Home Sick

I was in Denver for work the end of last week and over the weekend. And while it was a great trip - and I have all kinds of crafty things to chat about - I also had to sit by the television and watch my city flood on CNN. I'm very fortunate that my home, and the homes of my friends and family are all okay, but many, many others are not. Its a real - and surreal - mess down here.

So... more about this later... here's what I would have posted otherwise...


Rocky Mountain High
I was in Denver for a gigantic conference for work and was also there with two of my main gays. So, to add to all of the hiking around their convention center (but look, isn't it the cutest convention center you've ever seen?) I was also galavanting around the city in the evenings and plied with cocktails until all hours. And when you combine those activities with a new time zone, a different climate, and crazy altitude, I'm now totally exhausted and have a cold. HOWEVER, on the plus side, while in Denver, I was served drinks from a bartender that looks like Michael Phelps, rode in an elevator with a mini Evan Lysacek, and one of the presenters at a session I attended sounded just like the Count from Sesame Street: "ONE cognative learning research method! TWO cognative learning research methods! Bwah-ah-ah!" (made the presentation waaaay more interesting, BTW.) So really - two olympic athlete look-alikes and a muppet impersonator - what more do you need to give a trip two thumbs up than that?


Last Supper
I had one of the best $*#@& meals of my life at this place. Mostly organic, locally grown yumminess. It's in a old service station, which they've managed to pay homage to nicely, and most of the interior is from reused, salvaged and recycled/repurposed materials. If you're ever in Denver, you must go.


No Mary Ann Either
My only cons of Denver: 1. people can be a little gruff and inconsiderate with your personal space. 2. There's apparently no gingerale available in the entire town. I tried to order a Jack and Ginger on more than one occassion, only to be met with a quizzical look or blank stare as the bartender replied, "uhhh we don't have ginger..." Thinking they thought I meant actual ginger, I would clarify, "gingerALE." When met with another "no," accompanied with a look of "I knew what you meant, dumbass," I first went in the opposite direction and settled for a lemon drop. The second time they had already poured the Jack Daniels in the glass so I just went with that. Made my scratchy throat feel much better.

Familiar Feel
While wandering around downtown Denver, I stopped into sports memorabilia and souvenier store. Now, the city of Denver has been good to my boys in orange and I was therefore tempted to buy either a Todd Helton / Rockies shirt or a Broncos shirt in honor of Al Wilson. You've heard me speak of my love of Al Wilson before, but for your amusing bit o' sports trivia for the day, I will tell you about the other. Todd Helton attended the University of Tennessee on both a football and baseball scholarship. Legend has it, he was debating about whether to switch to baseball full time, but couldn't make up his mind. In football he was one of two backup quarterbacks and early in the season of his sophomore year (I believe), the starting quarterback suffered a season-ending injury. At the next practice, the two backup quarterbacks vied for the starting position and Helton's mind was quickly made up - he would leave football - and went on to an amazing baseball career with Tennessee and then the Rockies. The other backup quarterback: Peyton Manning.

Resistance is Futile. Cue the Dirge.
It was decided that my new place of employment does not have enough of an online presence, including social media. It was also decided that I would be responsible for improving that presence, finding ways to market our organization through social media, and keeping an eye on what our competitors are up to out there in the interwebs. So, guess who had to join Facebook against her will and better judgement? And guess whose time has been heard loudly sucked through the tubes of said interwebs in the mere 24 hours since she opened an account? Kill me now. That said... if you want to "friend" me and don't already know my real name, just click over there on the right and send me an email.


And finally... speaking of clicking over there to the right... if you've got any money or time left, what with all the other craziness in the world, my beloved city is under about 10-feet of water and we could use a hand. Many thanks.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Nashville Flooding
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Week in Review - Learning Las Vegas

So, on those lists everyone makes of places they'd like to go, you know, "Before I Die," "If I had all the Money in the World," "Just to Say I've Been," "Because George Clooney has a House There," etc., Las Vegas has been on... well... lets just say it's never been on any lists of any places I'd like to go under any circumstances. But I have friends who love to go there and they twisted my arm. Actually, they didn't really twist my arm so much as I'm a sucker for peer pressure...

But you know what? It was so much fun!

I even learned some things. And who goes to Vegas to learn stuff?? Anyway... I wasn't there for a whole week, but nothing else happened the other three days, so here's my Top Five - Vegas Edition:


1. Clowns: Still Creepy
I saw a Cirque du Soleil show - which I also wasn't sure I would enjoy, but did. My fear was that there would be clowns and mimes. And I DO NOT enjoy clowns or mimes. There was a bit of that, and it was indeed dreadful, but I got over it. The rest of the show was too amazing to be put off by them for too long. If you happen to be in Las Vegas and can go and see "O" (the one with the water), it is worth every penny.


2. Adding is not My Thing
I learned to play Black Jack. Well, I sort of learned and then sat between two friends who know how to play and would knee me under the table whenever I did something wrong. We played for a few hours at one table and the same two dealers kept switching back and forth every 20 or 30 minutes. One would add up your cards for you as he dealt and one wouldn't. I'll let you guess as to which dealer I tipped more. At one point I was up $100. And then lost it. But I broke even with my gambling money overall for the weekend, so I considered that a win.


3. I Can Still Find a Way to Be a Geek, Even in Vegas
One morning we were lounging around the hotel room and one of my friends was flipping through one of those visitor bureau magazines they have free in the hotel and said, "here's five dollars off admission to Bodies the Exhibition - what's that?" I jumped up from my knitting (yes, I did bring my knitting to Las Vegas), startling the others with my excitement. I've been wanting to see this exhibit so badly and the closest it's coming to Nashville is Cincinnati and Atlanta. And do you have any idea how hard it is to get someone to take a road trip with you when you start the conversation, "Hey! Wanna drive four hours to go see an exhibit of perfectly preserved cadavers?!" Needless to say, no one else in the room really wanted to see it either - even though it was only in the hotel across the street - so that afternoon I went by myself. And it was fantastic. Again, worth every penny. If for no other reason than you can regale your travelling companions over dinner with phrases like "do you know how big our liver is?" Or, "and then there was a case with just someones skin..."


4. Vegas May Have Been More Fun Than I Thought, but Some of It Was Just as Icky as I Imagined
I have this theory that you could ban all signage and advertising for strip clubs, peep shows and whore houses and financially they would do just fine because, really, if someone wants to partake in that kind of thing, they're going to find your establishment even if you don't have a giant hot pink and purple tacky neon arrow sign pointing them in the right direction. And they will certainly find their way without you lining the sidewalks of Las Vegas with people shaking fliers and coupons at them as they walk by. Turns out these people lining the sidewalks are not allowed to touch you, so they do this weird flicking thing with their fliers as they shove them in front of your face. They may not have been allowed to touch me, but there was more than one occasion where I wanted my elbow to make contact with a few of their noses.


5. It is the Land of Extremes
Everything there is bigger, longer, faster, taller, flashier and crazier. You don't just get a margarita. You get a guava mango margarita. In a three-foot tall glass. That you can drink while you're waiting in line for a thrill ride. But not just any thrill ride. One at the top of a 110-story building. And then you can continue drinking your margarita while walking down the street or shopping in the mini-market on the way back to your hotel room which you can only get to by going around the 20-foot gold-leafed lion statue, through the giant casino and past eight different restaurants and bars - from Wolfgang Puck's to McDonald's to something blaring club music where the waitresses dance on the bar every so often in leather miniskirts. Literally, the walk from my room to the Bodies exhibit in the hotel across the street took a solid thirty minutes. Madness.

Even nature is extreme there. We went hiking one day in Red Rock Canyon and it was amazing. Plants growing in a little crack in a rock. Mountains just jutting straight up out of the earth - no rolling foothills like I'm used to. In the sun it was hot and you were sweating and spraying yourself down with sunscreen, but step two feet into the shade and you were shivering and had to put a jacket on. Also, the desert is extremely dry. Did you know that? My now really chapped lips (and nose and ears and sinuses) were a bit in denial, apparently.

Anyway... All-in-all I give Las Vegas two very tired and chapped and poor (but happy!) thumbs-up.

Red Letter Day

1. According to my trusty iGoogle page it's "Old Maid's Day" AND "Hug Your Cat Day." Ironic, no? I seem to have half of this holiday covered. Good news. Hopefully two neurotic dogs will be adequate substitutes for the rest...

2. Most importantly, however, today marks another birthday. An actual, non-celebrity birthday. The birthday of my dear friend, Todd. It's a milestone birthday and to celebrate he rented a house on the top of a small mountain about an hour outside of Nashville and invited 20 or so friends and family up for this past weekend.

It was this huge, rambling, century-old home full of mismatched furniture, antiques, random mementos and art, sloping wood floors, giant clawfoot tubs with no showers, and an odd assortment of monkey-themed decor that I won't go into, but suffice it to say, all together made quite the fantastic setting. It constantly felt like you were maybe in movie - where everything was just this unique and picture-perfect moment. In fact I did comment that it reminded me of a specific movie with a similar setting and at one point late on Saturday night I believe I drunk-texted Katie to tell her so. Only I forgot that text-to-email messages don't include your name so she had no clue who the hell I was (but really, Katie, who else would text you on a Saturday night to mention a movie that only you, me and ten other people saw)...

Not everyone who came up stayed for both nights - and some just came up for the day on Saturday - so there was always someone new to meet and a different conversation to be part of. Tables scattered about the porch and lawn were constantly full of drinks and snacks and buffets of delicious pasta salad and chicken salad and pimento cheese sandwiches. Martha Stewart would have been proud.


The weather was absolute perfection. I think I spent a total of 30 minutes inside on Saturday (not counting the few hours when I managed to find my bed) and I can't remember the last time that ever happened. There was croquet and cornhole and hula hooping - even an arts and crafts table - and lazing about on an enormous swing on an even more enormous wrap-around porch, or sunning yourself on the edge of the bluff and then watching the sun set over the farms and town in the valley below.

I love that our croquet game came complete with a little table for our cocktails.
Lord knows how much longer the game would have gone on if we'd all had to play one-handed...

My very first game of cornhole. I've resisted this activity because, seriously!?
That has to be the most ridiculous name for a game ever. It is pretty fun though.
And unlike croquet, you play one-handed. Advantage: cornhole.


I try to avoid posting close-ups of friends and family on the interwebs
unless they've given me permission. But that's the birthday boy there
on the right showing us his mad artistic abilities, so I couldn't resist.



Those are well-placed tiki torches there in the foreground.
They marked the edge of the bluff and came in especially handy during a
star-gazing-turned-yard-nap activity late Saturday / early Sunday.

Much like a wedding reception, it was one of those occasions where someone's circles of friends and family converge all in one space. When that happens there is a high risk of it all ending poorly - but it didn't, not in the least - most likely as a testament to the kind of person my friend is. Which is to say he is one of the most genuinely good and wonderful people I know. If this past weekend is any indication, he's in for a great year. And it is well deserved. Happy Birthday.

Cultist

The other day at work we received an angry, angry letter. One of those in all caps with all kinds of poor grammar and errant use of quotation marks. The kind where you know that if the writer could have typed in a font called "manifesto" he totally would have. It was that good.

An email update from my media service soon found the source of the outrage. The director of the environmental non-profit I do some work for / share office space with was quoted in an article about the nuclear industry. In it he said something about how maybe it would be a good idea to try energy conservation first before we go building any nuclear power plants. And apparently it struck a nerve.

In the letter we were called several crafty names - the very best being "GRANT SEEKING LIBERALS" and "PEA BRAINED CULTISTS."

That first one is outstanding. Because, for one, it's 100% accurate. I am indeed a grant-seeking liberal. It's kinda how I avoid living in a box down by the river. And, for two, it makes me feel so much better about myself. Because here I've been working under the assumption that I was supposed to be a "latte-drinking, Prius-driving liberal." And let me tell ya, I was failing miserably at that.

So really, this is good news.

Ah, but if he is right about that one, does this mean I could also be a "pea-brained cultist"? I don't know. Now I'm worried. Let me think...

I guess I can't deny occasional pea-brained-ness on my part. I once misread a recipe for white chicken chili and instead of 1/4 teaspoon of cloves I added 4 teaspoons and nearly asphyxiated in a giant cloud of clove gas that formed over my crock pot. Things like this happen to me on a fairly regular basis. It's probably why I have to depend on grants for my livelihood - no one would actually pay me an hourly wage to be this much of a ding-bat.

So, OK fine - I'll give him that. But cultist? I may have to draw a line there.

But then I read an article yesterday and it hit me. Like a cloud of clove gas. Yes, I am indeed a cultist.

I belong to the cult of Rick Steves.

Yes, Rick Steves, the dorky PBS travel guy. That Rick Steves.

The article was on Salon.com. They did an interview with him and in it he almost achieved Jon Stewartdom. All funny and smart and self-deprecating and connecting-the-dots with spot-on observations and philosophies about everything from terrorists to marijuana. (The difference being that I have too much of a crush on Jon Stewart to worship him in a cult-like fashion whereas Rick Steves wears those glasses and the shirts with the two front pockets much like a David Koresh would, making him much more cult-worthy... )

Anyway... I first became acquainted with Rick Steves when I was planning a trip to Europe - not quite ten years ago. I had planned to go with a friend and do a quasi back-packing style trip through several countries. A month out she decided not to go and in a fit of pig-headed-ness I decided to just go by myself. To aid me on my trip I had a couple of ridiculously large, travel company-produced Guides To Europe that were quickly deemed useless and abandoned at my first hostel.

But I also had Rick Steves' guide to Italy. Small, concise, well-written and actually useful. He espouses the perfect (well, what I consider to be perfect) philosophy on travel abroad. He gives you tangible and realistic advice while showing you, on an adorably hand-drawn map, directions to the perfect cafe on the perfect side street in Rome. Or a great pub crawl to do in Venice where you will be able to dine for next to nothing on delicious food and wine and hang out with locals. Or which alley to turn down in Florence to find the most delightful tiny hotel where over the front desk in the lobby hangs an enormous painting of Tricky, the crazy owner's chihuahua.

And you go to these places and not only is the cafe perfect, and not only do you spend an evening on the pub crawl drinking wine and being quizzed on jazz by a bunch of twenty-something Venetians, and not only do you actually get to meet the real, live Tricky, but you also meet other Americans along the way. Americans who believe in the same idea of travel - that you should be a "visitor" to another country, not a "tourist." Americans who believe that our way isn't always the best way and that you don't learn anything when you travel if you spend all your time speaking extra loudly in English and don't deliberately wander away from the souvenir carts.

Americans who believe - after you have all downed several bottles of vino and a plate or two of gnocchi - that Rick Steves should be declared your personal god as you start sketching on a napkin the temple you're going to erect in his honor out of focaccia bread in the middle of Piazza San Marco.

It's been a while since I've reaffirmed my devotion to my dorky, public television travel guy. (What with saving all my money for the lattes and my new Prius I just haven't had any money to travel!) But I think after reading this article that should be taken care of. Pea-brained cultist that I apparently am.

And now, I have to go back to work. I have a grant report due tomorrow.

So Much and Yet Not Enough

The question I answered in my Interview Me challenge about my ultimate vacation - along with my Lenten challenge of scanning in all of my old photos - has started me thinking about travel. And how much I love it. And how I haven't done much of it in a long time. And of all the places I'd still like to go. And of all the places I've been that I miss.

Then one of the blogs where I lurk randomly posted a link to these aerial pictures of Venice today. And it - combined with a whole other pile of general unhappiness - made the longing only worse.

I don't know that Venice is my most favorite place I've been, but it wins for being the first place where I really felt like I was truly in another country and culture. Granted, I've never been anywhere in Asia and I've never been to a developing country so my perspective is skewed. And yeah, trying to cross the Champs Elysees with motor scooters flying past and people screaming at you in French is indeed culture shock, but you still know that within any few blocks you're going to bump into a McDonald's or have access to subway or city bus.

But Venice. Ah Venice. It's like you really did jump into Burt's sidewalk chalk drawing in Mary Poppins. The pictures in the link are amazing and depict some of the overwelming bizarre-ness of the city, but at the same time it doesn't begin to capture it.

So while my mood and the view out my office window of the sky, parking lot and interstate, is all grey today, I will be happy that I am employed and have my health and will try to stop my whining and just suck it up. But to help that along, however unproductive it may be, I'll also be picturing this in my head.

As an Elephant's Eye

I'm back from my weekend jaunt to Ohio. And I drove. Being a city mouse that doesn't have to drive much I've really come to dread long road trips by myself. In fact, I have this theory. "If the interstate narrows to two lanes - it's time to turn around and go home." But I used to looooove road trips. Made entire soundtracks for them. Had fantasies of driving cross country one day. Would drive home from college for the weekend - a 7ish hour trip - and it wouldn't phase me a bit. Not any more.

I had wanted to fly, but the awesomely cheap flights from Southwest left at awesomely ridiculous times and no one wants a house guest they have to schlep to the airport at 5am. So I drove. And to cope I decided to take a page from a former shrink's suggestion book and just break it all down into little segments. And you know. It totally worked. Middle of Tennessee to the Middle of Ohio? No, no, we're just going to drive from Nashville to Bowling Green. It's an hour. College kids do it every weekend. Then from Bowling Green to Louisville. Two hours. Boring, but very do-able. Louisville to Cincinnati - a measly hour and a half. Cincinnati to Columbus - same thing! Unbelievably boring! But still only an hour and a half! Toss in a few pit stops, some CDs and Diet Cokes and voila, I'm there.

Only there were no CDs as I forgot to pack them. Thankfully there is a public radio station accessible from just about anywhere in the country. There are also digital cameras that you can point toward the passing scenery and take random photos to pass the time while you're driving. Yes, while you're driving. That's why God created auto-focus.

So, in case you're wondering just what it looks like to drive from Nashville, TN to Columbus, OH on a Thursday afternoon. I'll show you.

For most of the trip it looks a lot like this:

Lovely hills and trees. The occasional rolling pasture with a grazing cow and old weathered tobacco barn. At some point north of Louisville all that loveliness starts to get a bit dull, but just as you're about to get antsy the road gets curvy and the hills get tighter and steeper and then suddenly you come around a bend and whammo - there's the Cincinnati skyline.

Cincinnati's a fun city to drive through as long as traffic isn't too bad. You get to go over a big bridge. See the new stadium. Lots of cool old architecture and tall buildings.

But then about 15 minutes later it all changes. The hills disappear. The asphalt highway turns to sections of flat, flaaaaaaat concrete with spacers between them that make the last hour and half of your trip the Midwest version of Chinese water torture. Ga-gunk, ga-gunk, ga-gunk, ga-gunk. For ninety miles. And all you can see is corn. Corn. For. nine. ty. mi. les.

And no, I've never had the privilege of driving through any of the big, square, scary states, so I'm sure that this is quite a breeze in comparison. But when all you have are your own thoughts, a digital camera and Terry Gross to keep you company, you can see how a person could go a bit mad.

But I made it safe and sound (ish) and will be sharing more of my weekend adventure later. That's all for now. Safe travels.

Summer Lovin' Week 6

No Title Necessary

It would be nice to say that this photo was taken on a two week stay in a rambling old beach house. In reality it was taken during a four-hour stay in beach chairs my mom and I bought at the Piggly Wiggly. But that's just fine. It was what we needed and, let's be honest, the beach is wasted on someone like me in the summer. The thought of putting on a swim suit makes me break out in hives and by 11:06am I start to get too hot. I'd much rather hide out in the mountains in July and August and then creep down to the beach in November, or January even. What can I say? I'm a circus freak. A good PR person would say that I just enjoy the serenity and isolation of the beach in late autumn and winter because it allows for more introspection and creative thought. But circus freak is probably more accurate...

The photos were taken on the Isle of Palm, just outside Charleston, SC. My job's annual conference was in Charleston this year. I had a nice suite for the week that I wasn't really going to get to enjoy so I invited my mom to come along and enjoy it for me.

The schedule during the week went pretty much like this:

7:00am - Start Work
7:00pm - Stop Work
7:05pm - Leave Hotel in Search of Food
8:30pm - Work From Room While Watching the Olympics
9:00pm - Michael Phelps
11:00pm - Stop Work
11:30pm - Sleep

God bless Charleston and it's totally walkable downtown with a restaurant every 1/2 block. It made eating dinner soooo much better than Room Service Chicken Pasta Whatnot that I would have ordered every night like I have the past two conferences.

Thursday - the last day of the conference - I was finished early so we went for our first trip to the beach. It was lovely. We walked along the water's edge until we worked up an appetite, got our flip flops all mucky, thoroughly soaked our capri pants from the knees down and let my hair go all Rosanne Rosannadanna in the humidity.

We spotted what looked like a restaurant just up from the path to the beach so we decided to check it out. Downstairs it was your typical touristy beach bar/restaurant - The Banana Cabana - with life preservers and fishing nets tacked to the wall, patrons drinking unnaturally green alcoholic beverages, live music from a guy who looked suspiciously like he might subject me to a Jimmy Buffet song at any moment, and a menu with all kinds of deliberate misspellings and inappropriate apostrophes, like "cap'n's fish 'n' chip's."

The menu for the upstairs restaurant featured various freshly-prepared seafood and locally-grown produce with artfully worded descriptions of the daily specials. It looked delicious. And fancy. At least fancy for Rosanne Rosannadanna and her mucky flip flops and wet capri pants. And after running around and catering to every whim and whine of 200 conference attendees and one boss for four very long days, the mere possibility of climbing the stairs to a maitre'd who would look down his nose at us, ask the dreaded "do you have reservations?" and, if we're lucky, give us a table by the bathroom, was just more than I thought my ego could endure. Oh but the alternative... fried things in plastic baskets... the threat of a "Cheeseburger in Paradise" sing-a-long... Room Service Chicken Pasta Whatnot was starting to sound like a viable alternative to the decision before me.

Thankfully my mother is much more brazen than I am when it comes to some things. Stops people on the street to ask for directions. Strikes up conversations with total strangers in line at the grocery. Makes friends with hotel housekeeping. For me this strategy usually ends in disaster, but she usually winds up learning a more interesting route to her destination, the best out-of-the-way restaurant, or getting extra toiletries without even having to ask. So, we march up the stairs, are greeted by the greeter guy, and she immediately asks "are we too casual?" He looks sort of confused for a second but says "absolutely not." We get a seat by the window with a view of the ocean. It's all simple and elegant and casual and not a bit pretentious. And the food... holy-moly. Shrimp and grits with Andouille sausage and heirloom tomatoes that literally melted in my mouth.

The next morning we headed back out to the beach where we waded in the surf again (above), followed silly birds around, read for a bit, and I fiddled with the fancy camera from work and took lots of morning-sunlight-on-ocean photos.

And four hours at the beach worked out just fine. Hopefully I'll get to go back to the beach this winter... you know... for some introspection and creative thinking... but it was nice to be on the "real" beach in summer with the rest of the world like a normal person. Well, as normal as you can feel with Rosanne Rosannadanna hair...

Hello, Travelocity?

I don't know that last night's episode of LOST will go down as one of the greatest. It certainly didn't have me on the edge of my seat like most weeks. I will say, however, that it was one of those episodes that stuck around in my head and then popped up with a couple of revelations several hours later.

Me, right after the episode ended: "Huh?!? Interesting."

Me, right as I was about to fall asleep: "Whoa! Wait a second.... then that means.... but what if.... or maybe.... hmmm...."

Mark of great story telling? Or that I'm a bit slow on the uptake?

Probably both.

And I don't know about you, but what's up with Other Village?

Quaint yellow cottages. Mountain views. Not far from the beach. Boxed wine. Xanadu.

Do they take reservations?

Pretty in Pink

First, thanks to Katie for my first comment! I figure that if anything I write here comes close to being as entertaining as her blog, I'll be doing ok. Hers will also be the first in my list of blog links on the right side of this page - when I finally get around to doing it, that is - but for now, just go to katiedustin.blogspot.com if you'd like to check it out. I highly recommend.

Second, here's a bit about my weekend adventure in Atlanta. I travelled south on Friday to pick up my mother and step-father at the airport on their way back from Italy (yes, I know, they suck); visit my friend Amanda, her baby, husband and dog; drive A LOT - or as my grandmother would have said "all over hell and half of Georgia" (which would actually apply in this case); and visit the trifecta of Stores-Nashville-Should-Have-But-Instead-I-Have-To-Go-To-Atlanta-For: Nordstroms, Crate & Barrel, and The Container Store (you could also add IKEA in there too, but we just couldn't squeeze it in this time and well, I have no hope of Nashville ever getting one so it shouldn't technically go on this list).

The Mother-Ship (or as I also like to call it:
Crack House for the Compulsive Organizer)

Most importantly, however, we went to cheer on my aunts, Jean and Lynn, as they participated in The Breast Cancer 3 Day: a 60-mile walk to benefit the Susan G. Komen Foundation. I even purchased a pink t-shirt just for the occasion. And getting me to wear pink is no small achievement (You should have seen my face a couple of years ago when "pink was the new black." It was not a pretty sight. But I digress...) They began their walk at a mall in Alpharetta, GA on Friday and we were able to find our way to one of the cheering stations on Saturday before they arrived. People were there lining the sidewalk, clapping, waving pom-poms, holding up signs and high-fiving the walkers as they came by. Many of the walkers wore costumes (tutus, halos, butterfly wings, etc.) or funny t-shirts - even the volunteers and officers got in on the festivities as we saw a policeman with a bright pink wig on directing traffic.

On Sunday, the walk ended at Piedmont Park in downtown Atlanta. Joining us was our friend, Neighbor Jane, who is a breast cancer survivor AND did The 3 Day Walk in California a few years ago (and is my mother and Tom's next door neighbor in case you're wondering what kind of parent names their child Neighbor). After circling various business and residential areas around the park looking for a parking space and having a man scream obsenities at me (I have very little patience in general - even less for people with unleashed pit bulls, especially if they're keeping me from finding a parking space) we finally made it there. And, somehow by the grace of someone, were able to get our chairs set up in the shade and with a perfect view of the stage, then haul our behinds to the other side of the park in time to see Jean and Lynn cross the finish line, then pick up their luggage and drag it back to our chairs just in time for some water and a snack before the closing ceremonies began. Don't ask me how we managed to accomplish all of this.

The closing ceremonies began with an introduction from someone on stage as the 2,500 particpants entered into the arena in front of the stage - arm-in-arm, six people across - and formed three rings inside a giant circle. First, the walkers on the outside - women in white 3 Day t-shirts, men in grey - followed by the crew of volunteers in various colored t-shirts in the middle ring, and then finally the survivors in pink t-shirts in the very center. I had been running around, taking pictures and wiping what was probably a combination of sweat and tears out of my eyes as the survivors entered the arena. From where I was standing, I couldn't get a very good picture of them coming in so I turned to try to get a picture of everyone that was already standing in the arena area. I was looking at the screen of my digital camera and trying to determine what was going on because the tiny view looked a little odd. I looked up to try and figure out what was going on and saw a sea of shoes. The walkers, in one enormous circle surrounding the survivors, each removed one the shoes they were wearing and held it in the air to salute them as they entered. Needless to say, there was not a dry eye to be found anywhere around me.

I don't know where exactly Jean and Lynn were in that big crowd, but we managed to find them afterward AND get them and their luggage out to the car, as well as make it back to their house and eat dinner - all before 9:00 that night. The next day they were still able to walk and have inspired me to (maybe) join them next year. I'll have to think about it though - I may have purchased a pink t-shirt especially for this weekend, but I don't know that I can afford - or stomach - three days of pink clothes. And I've already warned my mother, who also wants to do this next year, that I will NOT be wearing any wacky outfits or hats. And look, now it's in writing!

In addition to the amazing feat (or feet, ha ha) of walking 60 miles in three days, my aunts together raised just under $6,000, in honor of - and in memory of - many of their friends and relatives who have suffered with breast cancer. Two of them include my grandmother, Gene Shipp, who died in 1989 and my step-grandmother, Patricia Hardin, who passed away in August of this year. I know they must be very proud right now. Me too.

Jean (l) and Lynn (r) as they crossed the finish line on Sunday

Thank you to all of my friends who donated money - it really means a lot to me.

Click here to see more pictures from the event.