We arrived in Grand Forks to meet up with the folks around 7:00. They were at the race track and had decided to wait for me to arrive so we could go to the races together. I hadn't anticipated this and was completely prepared to spend the evening hanging out in the motor home with Schmo (one of my pet names for Elmo). As we walked towards the grandstands I could hear the roar of the cars. I inhaled and caught whiff of burning methanol. I inhaled again, deeply this time, and smiled. This is what I love.
In the stands the chill in the air quickly set in. I get cold pretty easily and I never seem to dress properly for sitting out at sporting events. That night I was wearing a long sleeved t-shirt, my favourite old navy blue hoodie, a nylon jacket and jeans. My mom had brought an afghan to put on our laps but I was still shivering. Just before the late models took to the track my dad went back and grabbed us another blanket. It helped, but I swear I'm 80% solar powered. I don't know how I keep surviving here in Winnipeg.
The late models and the sprints are my favourite to watch. When you get 18-22 of them on the track at once it gets pretty loud. I love this. I used to beg my mom to let me go watch a race when I was younger and my dad was helping out on the pit crew for his buddy. My mom always told me I wouldn't like it, that it would be too loud for me. She couldn't keep me away forever though.
When the late models and the sprints race it's loud enough that you can feel it in your chest. As they come around turn one and onto the front straightaway they usually kick up a cloud of dirt. You can't escape it. Blink your eyes a few times (if you dare to miss the action) to try to keep the dust out, but it's best to simply accept that you're going home with a fine layer of black, Red River valley dirt on your face and in your hair. Loud. Dirty. Flashy. Fast. That's dirt track racing in Grand Forks. I love it. If I didn't have bills to pay I'd attach myself to a pit crew and film a documentary on the sport.
I went to bed that night still feeling the effects of the unseasonably cool night temperatures. I wore flannel pjs tucked into my socks, a long sleeve t-shirt underneath a short sleeve one, underneath my hoodie, pulled a flannel sheet and sleeping bag over my head, and slept the second best sleep I've had all year.
On Saturday my mom and I took Truck around town to do some shopping. My dad took the motor home and Elmo to get a camping spot at Lake Bronson, about two hours east of Grand Forks. The shopping was awesome. Getting dressed in the mornings these days has been so depressing because none of my pants fit anymore (I know, boo hoo, they are all too big). I only got one pair of work suitable bottoms (dressy bermuda shorts) and sadly, I won't be able to wear them any time soon if this cool weather keeps up. I shopped that day like I didn't have a mortgage (although given all the great bargains I found, I barely spent one bi-weekly mortgage payment). It felt so good to do that for myself.
I still have a hard time getting used to picking up the smaller sizes. I still instinctively grab mediums first and then, with trepidation, add another of the same item in the small to try. I also seem to have this fear that I'm going to wake up one day and find that this was all a dream and now I again have a closet full of clothes that do not fit. As far back as I can remember when buying clothes for myself, I have never worn these sizes. It's surreal. I'm a size 6 today, but inside I think I will always feel like a 12 (not that there is anything wrong with that). I know I'm not the only person to experience this and I think it's an interesting part of one's identity.
Yes, I bought shoes. I was walking past Journeys on the way to Sears. Sears used to be one of my favourite surprise places to find good shoes, but it hasn't really impressed me in the past five years. Journeys is an interesting store because it looks like it caters to the skater crowd, but I often find really cute heels there. I grabbed two pairs off of a display rack and requested my size. I thought for sure I'd prefer one pair over the other, but once I tried them on, I just couldn't choose. So I got both. At 40 bucks each, they were a steal anyway.
The pros do a much better job of the product shots, so check out the latest additions to my collection here and here.
For you Journeys lovers, I found out while chatting to the guy in the store that Journeys is supposed to be opening four stores in Canada this year (I assume they will likely be in the major centers of Toronto, Calgary, Edmonton and Vancouver). They are also supposed to be building a warehouse up here so that they can ship to Canadian addresses.
"Except then you guys won't come see us down here," he said.
"Aw, don't worry, we'll still come," I assured him, not wanting the sweet and attentive skater boi to be sad or lonely.
Our second last stop for the day was Gordman's. It is here that I can usually find shoes, my Betsey Johnson perfume, and various house stuff. I love browsing through their framed art. I got the print of shoe sketches that hangs over my bed there. This time I fell in love with something a little different.
"You won't like it," I told my mom, shielding the picture from her.
"Why, what is it?" she asked.
I turned the picture around to show her.
"It looks like a tattoo!" she said with a frown.
Indeed, it is a print of an Ed Hardy tattoo design (sorry for the shoddy photo job, here's a better image). Tattoos aren't for me (not for my body anyway, I just couldn't commit to one design for the rest of my life, and personally I like my skin with its own markings and scars) but this appealed to me in a few ways. I love the vibrant colours, the roses, the rockstar feel of the art, and the words--Life, Love, Luck--definitely resonate with me.
I almost put it back. I thought it over and decided I didn't have a place to hang it. But after a second thought, I figured out a place for it. It's going to look perfect once I get my living room walls painted this summer.
With the shopping day drawing to a close, my mom and I grabbed some snacks and hit the highway for the campground. I put on some mellower tunes for my mom's sake--Starbucks' Mele Hawaii compilation CD. I impulse purchased it last week when grabbing an iced latte at lunch. I put it on and I instantly feel like I am on vacation. It has also given me an itch to go see Hawaii. It seems like my kind of place.
Miles and miles away from malls and urban life, I pulled Truck up beside the motor home and was greeted by a smiley and waggly Elmo. My mom and I opened a bottle of wine that was dangerously delicious. Between that and the long day of shopping and driving, I found myself pretty exhausted at the end of the night. I could barely keep my eyes open long enough to slip my contacts out. With no traffic noise, no airplanes, no electronic gadgets humming, the silence granted me the peace I needed to sleep the best rest I've had in some time. It was exactly what I needed.
Most of the rest of the weekend I spent doing nothing. It was gloriously relaxing. On Saturday morning I got my mom to go on a walk with me in search of a camper appreciation event my dad had heard about from the woman at the park's front gate.
"Free cookies and lemonade!" Dad informed us. These are magic words to me. I will walk over my own grandmother to get free cookies.
We walked for about 30 minutes before spotting a building my mom figured was the interpretive centre where the goodies would be. Elmo decided this would be a good time to do some "business" so my mom told me to go on ahead. As I approached the building I heard music, sing along style. I grew suspicious. I casually walked by the wide doorway. I saw no cookies, no lemonade. I did see a large group singing along to some praise Jesus song while some dude strummed a guitar.
I turned around and walked far enough away to be out of ear shot of the Christians before calling out to Mom, "This isn't the path to cookies, it's the path to Christ!" I have never been so disappointed. We never did find the free cookies and lemonade.
When we got back to the camp site I went inside the motor home to turn on the radio. I didn't even get the chance to pick my station when I noticed something crawling on my hand. It was a wood tick. Ugh. I grabbed it and ran outside to throw it in the fire pit. Of course, if you find one tick, you're likely to find at least one more. I hiked up the cuffs of my sweats. Sure enough, I found one suckered to the back of my left calf.
"Better go have a shower and check the rest of yourself out," my dad advised. So I gathered up my shower stuff and headed over to the shower building.
The hot shower felt really good. I ignored the spider in the corner and took my sweet time sudsing up and rinsing off. I didn't find any more ticks, thankfully.
Feeling I had used a little more than my share of the free, natural resources, I turned the water off and grabbed my towel. I was dismayed to see that my shoes had gotten wet. I never seem to be able to find the right spot to put my shoes where they will stay dry in these campground shower stalls.
I managed to get toweled off and mostly dressed before the lights went out, leaving me standing in the shower stall in completely darkness. The lights in the shower building are on motion sensors. The sensor is close to the door and far away from the stall I was in, so all the jumping around and arm flailing I could do was useless. I managed to gather all my stuff and put on the rest of my clothes, including my damp shoes, and unlock the stall door without a hitch. Success!
Whenever I'm feeling lost and out of sorts with myself I find a really good cure is to just go plant myself in nature. When I can't do that, I am temporarily satisfied with staring into the eyes of a pet, like Elmo. I feel grounded when I feel connected to nature. I've said it before, I think this being human thing sometimes sucks, but when I can connect myself with nature, my itchy, tight, human skin melts away and my spirit rises. On Sunday afternoon I took a walk before dinner and sat myself down on a dock in a marshy area of the lake. I looked into the clear water and saw hundreds of tiny minnows swimming against the current. I watched some kind of a bug skate haphazardly across the glassy top of the water. Around me, everything was buzzing. I was very aware of myself and tried to sit as still as possible, like a small rock on a beach, and just blend in with the landscape. I sat there for a bit like this and then I heard a rustling in the reeds on the island in front of me. I couldn't grab my camera fast enough to snap a picture as a deer came crashing out of the marsh right in front of me, splashed across the water and bolted onto the grass behind me. It was awesome.
On Sunday night I pulled out a deck of cards and dealt myself a few games of solitaire. I played until I won. It only took a few games for my lucky hand to come out. My mom was sitting at the table across from me, watching me play.
"What other games do you know?" she asked.
"Crazy 8's." I don't do poker, I don't even really know any rummy games. My mom didn't know Crazy 8's but she was willing to learn.
If we didn't have the pictures to prove that I have indeed been with my normal, hard-working parents my whole life, I'd swear I was raised by hippies. I just couldn't bare to play strategically against my mom. It pained me to play the pick up two and pick up five cards against her. She gave birth to me for crying out loud! She raised me and taught me to be kind and giving and unselfish. I couldn't beat this woman at a simple card game. Hard as I did try to let her catch up, I did still manage to beat her.
We had opened another bottle of wine. We had to finish it that night or risk smuggling it across the border the next day. We had the satellite radio tuned to the Love station and they were playing all my cheesy favourites. I sang along sometimes. My mom and I talked. I realized the perfectness of the moment. I realized how it couldn't be the same if someone else was there. How it easily could have not happened at all if things in my life had gone differently. Moments like that I would not trade for anything or anyone in the world, and I experienced many of those kinds of moments this weekend. It is very easy in those moments to say yes, I am exactly where I am supposed to be and I have all that I need right now. I found myself humbled by the gift of those moments, and all the people and energy that came together to put me in them. In moments like those, it is very easy to let go of pain, anger, jealousy, selfishness, and to just forgive, because whatever happened in the past, it was part of the path to a very beautiful present.
I came home on Monday afternoon feeling like someone had hit my reboot button. I needed that weekend away. I needed that opportunity to treat myself, to ground myself and to be with people who have a good history of loving me. When I got home I didn't even open up Mac, didn't check email. I seriously considered continuing my vacation away from blogging for another few weeks. But today I eased myself back into my old routine and found myself back here with a story to tell.
2 comments:
"This isn't the path to cookies, it's the path to Christ!" I have never been so disappointed.
Oh Jill you crack me up.
Great post Jill; I enjoyed it!
(Except the wood tick part. That made me feel all squidgy)
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