hours later, I stood up. I had woken up with a start from a restless nap from the feeling of sand berating my face and feet. Whenever anyone stood up, walked away, brushed off anything, or flicked a towel, sand was thrown into wind and inevitably hit someone. From the incessant shower of sharpness on my two square feet of exposed skin, it appeared that I was a sand magnet. I had had enough. It was time to give up. I was the first to retreat into the indoors, but the others soon followed. I simply had the advantage of the first hot shower.

The next day was equally dismal and my endurance was correspondingly short. I didn’t see the point of subjecting myself to discomfort – nay, misery – when I could curl up inside and be significantly more relaxed. Wasn’t that the point of this vacation? Or something?

Thankfully, our last day turned out to be beautiful and sunny. JG and I headed out to the beach early and were the last ones to head back up to the house. He did his best to squeeze a week’s worth of sunshine and beach games into one packed day; I snapped as many pictures with backdrop of blue sky as I could. The previous days’ overcast skies were such a contrast to Friday’s clarity and we couldn’t have had a better day if we had placed an order. Maybe our order came in a little late, that’s all.

Where else can you have two glazed, pretzel-shaped donuts for breakfast and chase it with a piece of Special Dark? Where else is a traditional Independence Day meal completely Mexican? Where else will Mimi place a Fuzzy Navel into your empty hand because, well, doesn’t everyone like a pre-dinner drink? Where else do card games and charades cause cousins to shout late into the night? Ah, the shore.

Unfortunately, because the majority of our beach time was plagued by gray clouds and whipping winds, the time was not quite as idyllic as other vacations in JG’s memory have been. Sitting on the beach is not so pleasant when you’re wearing sweats and a hoodie while you huddle under your makeshift-blanket-but-actual-beach-towel, all the while being stung by pellets of sand from all directions. At least yesterday was warm and beautiful, so we got one good day in and I am tan enough to make a difference, but not so much that I look like a coconut. Regardless, I managed to eat more than my share of seafood and take a whole mess of pictures, including an inordinate amount depicting the lifeguard boat. I just couldn’t stop myself.

Even after just four days away, the old homestead is a sight for sore eyes. I still have to wade through my pictures for prints and process my journal scribblings, but for now, our big couch is calling my name. It’s good to be back.