If my vacuum had looked like this, we could have been friends.
This month on MAMALODE, the theme for the month of March is Break. They thought my story The Day I Killed the Vacuum was (sadly for me…and my vacuum) perfect for inclusion. So, if you have a little break (ha, get it?) in your day, head on over to MAMALODE and have a laugh (or cry) about The Day I Killed the Vacuum.
Des Arts Bridge
After reading recently how we Americans waste too much time playing video games and social networking, I decided to step away from the Candy Crush, with my hands visible at all times, long enough to attempt to hash out an article. The truth is, I have been procrastinating (i.e. trying to beat the next level) on writing this particular post. You see, I love Paris (for proof, go here, here and here!).-– even with all the escargot eating (although the Nutella crepe eating ain’t half bad), having to bag my own groceries (it is good to be useful, even when you are the one paying the money), the one waiter haughtily thinking it necessary to inform Teen Steak Tartar was in fact ‘raw meat’ (possibly Teen’s quip “oh, just slap it on the grill, then” was not well timed), Parisians mostly preferring kids be seen and not heard (ok, secretly, I envied that part – see aforementioned quip). Nonetheless, I love Paris in all its’ facets (especially the Parisian Grandma who “photo-bombed” Teen & Pre-Teen) which is why it pains me to offer this slight criticism of the beautiful city.
Last year on Valentine’s Day, I shared a discovery made during a trip to Italy concerning the Love Locks (We Got to Let Love Rule). In essence, it is the practice of “locking your love” with a padlock onto a romantic bridge and throwing the key into the river below, thus sealing your everlasting love. (For more information on rules of engagement and origins of the Love Lock ritual, go here!).
Therefore, it was no surprise to again see Love Locks adorning bridges during a subsequent trip to Paris – all those bridges over the River Seine to choose from! However, coming upon the Love Lock operation on the Des Arts Bridge felt like (I am sorry to say) the Walmart of Love (even though it is completely criminal and not a little bit gross to put those two words together in a sentence).
The whole deal is becoming like a one-stop shopping for the love masses (with a better dress code). Locks can be purchased for a discounted price from dueling street vendors right there on the bridge (after waiting in line, of course). And no longer is the ritual just for the hopeless romantics, but all are welcome – bffs, mom’s and daughters, people who just met for the first time over a latte. The amount of locks weighing down the bridge is, in a word, outrageous! Observe. (I swear that really isn’t Pre-Teen kicking the Locks of Love, honest.)
(Video by Teen)
Well, right then and there, Teen, Pre-Teen and I decided if Love Locks were going to be taken to this extreme, clearly, some guidelines needed to be established – a list of DO’s and DON’Ts as it were. I think you will see what I mean…
Here are 6 of our suggestions!
1. DON’T use a combination lock to express your devotion. A key lock says forever, a combo lock says 6 months, tops.
2. DON’T lock your love onto another’s lock. Seriously, do you really want the success of your relationship hinged on the backs of several others? That is like depending on Bieber to stop getting arrested and taking up valuable news time.
3. DO make sure your key, when thrown, actually makes it into the water (Teen and Pre-Teen wanted to help out this unfortunate, doomed couple by scooting their key over the edge and into the river, but I told them you can’t mess with providence).
4. DON’T accidentally throw your car, home or hotel keys into the water instead of the keys to your Love Lock – clearly an omen no relationship could survive.
5. DO, if you are locking your love to a bridge in celebration of a momentous event or anniversary, get the largest lock you can find – because, yes indeed, size matters.
6. DO make sure your lock has a good view. After all, it is for eternity…or until the next bolt cutter comes around.
In the wonderful words of Lenny Kravitz – “We Got to Let Love Rule“…
Only, maybe, with a few guidelines – just to keep the beautiful ritual from becoming any more Walmart-esque, like people showing up in pajamas, or worse yet, locking their love amidst a parade of body parts never meant to see the light of day.
That rumble you hear is Napoleon turning over in his (very large/could fit 20 men) tomb
Happy Valentines Day!
More Paris Posts:
A Paris Perspective: The Monuments
A Paris Perspective: The River and Bridges
More Travel Posts:
It’s cold outside. I know this, not from a tremendous amount of personal experience because I am pretty sure no living creature in his/her right mind, and without fur, should test the limits of survival. However, as I have already established (Live from the Polar Vortex), my cat is the only one who truly knows how to stay warm during these pv conditions. So, I trust her as my gauge and watch her intently for clues. That being said, even with all her fur (and, if you must know, fat) she only attempts outside jaunts long enough to “do her business”. As I can “do my business” inside the warm house (although my boys don’t seem hampered by the same restrictions), I see no other purpose to leave it. And also, my trusty weather gauge, tells me to not make any sudden movements that would require leaving the house unless absolutely necessary, like to get food or engage in the annoying activity called work.
Did I mention, it’s cold?
However, against my better judgment and self-preservation, I allowed my husband to talk me into a wilderness hike into our woods nearby. Something about his words “to see the beauty”, “virgin snow” and “you are going to want to bring your camera” had me putting on as many layers as I could still stand up in, grabbing my camera and hoping to make it back home with fingers and toes still intact.
But, he was right. It was beautiful and probably worth the risk of a little frost bite.
Unfortunately, our woodland adventure ended when my husband had a disagreement with a hill as to whether his SUV could make it up its icy, snow covered surface in 4 wheel drive or not. The answer was “not”, with the end result being a backward slide into a tree that was kind enough to stop our decent, abruptly…
Unfortunate time of year for creative ventilation.
(Truthfully, his vehicles have looked worse)
The hike back out of the woods to get a ride home until his car could be towed out was somehow not quite as quaint,
Did it all of a sudden get colder?
But, we lived to tell about it, and then some.
The cat was the only one who stayed home…
Yesterday, I went to the bank. Exciting, I know. But, I made a crucial discovery in the process. You see, as I dumped into the teller’s space my unfinished deposit items, I expressed apologies for my inability to perform the simplest of math required to complete the deposit slip. “That’s ok” she generously replied, “It’s too cold to think”. In the words of Pre-Teen, who immortalized the phrase in our family after discovering a London street we had inadvertently walked down late one night was the “gay party street”…
”That explains a lot!!!”.
Too cold to think! Of course! Suddenly all was explainable. It explained why I can’t seem to write a blog to save my life (which aside from my recent run-in with a barbed wire fence hasn’t really been necessary), why I have been driving in circles on country roads in the quest to deliver my sons to sporting events (because how else to explain that after 12 years, I still have not mastered country-style direction following), and why I can’t seem to put two words together or remember anyone’s name (cause, like, in no way could that be age or anything).
Honestly, the whole Polar Vortex thing is getting on my nerves. Aside from the “too cold to think” phenomenon (which, seriously, is the last thing I need as my thinking abilities are challenged under the warmest of conditions), and the fact that I can’t leave the house without cursing at the wind like a crazy lady, and those weather-chicken school officials who keep making my kids stay home with me, stuck in the house being bored, instead of in school annoying the teachers, (don’t they know waiting at the bus stop in sub-zero weather builds character?), there are the questions.
For example, my husband, asking me every single morning – like my uterus is somehow hard wired into the Doppler radar – “What is the weather forecast for today?” (um cold, freezing or excuse-me-while-I-scream-in-agony-cold?). Or from friends and family smugly living in my native California – like they don’t recall that anything under 60 degrees qualifies as “cold” in Cali (yeah, you know who you are) – “Is it cold there?” (um, yeah, cold, freezing, and excuse-me-while-I-scream-in-agony cold). Or from Teen and Pre-Teen who I suspect secretly just want me out of the way so they can watch a cagillioneth episode of Family Guy “Why are you watching Dexter…again!?” – (because the Miami setting makes me feel warm and I have a soft spot for a cute sociopath with heart, if you must know).
I can at least appreciate the question from friends who, like me once basked in the glory of a sunshine state but have now unwittingly found themselves relocated in a polar vortex – “Are you surviving the cold” (since I wear gloves to grocery shop, I would have to say “No”).
One thing is for certain. My cat, Lulubelle, doesn’t seem to have trouble thinking in the cold and has in fact figured out a way to survive and keep warm, which makes her the smartest member of our family.
You don’t mind a few, or say hundreds of white hairs on your clean laundry, right?
Yep, things are that bleak.
So for now,
I am coming to you live from the Polar Vortex…
But, only barely.
On New Years Eve 2014, I was in Las Vegas and by the time midnight rolled around – man, I was flying high!
Ok, well, actually, I was delayed in the Las Vegas Airport on my way home on December 31 and when the midnight hour struck Jan. 1 2014, I was (finally) in the air somewhere over Kansas (which could be perceived as a good or bad omen depending on your POV).
Despite this scintillating passage into 2014, I have managed to hold onto my tradition of not really facing the prospects of a new year until long after interest has died away.
First of all let me say, in the words of my brother – “New Year’s Resolutions are for chumps.” (in truth what he said was “fruit is for chumps”, but, like a sea turtle, I adapted).
Bottom line, I don’t do resolutions.
That is not to say, however, there are not some things I wish I did better, such as; exercise more, eat less sugar, drink more water and less coffee, have a cleaner house, write more (maybe even write a New Year’s post actually on New Year’s), be a better wife and a cooler mom (the kind that lets them eat Doritos and use the microwave), put up holiday decorations more than a few days before a holiday and… have perkier boobs. I would love to be the person that shops at farmers markets, has dinner parties, can keep a plant alive, loves every second of kids’ sporting events, doesn’t need to have gray hairs dyed constantly and… has perkier boobs.
However, since I resolve to never make New Year’s Resolutions, I am stuck with a few survival type choices: make it through another Midwest winter with my butt intact, laugh with abandon at the stupidest jokes, get on my snowboard at least once, finish watching Dexter (cause what is better when stuck inside for days on end than spending it with a serial killer with a code), and… pretend to have perkier boobs.
I won’t be in better shape, have less dust on my furniture, grow my own vegetables or have a festive looking house but…
At least, I’ll be no chump (with imaginary perky boobs)
Bring it on, 2014, I’m ready now.
When traveling, I randomly (and my family would say – excessively) shoot picture after picture after picture. My mantra excuse is always I never know quite what I will want to share about a city or place – what will stand out, make me laugh, make me want to return.
Likewise, I never know what Teen and Pre-teen are going to glean from our experiences. In my last post A Paris Perspective: The Monuments, I shared Part One of my photo perspective and Teen’s short but to the point assessment of Paris. Pre-teen, however, in a moment of rarity, was more loquacious on his impressions.
Pre-Teen’s 4 Parisian Summations:
1. Napoleon, as basically the only French war hero, pretty much has it made in the eternal “hero-worship” department.
2. The most memorable experience in Paris is climbing to the top of the Eiffel Tower where the telescope glasses allow you to stalk tourists in the plaza below.
3. Escargot tastes like, well, eating a snail.
Last, and unarguably the most important…
4. When in Paris, Nutella filled crepes should be consumed at every possible opportunity, morning, noon and night.
As for mine, again, Paris can speak for itself.
Part 2: The City
The carousel at Hotel de Ville
A city street
The Metro at Saint Michel
The Moulin Rouge
Jardin de Tuileries
View from the Pantheon steps
Galerie Vivienne
Inside the Galerie Vivienne
Place de Concorde
And yes, there is a Part Trois – Rivers and Bridges – coming next!
Other Paris perspectives:
A Paris Perspective: The Monuments
A Paris Perspective: The River and Bridges
For more Sweet Spot Travel Posts: Sweet Spot Travels
Comic by K
We now interrupt our regularly scheduled program to bring you another episode of Teen Talk. I assure you, everything you are about to hear is real and unedited. Please, do not try this at home. Unless you don’t mind freezing (or sweating) your da-dunt-da-dunts off.
One day, Teen took a Home Energy Conservation Test at school.
Teen: “Mom, we scored really bad on the Home Energy Conservation Test I took at school.”
Mom: “Really? How bad?”
Teen: “Well, lets just put it this way – it is just another one of those things I’ll be working out in therapy someday.”
Mom: “What do you mean?”
Teen: “You know, something like this…”
Therapist:
“So, Teen, tell me about your childhood and home life .”
Therapy Teen:
“Well, I remember how all the kids at school used to laugh and make fun of me because we turned off appliances in our house instead of unplugging them from the wall.”
Therapist:
“I see, go on…”
Therapy Teen:
“I was cut from the baseball team. They never told me me why, but I knew it was because my family used whole ducted house heating and cooling. I just wanted to fit in, but I knew I never would because of my familie’s high energy usage. Even to this day, I have nightmares of comfortable heating and cooling while taking a long hot bath.
Mom: “That therapy list is really growing.”
Teen: “Yep.”
The End
Being a native of California, I scientifically lack the gene required to flourish in a cold climate – cold being, anything under 60 degrees. Seriously, it’s true. There is a grant-able study in there somewhere, I am sure of it!
Therefore, having chosen to live in the Midwest (and by choose, I mean going all pioneer woman and falling in love with a country boy – True Love By Way of Kitty Dance and a Bucking Horse), I have had to rely on instincts from my ancient ancestors, ugly shoes and, at times, the cat’s pooper scooper (A California Girl’s Rural Winter Survival Guide) in order to survive.
However, there is a bright spot to living in a place where all vegetation turns into standing firewood for months on end each year. Just prior to becoming winter skeletons, the trees and bushes turn, if only for a brief time, into the most amazing parade of yellows, oranges and reds. It is truly beautiful.
This fall season has been particularly stunning where I live. So of course, I spent the whole of the Fall season running around trying to get “the perfect photo” to share with Sweet Spot visitors.
Some of the most amazing displays are along the main highway I traverse on a daily basis. Unfortunately, I quickly discovered, on my 60+ stretch of frequented highway, there is virtually no place to safely pull over for Vista Views and Photo Ops. I suppose this is to keep the foreigners (i.e. people from Kansas) from stopping until well across our state. Anyway, since I did not desire my epitaph to read “died in pursuit of a pretty picture of trees” and the “drive-by” photo always looked exactly like what it was, a crazy lady trying to drive and take pictures on a highspeed interstate highway at the same time,
Crazy Lady Highway Photo Drive-By
I ditched the effort.
Thus, I resorted to skulking around back roads, byways and onto peoples’ private property – which can be precarious in a place where the guns outnumber the residents 2 to 1 – to take photos.
In the end, the one Utopian Fall Photo I was so desperately in search of eluded me. But maybe this collection of my favorite photos (and one stolen from a friend), make their own kind of perfection:
Photo by: Nollie Moore
If you want to see the most beautiful fall display, I guess you will have to someday come and drive our Midwest highway yourself…just don’t plan on stopping.
Video by H
Other Sweet Spot Videos:
What’s Your Idea of a Good Time?
Every Good Rebellion Deserves Documentation
Sweet Spot Halloween posts:
Old Fisherman’s Wharf – Monterey, CA
Actually, the mini-break was my trip out to Northern California – a familial inspired excursion (which is a fancy way of saying, I went to visit my parents). The Monterey portion of the trip was more like a one day jaunt when a happy circumstance arose to meet up with friends in the coastal city. So, I guess that makes my trip to Monterey, CA more of a “micro-break” (a totally made up concept, which makes me some sort of trend setter, in my own mind anyway).
So, what does one do with friends and only one day, or rather several hours to spend in Monterey, California? Duh, go where the food is, of course! More particularly, Old Fisherman’s Wharf for the clam chowder!
Why is that guy’s floating head in my photo?
And in case you are one of those people who does not do any research on restaurants in advance (like me), not to worry! For, as we walked down the wharf every restaurant offered us a sample of their version of clam chowder, daring us to consider each the best on the wharf – which made me feel a bit like Gordon Ramsay, with cuter shoes but not near as coiffed. Finally we settled on a restaurant mostly because they clearly had the best chowder that day, but also so I could raz my husband, who shares the moniker (ok, he is making me clarify, “only the Jim part”), about it later.
Hey you people, get your mitts off of my samples!
With the remaining time, I took a walk over to the neighboring pier on San Carlos Beach.
Once to the end of the pier, I found massive amounts of Sea Lions just “chillin’” in the sun. Stuffed as I was with sample clam chowder, bowl of clam chowder, bread, calamari and the most amazing oyster crackers ever, I was vastly tempted to join them…they, however, did not seem entirely receptive to the idea.
Not the most hospitable group of mammals…unless you are big, brown and have flippers.
In conclusion, I came away with four pertinent pieces of information from my Micro-Break in Monterey, CA.
1. Sea Lions are major posers.
Posers #1
Poser #2
2. If you are planning on leaving your boat or yacht in the harbor, beware! Although the Sea Lions are vastly fastidious when it comes to leaving their rock lounge in order to shall we say, answer the call of nature, when they get onto your boat, they are not overly concerned about it – giving a whole new perspective on “swabbing the deck” (Thank you conservationist guy who had nothing better to do than answer my stupid questions).
3. If you go to Monterey and don’t at least sample the clam chowder you should be drawn and quartered…or at least made to swab those decks.
Old Fisherman’s Wharf. Monterey, California
4. I will be back.
For more travel posts: Sweet Spot Travels
Fancy a hair cut?
Whilst traveling through Chillicothe, Missouri (yep, you read that right) a few weeks ago, I happened upon the above hair establishment. I’ll admit, I was curious. I mean, you don’t have to hang around Sweet Spot long to know how much I relish a healthy sense of humor (Teen Talk) and a good play on words (Word-Up). But, brave enough to give it a go? Probably not. When it comes to my hair, humor is not really the emotion I am attempting to inspire. But, that’s just me.
In response to my article earlier this week, Every Good Rebellion Deserves Documentation, I came home yesterday to an empty house and this:
How the Spaghetti O’s even made it into my pantry in the first place is a subversive, rebellious act which will have to be routed out. Until then, at least these mutineers can still make the dictator laugh.
Happy Friday
Before I had kids, I tried to imagine the type of parent I would be. In all scenarios, I feel pretty confident I was the coolest, most inspired and creative mom ever! I also feel fairly confident in none of my Norman Rockwell-esq Mom visions was I referred to as the “food dictator” or “nutrition tyrant”. But, sadly, these terms have both been used to describe aspects of my parenting. I all at once resent and resemble these remarks. It is true, trying to make sure my family is eating healthy and not ingesting poison hidden in food has been a primary goal in my parenting strategy. My kids would say the goal consisted more of terrorizing them with whole grain bread and massive amounts of broccoli. But the truth is, I just want them to be healthy, strong and not have strange tumors growing out their ears by the age of 20.
Like any good dictator worth his/her salt, I have had to work very hard to protect my subjects from themselves. Along the way, this has meant not only supplying them with healthy foods, refusing to purchase foods deemed unworthy and limiting questionable foods, it has also required declaring the occasional all out Ban on the most harmful and unacceptable food creations.
For instance, there was the “Sugar Ban” for my first born when he was 0-2 (he maintains the applesauce sweetened cake I made him for his first birthday party is a clear cut case of child abuse) and “Sugar-Ban #2” for my second born when he was in preschool (he says he will work it out in therapy later). Then came the “Soda Ban” , the “Artificial Sweetener Ban” (seriously, ants won’t even eat it), the “Hydrogenated Oil Ban”(it does such great things for the butt), the “Nitrates Ban” (who cares if your lunch meat is gray?), the “All Plastics and Canned Goods with BPA Ban”, the “Microwave Popcorn Ban” (that one really hurt), the “Doritos Ban” (I believe this was when the term “Nutrition Tyrant” emerged), and the “Gatorade Ban” (because what better way to reward an athletic body than by dumping flame retardant into it?), to name just a few.
However, the most recent ban left all my subjects shaken and cowering in fear on the kitchen floor…”The Microwave Ban.” You see, a few months back, I decided we had dumped enough microwaves into our bodies for a lifetime and pulled the plug on the microwave – literally. Playing right into my hands was the fact that the monster had taken to running with the door fully open and at times, refused to shut off.
As if we had never warmed food in the dark ages before microwaves, I began to come upon bizarre and disturbing scenes in the kitchen – soup being heated up in the oven, beans being burned in a frying pan on the stove, blank stares at mugs of water needing to be heated, whole dinners in the oven on the actual dinner plate – or even worse, person trying to eat off the scorching hot dinner plate after coming out of the oven. But despite begging and pleading on the part of my minions, I unrelentingly held my ground on “The Microwave Ban”.
History will tell you, every dictator must endure his/her share of rebellion and subversive decent. I don’t fool myself that there haven’t been plenty of insubordinate acts occurring behind my back. Lucky for my kids, they have always found a willing co-conspirator in their Dad. However, with help from sometimes eager informer (Pre-Teen) and my keen sense of observation (empty Doritos bag in the trash) many of these mutinies did not go undiscovered.
But, with age and oppression comes ingenuity. One morning, several months into “The Microwave Ban”, I walked into the kitchen to find the microwave missing from its place on top of the refrigerator. You see, even though I had relieved the microwave of its duties, even my tyrannical heart had not been able to evict it altogether.
Me: “Where’s the microwave?”
Teen: “Outside.”
Me: “Ok….why?”
Teen: “We were doing something with it.”
Apparently in the night, Teen had found a willing rebellious accomplice in a friend staying for the night. They had decided, somewhere after the midnight hour when the dictator was fast asleep, to haul the microwave outside onto the back porch a do what they had always wanted to do…zap stuff you are not supposed to zap in a microwave…ever!
Later the next day, these videos appeared on Facebook:
and the crowning glory – two rebellious acts all at once (I am sure there were some empty soda cans nearby as well)
Because, every good rebellion deserves to be documented.
More tyranny on Sweet Spot: Down With Fish Tyranny
Payback to the Food Dictator: The Rebellion Rages On
Comic by K
We now interrupt our regularly scheduled program to bring you another episode of Teen Talk. I assure you, everything you are about to hear is real and unedited. Please, do not try this at home, it’s gross.
One day, Teen tried explaining to Mom about being a teenage boy in high school.
We now join the scheduled program already in progress…
Teen: “I am not sure you can really understand, Mom, you don’t have testosterone!”
Mom: “Lucky for you.”
Teen: “…or testicles!”
Mom: “Again, lucky for you.”
Teen: “And so the conversation slowly spiraled into the awkward phase…”
The End
Cake or The Tower of Babel?
On my current life schedule I find it hard, or rather impossible, to write. I try, I really do, but somehow there is always something more pressing. However, I do write lists, lots and lots of lists: grocery lists, appointment lists, work lists, lists of places people need to be, lists of things I don’t need to worry about anymore, lists of things I want to write about someday, lists of things to do, lists of things I keep forgetting to do, lists of things that will never get done but makes me feel better knowing they are at least on a “list”.
However, this week, in light of the way too early and saddening loss of a childhood friend a few days ago, I found myself making a mental list of all the current moments I never want to forget – moments that make me laugh at the time, and smile just thinking about them later. Moments I don’t want to pass by too quickly like so many seem to do. Moments that make up the best parts of my day.
Here are my favorite 5. Maybe they will make you laugh or smile, too.
1. Teen came out of his room dressed for school in a suspiciously color coordinated shirt and shorts combo…and announced he meant to do it.
2. While thinking out loud (aka: talking to myself) about whether to tell my husband about a mutual friend’s health situation being as she is trying to keep it secret until she has the chance to discuss with family members, Pre-Teen piped in from the other room (as is his habit to listen to conversations not meant for him): “I say ‘no’ Mom, don’t tell Dad – Because the bag he keeps his cat in is not exactly the tightest bag!”
3. I started the coffee in my Kuerig coffee maker only to realize mid-cycle, as I stood watching it, no coffee cup was under the precious stream of coffee.
4. Pre-Teen had a school project – make a model of the Tower of Babel. He did so…out of Spice Cake.
5. I dropped Teen off at High school: “Bye honey, have a good day.” “Thanks Mom…hashtag love.”
For Charlie, because, “If you smile, they’ll never look at your feet.”
Hard to resist….not.
Its Friday – which is a great thing! But, there is something even better. I suddenly realized this morning, as I head into my weekend, it is such a comfort to have the assurance of knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, there are three things I just don’t have to worry about anymore!
I no longer have to worry about…
I mean really, I was never a big fan to begin with. However, the whole Gene Simmons/dog tongue thing and obsessive twerking pretty much put me into an assured state of immunity.
Man, was I ever worried about who was going to portray Batman in the next movie. Now that all is revealed, I can breath easy and just worry about Ben Affleck’s ability to pull it off (please note underlying blatant sarcasm).
Mystery solved with the scuzzy sock found this morning gracing the living room floor.
Have a great weekend!
I know I will.
Castillo de San Cristobal
“Balls” is a recurring theme on Sweet Spot – abused in Word-up: We’ve Got Big Balls, reminisced about in DodgeBall State of Mind and even my trip to New York last December could not escape some body parts humor. And we are certainly not above bantering a Weenus around now and again.
You see, from my vast in-the-field experience (although, admittedly my focus group is limited to my boys and visiting more-than-happy-to-contribute friends) I have discovered that almost all humor can boil down to some sort of genital or body part innuendo – and the rest can finish with a potty joke (don’t you wish you hung around my house during these learned occasions?).
I fear without the raucous humor, our life would hold few distinctions. Therefore, it was an especially good thing we decided to visit two forts in Old San Juan, on our trip to Puerto Rico– Castillo San Felipe del Morro and Castillo de San Cristobal – or we may very well have tragically missed the opportunity to include some phallic humor in our recent travels.
Visiting Castillo San Felipe del Morro and Castillo de San Cristobal, built by the Spanish as protection against foreign invasion in the 16th century and 18th century respectively, we learned a few things (a very few, unfortunately) about life as a Spanish soldier serving at a fort in those long ago centuries.
The views were pretty fab.
View from Castillo San Felipe del Morro
Castillo de San Cristobal
San Felipe del Morro
Castillo de San Cristobal
The accommodations pretty much sucked.
Castillo de San Cristobal
And even better than having some really big guns to shoot,
Castillo San Felipe del Morro
Having really big balls, or shall we say…cajones.
Castillo San Felipe del Morro
And on that note, Puerto Rico Island Travels is now concluded.
Honestly, after that, what else could there possibly be?
Puerto Rico Island Travels Part 1: The Lost Tour
Puerto Rico Island Travels Part 2: The Clothing Optional Tour
For more Sweet Spot Travels: Go Here!
Comic by K
We now interrupt our regularly scheduled program to bring you another episode of Teen Talk. I assure you, everything you are about to hear is real and unedited. Please, do not try this at home. That is, if you want to get anything done, ever.
One day, Teen had some chores.
Mom: “Teen, don’t forget to do your chores today.”
Teen: “Ok… (pause)…”And yet, I have already forgotten.”
Mom: “What?!?!”
Teen: “It’s too late, no one can stop me now. Not even myself!”
The End
My Pre-Teen son lives by a code of ideas and directives (A Decade of Wisdom and here). It is not a lengthy list, but nonetheless, it is definitive. One of his most formidable edicts is Never Sit on the Couch at a Nudist Colony (think about it). Which I suppose means if he ever has occasion to find himself at a nudist colony, he will have to spend his time there standing. However, to my surprise, on our recent trip to Puerto Rico, this particular “code” was sorely tested.
One day, while on Palomino Island off the coast of Fajardo, Puerto Rico, Pre-Teen and I decided to go hiking in the hills above the beaches. We had been hiking trails for some time when we came upon a sign:
That “Naturist” can sure make a mean sign!
Intrigued, Pre- Teen quickly headed off on the trail, which was all downhill. I was less enthusiastic being that what goes down must come back up again. But as I could see there was no stopping Pre-Teen, I was forced to follow him (or risk having to explain to my husband why Teen was going home an only child).
When we got to the bottom of the hill, right where the trail opened out onto a beach entrance we saw this:
Bilingual nudity.
and this:
Long live recycling.
But, we also saw this!
Yeah, resist that if you can…
Ok, possibly this would have been a good time to turn around, but I was hot, the water looked inviting and duh, we were just plain curious (and yes, I know how that all worked out for the cat).
We found ourselves completely alone on a beautiful, secluded and yes, nude beach. We began to explore.
Me: “Hey, Pre-Teen, go lay on one of the lounge chairs and let me take your picture.”
Pre-Teen: “What? No way!!”
Me: “Why not?”
Pre-Teen: “Mom! You know – Never Sit on a Couch at a Nudist Colony!!!”
Me: “Yeah, So?”
Pre-Teen: “Well, the same goes for Never Lay on a Lounge Chair at a Nudist Beach!”
However, standing next to the lounge chair was apparently ok (for a short amount of time only and not too close):
Hurry up and take the picture already!
As we explored the beach we came upon the yellow marker indicating the “best ocean access”. Apparently if you are going to swim with your what-nots flapping in the wind, you have to look for the safest, least abrasive, place to do it.
Fancy, ain’t it!
I realized at that moment, I had to swim at the nudist beach. If I had a bucket list, surely that would be on it! However, not really trusting how my girly parts would behave in a free-to-be-you-and-me atmosphere, and seeing the look of horror on Pre-Teen’s face when I revealed my plans, I swam in my bathing suit. As for Pre-Teen, well apparently Never Swim in the Water at a Nudist Beach was another addendum to his rule – he watched at a safe distance from the beach.
Upon exiting the water, we saw a (clothed) man striding towards us. When he reached us, he introduced himself as “Brian”, explained he was the caretaker of Hidden Beach Cove, and welcomed us to stay as long as we liked. As we were about to walk away, Brian added, while digging in his pants pocket,
“Hey, you want me to show you what is so special about this beach?”
Being this was a nude beach, Pre-Teen and I were both more than a little worried what exactly Brian was about to pull out of his pants pocket. But thankfully when he whipped his hand back out, he was only holding these,
Much better than seeing Brian’s tallywacker and nuggets in his hand.
A sea-glass “ring” and sea urchin skeleton. Apparently, gems like these commonly wash up on this particular beach.
Brain then excused himself to retire to his “lean to”,
To disrobe?
and emerged (phew) still clothed, although barely, I am pretty sure for our benefit.
We went back to exploring; now searching for treasures like the ones Brian had showed us (although dubious about the whole sea-glass ring thing, I decided not to question a man with no tan lines). And Brian set to work grooming his beach.
Watch out for ‘bend-overs’.
After a while, we decided best not to tempt fate, or rather naked sunbathers sure to arrive soon. Upon our departure, knowing we had been unsuccessful in our search for treasures, Brian presented us with a sea-glass ring and sea urchin skeleton to take with us – which more than made up for the random flashes of his great white (well, tan actually) shark we had been treated to every time he bent down to pick up a rock or batch of seaweed.
We thanked him openly for his generosity and secretly for his attempted modesty.
As we headed back up the trail leaving Hidden Beach Cove, we looked back to see Brian still hard at work on his island paradise, just waiting for the moment he could at last rip off his encumbering piece of restrictive nylon. At least, thanks to Brian, we had a few pieces of paradise to take with us and Pre-teen and I can now say we “hung out” at a nude beach…
even if our ‘hoo haws’ did not…
Hidden Beach Cove, where not everything is hidden.
Puerto Rico Island Travels Part 1: The Lost Tour
Puerto Rico Island Travels Part 3: The Big Cajones Tour
For more Sweet Spot Travels: Go Here!
It was probably just a coincidence that after spending half the summer on a speed marathon through the entire 6 seasons of LOST, we ended up choosing to vacation on an Island…or was it?
Teen, after breaking his arm and being banned for a good chunk of summer from all worthy pursuits, ie baseball and swimming, began watching the series, LOST. Soon, Pre-teen was completely hooked as well. I, having already experienced the whole mind blowing journey (and by mind blowing I mean wishing my mind would blow up so I wouldn’t have to contemplate anymore unanswered questions) upon original airing decided “what the heck”, maybe the second time around it will actually make sense… and cool Mr. Echo will defeat the smoke monster and not ‘be voted off the island’ so soon – it didn’t and he didn’t.
Nonetheless, when vacation time came we found ourselves boarding a plane for the island of Puerto Rico, questioning the providence of our choice. However, never ones to mess with destiny or the frustrated attendant taking our boarding passes, onto the plane we went.
We decided if fate should intervene, I would be the Kate- type person because, duh, all the cute guys are willing to die for her, she can kick butt and she never, ever has ‘bad Island hair’. Teen wanted to be Sawyer because, yeah he had a tragic childhood, but doesn’t get maimed as much as the rest, has great comebacks and always gets the girl. Pre-teen wanted to be Jin because he can beat up anyone when he needs to, is nice about it and is always there just when you need him. We decided Hubs would have to be John Locke – someone has to keep the faith (I do believe in fairies, I do , I do) and get us back off the Island (although hopefully he would not have to die and then be possessed by a smoke monster in order to do it). We all agreed, along the way we needed to find a Hurley for pure fun, and a Sayid for protection (because nobody messes with a former torturer if they know what is good for them)
As expected, we started out at the beach – you know, just in case we needed a quick helicopter rescue from a psycho marine, guy who talks to dead people or scientist who has done way too much experimenting on himself.
Isle Verde Beach, San Juan Puerto Rico
Isla Verde Beach, San Juan Puerto Rico
But eventually, as any stranded Islander, we felt the need to explore “the other island” – you just never know when you will be in need of a monkey cage, baby doctor, or well, baby daddy. Upon approach it surely looked like a place to fall into the hatch (push the button, brother), or come across The Others and the eternally young and mysteriously guy-linered, Richard Alpert.
Approaching Palomino Island from El Conquistador, Fajardo, Puerto Rico
Nonetheless we disembarked from the boat (not Penny’s boat) and we were not sorry (just like Ben, although hopefully, we would not have to get pummeled on a daily basis for it).
Palomino – Is the island tilting, or is it my imagination?
Snorkeling in and around the rocks.
Exploring the beaches
And what is any three hour tour (oops, wrong ship wreck reference) without a hike into the jungle – because, of course, it is the only place to hear the whispers, see Walt appear out of nowhere – visibly aged by several years, and come upon random planes, trains and automobiles…or boats with explosives.
El Yunque Rainforest
El Yunque Rainforest – swimming in La Mina Falls
At the end of our week, we wandered if the Island would let us leave – we secretly hoped it wouldn’t. But in the end, it did (apparently, we were not on the list). We only hope the Island will let us go back again, soon. And then maybe, the next time, we will actually discover what lies in the shadow of the statue.
Coco Beach, Puerto Rico
Puerto Rico Island Travels Part 2: The Clothing Optional Tour
Puerto Rico Island Travels Part 3: The Big Cajones Tour
For more Sweet Spot Travels: Go Here!
Looking for the Sweet Spot 