"What do you do at Kiawah?"

A couple of people have asked lately “Thea, what exactly is it that you do at Kiawah?” and I sat down to try and think about it. For approximately 20 Decembers, various members of the Williamson clan have trekked from locations across the ‘States to a small island twenty miles from Charleston, South Carolina.

Why do we come here? It used to be a central meeting point, a good compromise between our family in Maryland, my grandmother in Florida, and my dad’s two sisters in Georgia.

Nobody remembers whose idea it was to rent a small condo on the beach in 1989, and it doesn’t really matter now, because there’s a critical mass of the family that adamantly believes it just wouldn’t be Christmas without Kiawah. I am part of that ornery, sentimental faction. This island, with its salt marshes, sleepy alligators, winding roads and flat beaches is one of my favorite places on the earth. It’s a little hard to explain why, but I’ll give it a go. These are my top 10 reasons.

1. Wherever we stay there is an entire table devoted to cookies. Every family brings at least three baked goods, and everyone takes turn making lefse, the Norwegian flatbread that my grandmother rolled out in hundreds each year.
2. I can walk to the end of the island. That’s cool.
3. Nobody used to come there during the winter. That used to be über-cool. Now the secret’s out (sadness). I guess that doesn’t really count as a reason.
4. We cook delicious meals, eat them, laugh and be rowdy, go for long walk/run, then repeat.
5. New Tradition: a whole roasted pig and high-stakes BBQ sauce contest, three years running
6. Best street names ever. This year, we stayed at 70 Spotted Sandpiper. You take Bohicket Road to get to the island. What is that?
7. I never, ever win at Mexican Dominoes, yet I play every year. This one of life’s great mysteries.
8. I get to see my crazy family.
9. There are endless hidden places to get away from my crazy family.
10. At sunset, as the tide rushes from the ocean to flood the Kiawah River on the western tip of the island, dolphins hunt for fish in the shallows. The pelicans fly back out to the Atlantic, skimming the sparkling orange water, along with the other water birds that spent the afternoon sunning on private docks attached to mansions on the north side. Every day, if I wanted, I could sit and watch them splash and play as the sun sinks over the waves and the stars blink on overhead.

I don’t usually look at my cell phone, I enjoy watching football with my uncle and cousins, I can sleep as late as I want.

The island clearly exists beyond the normal space-time continuum and has little correlation with reality. As I step through the marsh grass the memories of the past twenty years wash over my tired mind until each beach walk is indistinguishable from the last; when I serve my plate of Norwegian meatballs each year, the familiarity adds another layer of richness to this Dinner we’ve shared as a family; I burn my fingers pulling pork and it feels just like it did one year before. I never learn.

And that’s why we’ll keep coming back.

Blast from the past

I got home today, and what to my wondering eyes should appear? Not a sleigh and eight tiny reindeer (although that would be cool), but a clean room and semi-organized garage. This is something that I have not observed in the Williamson house since some time when I was in college. Definitely pre-2002.

In the hall sat my magical purple trunk. Magical, I call it, because it tends to make an appearance around milestone moments and elucidate some metaphorical growth or transition. I really wasn't expecting one tonight but was pleasantly surprised to unearth 2 volumes of self-indulgence labeled in the following manner

SOPHOMORE YEAR: I SWEAR I'M NOT A DRAMA QUEEN.

[unlabeled Senior Year with the following late-night quotation on the cover]

K-Y'know how we have a [big] intestine & small intestine?
T- Yeah?
K-Wouldn't it be funny if they were called the colon & the semi-colon?

Sweet.

Inside were printouts of journals and blogs that I hadn't read in years, including all the "On Air" and "On the shelf" full of thinly-veiled angst and/or reflections of my academic pursuits. These snippets were almost more fun than the journal itself, although I haven't really gotten to read most of that. Yet.

There was a warm (and not always sweet) wave of nostalgia that passed over, and this will probably spur more commentary later, but for now I submit one quote and one observation.

QUOTE regarding a torridly unrequited long-lost love. is that oxymoronic? who cares.

"He really does forget that I exist, and that's just the way he is; I'll always remember, and that's the way I am."

Wow. It's great how pronouns can make something applicable...TO EVERYONE I'VE DATED in the past two years, not to mention long-lost boys.

OBSERVATION
There used to be a different tagline for Amarga, which I had completely forgotten. In a smack of dramatic irony, it surprised me at it s bitterness:

And the sad truth which hovers o'er my desk
Turns what was once romantic to burlesque
-Lord Byron, Don Juan

Nocturnal Activities

I was awake at 6:15 this morning. Normally, Ms. Williamson in a state of conscious thought would be no novelty. In fact, on a weekday, if I weren't up by 6:15 there would be serious cause for worry. Fortunately, last night wasn't a weeknight, or I'd have been fucked. I climbed into my soft, happy bed circa 6:10 after a quite wonderful night out on the town.

Yesterday began pretty abysmally, with a standardized test. In order to be a "highly qualified" teacher, I had to take a General Knowledge exam from the state of Florida. Technically, this was supposed to have been completed at the end of my first year of teaching. Whatever, man, they can't *afford* to fire me. Nevertheless (note competent use of transitional phrase here, a la FCAT) I decided to comply with the district's regulations about qualifying me to be a public school teacher. Waking up at 7:00 on a Saturady wasn't exactly my first choice of activities, but what I didn't know then was that school would be cancelled for two more days, making the sacrifice of my Saturday less than a hardship.

After a wretched three hours of mindless testing (AKA the pseudo-FCAT-for-teachers), I was starving, freezing, and very tired. I gobbled down some Publix sushi, attempted and failed to read my book. My intellectual needs then conceded defeat to my corporeal desires, and I proceeded to sleep for a good four hours. There was a rancid air surrounding my mood all of yesterday: I was pissed that it was Dave's birthday and I didn't get to spend it with him; I had to take some stupid test; there was a huge-ass storm on the way being fickle and unpredictable, and absolutely nothing I could do about any of these things.

When VA came and woke me up at 6:00, I frankly remarked "I'm in a foul mood; fair warning." Things slightly improved as she convinced me to trek north to DSW. As the sun sank down, my spirits rose with the help of an iced coffee and some teal velvet pumps. Then, deciding to participate in the DDH birthday spirit, I bought him a present. The funk finally left when we got around to eating at 9:30. C. joined us, and we stretched our "light snack" into a 2 hour dinner.

For some reason, I also let myself be convinced to make an appearance at Tobacco Road for Heimy's dad's birthday. Slightly surreal to be at a bar with TFA-ers and someone's parents, but fun enough. Some light Spanish rock, and several strange late 90's covers to pass the time, and then the party migrated outside. Caught up in the moment, I hopped in one of three cars heading east to Purdy Lounge, and ended up there for the remainder of the evening. There's nothing like a good DJ who knows his crowd: a little old school and a little new school hip hop to keep the twentysomethings out on the dance floor. It felt strangely familiar to be out in a club with a group of friends; I clearly wasn't there to pick up guys or be hit on by strange sketchy anonymous men. There were non-sketchy teacher boys to protect me from unwanted advances, and girlfriends' budding flirtations to entertain my need for vicarious romance.

No longer even remotely tipsy from the two beers I had way back at T. Road, I felt a strange euphoria when we arrived back at dPlace circa 5:30 am. There were hints of freshman year "I have all the fun I need to sober," but also vestiges of "I'm lonely and needing male attention so I'll just be a little flirty" from, well, every other year =). The bizarre high that comes from being in a club having fun was messing with my head, along with my irregular sleep patterns from the days before, so I couldn't sleep.

Instead, I attempted to pinpoint just where this vague feeling of familiarity was coming from. One not-so-subtle source came to me by way of my garments. Randomly (or perhaps subconsciously) I had chosen the same white Zara shirt featured in the "Picture With the Biggest Smile Ever" from a long, long, May night in Madrid. A little gazing at said picture was enough to both bring another, smaller smile to my face and remind my self to turn the page and put the album away. It's best not to romanticize events that waft in from the past; I need to remind myself that I spent the end of *that* night sobbing into my journal, alone in a one-bed hostel. For other less obvious reasons, my night out also reminded me of Venice, so I took a little trek down a few memory canals, alternately wistful and chagrined.

Thoroughly temporally disoriented, and as Ani says "lost in the folds of my memory," I happened to glance at the clock to see 5:58 glowing placidly back at me. Since my hair still reeked of smoke and other bar smells, I hopped in the shower to rid myself of the residue of the evening. If only I could have done the same with the inside of my head. Confused but happy, I at last fell into bed around the time I would normally awake for work.

I'm still not quite on a normal sleeping pattern due to a leisurely wakeup time today, but I've got a few more days to get back on track. Speaking of tracking, I should get up early to see what Wilma's going to do to South Florida. It's a little bit exciting, but I'm worried that this one's for real.

Twilight Zone

I'm too young to be nostalgic; I know this, I'm not stupid. But these past few days have been messing with my head a little. So many familiar scenes: matinee movies at surf and sand; meeting the parents for dinner out after work; getting up in p.j.'s to drive Dad out to the base and listening to Fresh Air on the ride home; meeting at the dairy queen on colley avenue for a night out in ghent, our evening's plans stymied because (as always) I'm underage; early nights driving home alone.

Tonight, at 2:00 am, leaving Kempsville and Mandi's house in the rusty Caravan, listening to classic country with the window rolled down, singing shamelessly as I let my hair down in true 80's movie fashion to blow in the wind on a warm, almost sticky Virginia Beach summer night that is classic to Hampton Roads. I had to check myself several times on the once familiar roads, the exits on and off of highway 264, and make sure the long unused synapses in my brain that used to steer me home without thinking were functioning properly. In a moment of hideously trite coincidence, I flipped the radio over to my other favorite station only to find the song "Save Tonight" now coming out of the blown-out speakers of the van. 'Fight the break of dawn...for tomorrow I'll be gone. I wish that I, that I could stay' it said to me, as I cruised home, the memory of one last big hug for Mandi before she left for Blacksburg in the morning still fresh in my mind. Excuse me, could I be in a bad episode of Felicity from sophomore year of high school, please? Give me a break people. Somebody up there must have a sick sense of humor to bestow such situational irony on me. I get the joke.

Heat lightning flashing overhead, I decide that I'm better off with 80's country that reminds me of a time far away enough to be blurry. I'm in no hurry to get home; this is pretty tame for a night out on the town: dinner at 219 with my family, a late showing of Seabiscuit at the mall, and then a quick goodbye over late-night television. Exactly like every other Friday night of my formative years in Va Beach, that's what's odd.

Only tonight, when I drove home, instead of waxing melodramatically over that boy that was never going to realize I wanted to be more than his friend, I calmly enjoyed the soundtrack to my life. I wasn't crying over the realization that I'd have to go back to school on Monday and deal with the people that either I'd yelled at or had mocked me the week before, none of that crap this time, just a bit of a sigh remembering how long it's been since the Three Witches have been in the same city for more than a day or two. I come home, listening to Ani Difranco as in days of yore, but instead of a mix tape made by an acquaintance in well-meaning pity (old school acoustic Ani) after seeing my frustrated bitterness, now I've got a CD acquired by chance from a new friend. On my run this afternoon as I passed by the club soccer tryouts at the field in my neighborhood and remembered doing the same thing years ago: watching the U-17 and U-18 boys' teams for a glimpse of my crush. Tonight I jogged by a little slower than I used to in high school when I was in shape. As the sun set, I found myself casually checking out the coach instead.

I would call all these moments regressive flashbacks, but they're not. They're strange doppelgangers of moments that happened a while ago, but softer than I remember them, less aggressive and hurtful. As I go through the same routines, the ones that used to comfort me still do (I'll always consider the cookbook section of Barnes and Noble one of my favorite evening haunts...I'm all about those couches), and the ones that used to make me want to run far far away from here don't irritate me so much. There's a sort of peace that I've made with this city, an understanding that we've agreed upon. It doesn't fuck with me too much, and I agree to not to try and make it something that it's not. We've grown up a little, seen some new people, and done our own thing for a while.

The cat climbs into my lap to try and push my fingers away from the keys as she settles down, but instead of urgently displacing her because I can't type fast enough to compete with jumbled angry thoughts, I endulge the formerly fat furball and scratch her head for a while as I pluck away with one finger on the keyboard. She knows that she doesn't have to comfort me tonight, and will wait around in the hallway until I'm ready to crawl into bed. Speaking of which, I shouldn't keep her waiting too long--don't want her to get pissed.

Big Apple

I love NYC, just wish it weren't so damn expensive. Once again, fantastic times were had in Manhattan with the other 2/3 of the fantastic Cape Henry alumna trio. Two guys, independent of each other asked if we were "Charlie's Angels, or something" when we went out together on Saturday night. It's good stuff.

Top 10 moments of the weekend

10. Naked man on 3rd Avenue trapped inside a laundromat, yelling and pounding on the door at 1:30 am

9. Walking through "The Strand" bookstore in the Village and finding a 1975 hardbound copy of Don Juan for just $15. I [heart] Lord Byron

8. Being treated to dinner by Rachael's freshman year roomate and her parents at a restaurant called "Don Quijote." Troubadors serenaded us with 'Guantanamera;' I was having a hard time keeping a straight face.

7. Mandi and Me threatening to pretend to be lesbian lovers during aforementioned dinner. Hey, we *were* in Chelsea after all.

6. Large latino guy next to me in the subway on his way to the Bronx carrrying vintage Mary Poppins record album and 1960's Candyland game, and extolling collectable boardgames

5. Listening in to super-anal fashion designer tell friend at lunch about his interviews with European fashion houses in Paris and Milan, while eating challah french toast in 2nd Avenue Deli

4. Sipping merlot and debating museum sociology in the Asian pottery wing on the 2nd floor of the Met, post fashion exhibit

3. Seeing Pirates of the Caribbean in digital projection after the best cheesecake ever. I love Orlando Bloom, just for the record.

2. Clubbing at GO, 8th Avenue, and getting the VIP treatment (private table in the corner, free champagne, me entering sans ID), even though we were clearly only VIPs because Mandi knows the manager

1. The "I'm OK, you're OK Dinner" with Mandi, remeniscing with only a slight amount of nostalgia about high school, with black truffle gnocchi and tiramisu, AND mom calling to tell me that Italy is indeed a go.

Now that I'm back at the beach, it's time to do all that stuff that i've got on my list of summer projects, even though the summer is quickly winding down. Fellowships, yardwork, kicking my butt back into shape, super quick review of Italian grammar, and all that good stuff. Got caught out in a thunderstorm again when I went running today-I love rain and lightning =).