I have officially returned from the longest vacation I have taken since my wedding in 1993. Yes, I have been married THAT long with means I am THAT old. Or, it means that I was a crusty child bride sold off by my parents for a handsome dowry that consisted of a day-old Challah loaf, unused, stay-press JC Penney bed linens from the Carter Administration and a set of chipped wedding china purchase at the St. Vincent De Paul clearance sale in Baraboo, Wisconsin during a tornado warning. Or, it means that I am terrible at math, an embarrassing truth, and have forgotten when exactly I walked down the aisle wearing a borrowed dress with colossal shoulder pads, natural hair and a MAC matte lipstick with Spice liner favored by Madonna during her Blue period.
Because the trip was so long and involved with so many delicious stops along the way, Dave and I have decided to start fresh by doing P90X, a sadistic exercise regimen that we hope will counter the affects of eating our way through four Eastern states that consider the Italian sub with hot peppers, a well rounded, four food group meal and the combination pizza a light, healthy salad-like appetizer best eaten before a breaded entree or after the clock strikes midnight.
So, this morning, after the first session of isometric exercises for arms and back, or as the dude in the DVD should call it, Satan’s unbearable upper body beating, I can pretty much guarantee that this post will be short and sweet due to my inability to lift my arms past my belly button, accompanied by a nagging sensation in my neck that I am wearing a choker made out of bowling balls and boulders.
In short, we had the trip of our lives, kissing and hugging family without stopping and reconnecting with old friends who slipped through the cracks and are now back on our tracks. The highlights of our three weeks may read like a senior yearbook page of immature insider information and cheesy, pre-baked bites. But it was more meaningful, fulfilling and all around awesome than any vacation we have every had and I want to scribble down my notes with hearts for i’s and smiling faces for o’s before the noise of my normal life washes it away.
Pickle and her awesomeness, a full fridge, a Jill embrace, Vinnie’s Italian food trough with Jamie and Chrissy, Brothers Pizza every other day, Tyson’s extra hands to help with Otto, pizza pick-up and beer runs and that look, Tyson, Tyson, Tyson, my parents patience and willingness to have us take over the house that ghosts built, the World Cup with beer chaser, the New Jersey greenery, Adelle and her brisket, the huge backyard and the naked Otto swimming in a kidney shaped pool from 1973, naked Otto shitting on the pool deck while we watched in horror, Otto peeing freely in and on every bush he could find, three days of uninterrupted rest with a summer cold, patching up a broken man and healing a heart, The North End with my Boston Baked Beans, Otto in museums, New York City, Otto pooping in Central Park, Heavenly Heather and her crushing crew, that kitchen in Queens, the argument over purple, meeting Pistols, a day with my mother shopping for recliners (whaa???), blowing off Maine, Otto’s new siblings, squeezing Stephanie and Cliff, those margaritas in Portsmouth, the beach, the storm, the presidential candidate, the Fish ‘N’ Chips, the Brazilian beans and rice, the sister, the old diaries which will soon come out, the never-before Papai pizza night, the teary goodbyes, the beginning.