The Allure of the Beach: An Enigma Wrapped in a Sandy Mystery

Why are humans, and Dan in particular, drawn to the beach? You might believe that the answer is easy and obvious and has something to do with the joys of swimming in the ocean. My years of careful observation of the vacationing Sipp family suggest, however, that you would be wrong.

For one thing, the amount of time actually spent in the water each day by Dan’s family when on a beach trip is minuscule in comparison with the amount of time spent doing any of the following activities: a) Going to the grocery store, b) Cooking, c) Eating, d) Doing dishes, e) Going Back to the grocery store, f) Talking about when to go in the water, g) Waiting for other people to get back from the store so you can all go swimming together or h) Putting on swimsuits, swim shoes, sunscreen, hats, sunglasses, saying goodbye to Riley the dog and that one last trip or two to the bathroom… Aaargh!

I am much too Type A to be comfortable with the glacier pace at which these activities are accomplished by the group. Inevitably I reach the end of my patience long before they are finished puttering and begin harrumphing, “If people want to go to the beach so badly and want to go swimming in particular, why are we unable to get around and out of the house until about 3:00 in the afternoon at which time they will complain that a) the tide is too low or b) the water is too cold or c) it has started to rain?!” It is at times like these that I feel a definite itch for a cattle prod of my very own…

In an even handed attempt at inquiry I should also wonder why I am in such a particular hurry to get into the water when my time spent in the ocean is nothing but a constant juggling of fears: Is this the time that I will be dragged to my watery grave by some lurking sea monster? Will I impale myself on a half hidden syringe full of Ebola virus or lose an appendage to a razor sharp piece of glass? Am I going to be dragged out to sea by a rip tide or will the next huge wave twist me into a broken pretzel and toss me lifeless up on shore? I may be the first person striding into the ocean in an exasperated manner but I also breathe a deep and sincere sigh of relief every time we get in the car on the way home with all limbs intact.

Having grown up taking beach vacations with his family, Dan has none of these fears and—although he is famously wimpy about getting into the ocean if he feels that it is colder than he’d like it to be And has been known to put one toe in and decide that he must run to the bathroom again, thank you very much, be right back—he throws himself with great abandon into the surf. In fact, I have seen no other beach goers down here body surf with anything like Dan and his brother Jerry’s fearlessness and gusto.

For the uninitiated, the goal of body surfing is to catch a wave that is breaking just at the moment when it will pick you up and hurl you at the shelly shore with the most possible force, and somehow Not get pulverized to a bloody pulp in the process. If the surf is amenable and the day not too cold then Dan and Jerry will gleefully repeat this perilous process over and over and over. Whooping and comparing war wounds as they go.

I used to try to keep up with them but now I mostly bounce along, trying not to get smacked too hard by the big waves, to keep my hair out of my eyes so I can see what is coming up to smack me and to not get eaten. Bounce, duck, flip hair, wipe face, yelp, duck, repeat… Occasionally I do catch a wave, generally by accident as I am not very good at it, and my reward is getting to struggle through the surf back out to where the waves can smack me in the face again…

But I was going to try to define the mysterious allure of the beach trip. A half an hour a day testing ourselves in the Atlantic can’t be the whole story… Walks on the beach are nice (I have developed quite a fetish for shells and sea stones) and spending time with friends and family is great, coming together to play games and tell stories that we have all heard a hundred times before and still enjoy repeating. The food tends to be really good too. However I believe there is something a bit more deep-seated at play here and perhaps it is this: Memories.

Just as the smell of the North Woods, imprinted on me during the many trips I took there as a child, conjures up all sorts of nostalgic feelings for me Despite knowing that there were mosquitoes and bear attacks and long portages carrying heavy packs and aching muscles and sleeping on the hard rocky ground and rain and socks and shoes that never dried and smelled Terrible… so too does the sound and smell of the ocean speak to Dan at the most basic level, singing a siren song he first heard years ago that promises peace and the chance to relive some of the joys of childhood. Despite any disappointments, drawing him back again and again…

Critters

I must confess that it’s not just flowers and birds that are to be found in greater extravagance down here. I have also already had encounters with a much larger number of bugglies than I ever did in Chicago. True, we had the occasionally scurrying roach or rodent in the Elaine Place apartment and plenty of little spiders but at least they all knew their place and were mildly embarrassed to be caught. They didn’t saunter around snickering amongst themselves about the pale new girl in the neighborhood and making snide personal remarks about my weight and housekeeping skills.

In Chicago I never opened my eyes first thing in the morning to the sight of a huge granddaddy roach sitting calmly, high up on the wall right in front of me. I never had to pull multiple ticks off myself in one day either. Or, walking down the sidewalk in the evening, ever saw giant roaches scurry past on some important errand. (Rats, yes, but not roaches!)

Here it seems that either we have constant run ins with said leathery winged things Or a nice man with a big shiny canister comes around every month or so and walks through the kitchen and living room spraying poison… Neither is a perfect solution.

Fortunately Dan has taken very well to the role of knight in shining armor and I am not quite so squeamish about the roachies as I first was. Most creepy crawlies don’t bother me that much but there is something so stomach turning about a roach. It’s completely irrational, I confess, but to see one implies to my subconscious that there are Thousands more hiding in the dark all around me and there is nothing I can do to stop them.

I was, however, completely calm tonight as Dan tried to catch a high flying cricket to take it outside. Despite all his efforts we never caught the silly thing. It had legs like little jet packs and made the most astounding leaps. Very differently shaped from the crickets I am used to. It looked something like this one.

And then I found this fat slug in the bathtub as I got in for my shower. How did he get there? I probably don’t want to know. I just calmly got his mug shot and let him go with a stiff warning…

P.S.

If you happen to go to Wilber's on a Thursday, as we stumbled upon yesterday, you will have the chance to enjoy their beef brisket BBQ special... Oh, so lovely! We were informed that it's been their Thursday special for the past 45 years so I doubt they'll be changing it anytime soon.

Currently I am sitting at a computer at the Bogue Banks Public Library checking my e-mail and marveling at how different this experience is from the libraries of my childhood and yet how "library" feeling it still is.

We will hit the beach this afternoon. Full report to follow.

Good Eats!

Tomorrow Dan and I will drive the long length of US Highway 70 from Raleigh to the beach where we will spend the Memorial Day weekend. About two and a half hours into our journey our car will turn of its own accord into a very large, mostly full parking lot outside of an unassuming one story brick building in Goldsboro with a big sign outside that says merely: “Wilber’s Barbeque.” I know this will happen as it has happened each and every time Dan and I have gone to the beach. I assure you that it is the car’s choice and has nothing to do with me begging Dan to stop there every waking second for two or three weeks prior to our leave taking.

Fellow travelers, I beg you, do not be deterred by the less than glamorous setting, by the somewhat dark, pine paneled dining rooms or the perhaps less than sparkling picnic style plastic table cloths. Inside this unpretentious shell lies one of the great culinary jewels of North Carolina. And you will not have to wait long to experience it! Once in the door it generally takes about five minutes to get a seat, a big Styrofoam glass of sweet tea—with extra lemon of course!—, a basket of perfect, sweet, finger shaped hushpuppies and a plate of pulled pork goodness with slaw. All this costs only about $10 with tax and tip.

If the words “pulled pork” do not send shivers of anticipation down your spine then you have never had Wilber’s barbecue! It’s moist, tender and a little smoky with a light vinegar tang and just a little heat from red pepper flakes. You will find no sweet tomato sauce here. My favorite parts are the burnt crunchy bits. And the hushpuppies... Yummm.

Wilber’s is undeniably an Eastern Carolina BBQ institution and rightly so. Shirley Wilber has been smoking whole pigs overnight over hickory wood since he opened the place in 1962. He must be doing it right too as his business has grown quite a bit since then and he has had more than his fare share of famous people rave over his food including both Clinton and at least one Bush. Yet one must ask: Is Wilber’s the best BBQ in the world?

Well… God, in Her infinite wisdom, has created as many kinds of BBQ as there are peoples that dwell upon the face of the earth. (She even gave one to Texans!) All you have to do is watch The Food Network regularly or check out the subject in Wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Regional_variations_of_barbecue to become completely overwhelmed by the specifics.

Here is a simplified guide http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/9120357/ but I must warn you to be wary of simplification when it comes to BBQ lest you show your ignorance! For instance, this chart doesn’t take into account the type of fuel used which is Very important to a true BBQ aficionado. Wilber’s, for instance, is on the very edge of Hickory territory, points east use Oak. Also, Dan says that he has been to Lexington and in his experience Western BBQ is spicier than Eastern BBQ but can I find that on the chart? No.

The moral is that since practically each BBQ joint is unique and their individual charms indefinable, there is only one real piece of advice I can give: Try them All! Just make sure Wilber’s is somewhere high on your list. You won't be disappointed.

What’s a Girl to Do?

It's not often that one gets a chance to redefine oneself, to start from scratch as it were. This is certainly true for a cautious soul like myself who generally avoids upheaval like the plague! Yet there are times when change is thrust upon even poor little old me and I must carpe diem!

If I don’t feel exactly capable of “carpe”ing anything right at the moment, I am at least attempting to awkwardly catch—girly style, two handed to the chest—and not embarrassingly fumble said “diem.”

So I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about where I want to go next with my life and, as a result, doing research on massage therapy programs in the area. My dream (realistic or not, I’m not yet sure) is that massage therapy might make it possible for me to work part time while still pursuing, but not being supported by, my creative endeavors. I hope that it might also be a fulfilling way of helping others in a more relaxed setting than the law office!

After visiting a couple of newcomer programs last week, I spent all day Sunday at an orientation workshop at what seems to be the grand old man of Carolina massage therapy schools: Body Therapy Institute in Siler City, http://www.massage.net/. (How early in Both the massage and internet phenomenons do you have to be to get www.massage.net?!)

It’s a beautiful drive out to BTI on twisty back roads through forests and the most picturesque farms imaginable. The school itself is on a working farm and it’s a gorgeous place to learn. During the excellent lecture and hands on exercises in “body mechanics,” “presence” and “quality touch,” I would glance out of the windows to see hawks swooping low over the fields and occasionally stooping after a small furry dinner. After class I took a walk through the fields myself, around the pond and past radiant yellow irises and fragrant honeysuckle (another delightful new floral experience for someone from honeysuckleless Chicago—but I shall keep my gushing to a minimum).

I am most tempted by this beautiful, supportive place and by this potential career.

At the very least Dan is going to be one happy, relaxed fellow for the next year or so if I go for it…

Magnolias Revealed…

In Chicago I always thought of Magnolias as exotic spring flowers. Here they are common as dirt, much to my Midwestern delight. With great anticipation I’ve been watching the buds on my backyard magnolia tree grow from the size of green beans to fat little pears. Looking out my bathroom window while brushing my teeth, I Willed those tantalizing buds to burst open as I felt they surely must at any minute… The magnolias, for some mysterious reason, were stubborn and refused to open at my mental command despite the hot breath of summer breathing down their proverbial necks.

I commented on this to my Tarheel friends, “I thought magnolias were a spring flower?” “Well, late May usually…” And it hit me that late May Is spring in Chicago but down here? Well, it’s just on the cusp of summer a rollin’ in.

I am happy to report that my patience has been rewarded and my magnolia blooms are finally popping. A few fuzzy shells have split and sloughed off and the fleshy petals underneath have spread to expose the most interesting apparatus. The top of which is covered with little hooks and the bottom with tiny petalish things that shed to show a crimson center. So many things I had never noticed about the make up of a Magnolia bloom before. I suppose in future years I will not have the same delight in such mundane moments as the opening of the magnolias but for now I am relishing each new discovery.

Previously in Lee's Big Adventure...

I have discovered a fabulous way to generate blog posts... Copy from past e-mails! :)

So if this looks strangely familiar... There is a reason. But the following escapades were in effect the first entries of this blog and so I am attaching them hereto:

April 25, 2007

Hello there! I thought I should send out a note saying "Hey!" and filling you in a bit on what's up with me so far post-move.

I've had many adventures since I saw you all last including, but not limited to, two eight hour Mega Bus rides up to Minnesota and back to visit friends and family over Easter, a number of days spent in the Rockford Memorial NICU with my very good friend Tina's premie (7 weeks early!), and a 13 hour drive over the mountains with a car crammed full of stuff. With all my travels I didn't actually arrive down here until last Tuesday and I came in to find our tiny house filled to the gills with boxes...

I've still got a lot of unpacking to do! But today we got my desk reassembled and I am happy to be making real progress getting things dealt with, either tucked away or unpacked.

The end of last week was very hectic with the iO South Improv festival Dan was running. Fortunately it was very successful and Dan is exhausted but happy. I'm not sure that he wants to go through it all Again quite yet... But once he has recovered a bit he might feel differently.

Last Sunday was the first real free day I had since the drive down here. Dan was teaching class all day so as I was somewhat at loose ends anyway and longing to get out exploring I went on a Long ramble around Durham and the Duke Campus and the Sarah P. Duke Gardens http://www.hr.duke.edu/dukegardens/index.html. The garden was quite a popular place as you can well imagine on a perfect Sunday afternoon, high of 85, nice breeze and not a cloud in the sky. There were an amusing number of brides and grooms being photographed around every bush and tree and shrubbery in the gardens and I also happened upon a very serious woman with a ferret on a leash which I found rather striking.

Durham is not exactly designed for walking, not like Chicago at any rate. Sidewalks come and go in a rather haphazard and mysterious fashion and those that are present are often rather patched and more vertical than horizontal. (I was actually glad I had not found my sneakers yet and had been forced to wear my boots!) Still it is quite charming wandering around my neighborhood. The campus is beautiful and everything is green and lush in a way that you simply don't find in the city. Huge trees are everywhere, bird songs sound all day long and somewhat unkempt yards gush forth all manner of greenery and flowers. The azaleas are almost embarrassingly fecund to the point that even our sadly abused and untouched yard sports a huge bush covered in salmony pink blooms.

I suggest that you all come visit in the next 30 seconds before it gets too hot to enjoy... Oops. Too late.

May 6, 2007

Sundays are good days for adventures...

Saturday was gray and rainy and cold so I stayed in and thought serious thoughts about my future and looked at job ads and recoiled in horror at the thought of pursuing any of said jobs and thought about going to massage therapy school and researched related job prospects and training programs and worried about how I would pay for such a thing and kept Dan up until 2:00 worrying about the logistics involved and then dreamt one of those dreams where I was at school and I hadn't been to class all semester and hadn't even looked at the syllabus and not only was my room a mess so I couldn't find any information on where or when my final was but it was crazy with pop bottles exploding on everything and water running through it and...

And then today it was a Glorious day. I walked outside to say good bye to Dan this morning and knew that I must do something outside or I would never forgive myself for being such a chicken that I couldn't manage to leave the house by myself when it was so perfect. I had read in the paper about a wild flower hike organized by the Eno River Association so I girded my loins (i.e. printed out some Mapquest maps) and left myself an hour to find the place. 15 minutes later I was twiddling my thumbs in the parking lot of the Occoneechee Mountain State Park wondering if I had made the right choice...

I think I did. At first I thought I might be annoyed by the chatter of the other hikers, mostly retirees, but as we all grew a bit more winded and spread out on the trail that didn't bother me and I enjoyed the camaraderie with the other hikers. We did not see all that many kinds of wild flowers but the Mountain Laurel was just coming into glorious bloom and was everywhere on the mountain. It's a beautiful flower that grows in big white clusters. That's lovely enough from a distance but when you get right up close to it you can see how amazingly engineered it is. The buds look like shooting stars and when they open up the stamens are trapped bent back against the petals. When a bee or some such critter gets close enough to disturb the stamens then they pop out. We had some fun exploring these mechanics ourselves.

Mostly I just enjoyed the trekking through the woods on a perfect day with the golden green light spangling down on me through the glowing trees, sometimes through relatively open areas where the ground cover was bracken fern and sometimes down narrow trails with huge flowering mountain laurels on either side. At one point our guide took us out of the public area on an overgrown trail back to an area called "Panther's Cave" where there was indeed a huge rock outcropping with a cave in it and a delicate little streamlet of water chirruping past. We also visited both the top and bottom of an old railroad rock quarry. The view from the top was quite lovely but the view from the bottom was more striking. The bare stone had weathered into strips of different colors with some recent rock slides providing a jagged contrast. Very grand and lovely.

And So It Begins...

Have I ever posted anything on a blog or chat room before? No. Do I read other people's blogs? No. Do I expect anyone in their right mind to read My blog? Not Really.

And yet, if perchance someone might be reading this, said reader will without fail notice that this is a blog and that I am writing it and therefore they might suggest that I protesteth too much about my blogglessness and wonder what gives?

Well... In my wild post-move re-creation of myself and flagrant indulgence of my artsy side I am turning over a new leaf on the whole writing thing. As a result I found myself sending out mass e-mail after mass e-mail update to my family and friends going on and on about things they do not much care to hear about. In sympathy to their inboxes but attempting to keep everyone "Up To Date" I have decided to create this memoir of sorts of my move and let them read it or not at their leisure.

And So It Begins...