Serenity Now!

 

The first half of September was NOISY. The constant sound of jackhammering was in full force six days of the week while two neighbors had a large retaining wall removed and rebuilt. Our townhouse walls shook and I felt the reverberations throughout my body. It was like being in a stadium filled with Seattle Seahawks fans who jump and stomp so vigorously that seismologists say they cause minor earthquakes.

I tried to relax and rise above the commotion by repeating the mantra, “I feel calm and serene.” But my teeth remained clenched and my left eye kept twitching. It reminded me of an old Seinfeld TV episode where George Costanza’s father is advised to quietly say “serenity now” every time he feels tense in order to help control his high blood pressure. Instead, he becomes agitated and throws his hands to the sky yelling “SERENITY NOW”.

One Saturday, to escape the continual auditory assault, my husband and I went to lunch. Driving home, the car alarm went off. You know, the bee-bah, bee-bah, bee-bah, whoop, whoop, weeooo, weeooo, bloooop, bloooop. It stopped for a moment, then repeated. We couldn’t figure out how to disable it and continued driving. Need I mention the stares directed at us? After we arrived home and pulled wires from the battery, the noise thankfully stopped. Sweet peace and serenity.

As I write this blog, construction has ceased and I have the windows open for fresh air. However, my neighbor’s dachshunds are yapping, a bird is making a repetitive shrill call that sounds like a cross between a ringtone and a squeaky porch swing, and the cicadas are winding up. Yap, yap, squeak, squeak, ting-a-ling, buzzzzzz. On the bright side, the cacophony is drowning out noise from the freeway and Metrorail.

What a contrast to my summer vacation in Hawaii! Every day spent at the beach with only the sounds of waves crashing, kids laughing, and tropical birds softly warbling. Geckos skittered around tree trunks chasing each other. Occasionally, someone played a ukulele or sang.

We discovered a coffee plantation nestled in a hillside about a half hour’s drive from our condo. I felt

calm and centered sipping a morning mocha while sitting in the open air coffee shop, gentle trade winds blowing. The view was breathtaking—trellised coffee plants in the foreground with white sailboats dotting the blue ocean in the distance.

While in this tranquil place, I was unexpectedly besieged with ideas for new stories and characters. Now I’m on a quest to maintain daily inner peace no matter what is happening.

How do you find serenity in this crazy, noisy world?

Beach or Mountains?

In her fabulous interviews, our colleague E.B. Davis usually asks if an author prefers beach or mountains. E.B., an acknowledged beach bum, has a running debate with fellow blogger Sam Morton, a born and bred mountain man, over which is the more amenable spot.

Recently, I had the opportunity to do a side-by-side comparison when I spent an extended vacation with cousins first at Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, and second, at our family home in southern West Virginia. Each place has special memories for us.

Springmaid Pier at sunrise

At the beach, we wanted to walk beside the ocean and marvel at its immensity and mysteriousness. We wanted to sink our feet in the sand, knowing they would never feel cleaner and forgetting that the itchy particles would cling to our ankles and between our toes, accompanying us back to the hotel room no matter how diligently we tried to shake them off, even tapping them steadily to beach music.

Fish Tales Pier Store

From the pier, we admired the sea's bounty, watching the fishermen take in silvery ribbon fish and large flounder from poles mounted on the guard rails.

Brian Okes, Jim Okes, PGB, Gini and Chester Abee

We ate our fill of fabulous shrimp and grits (prepared by dear friends, Gini and Chester Abee) and fresh sweet potato chips and fried green tomatoes at the wonderful Rivertown Bistro in Conway, South Carolina. Greeted by Mayor Alys C. Lawson, whose sister and brother-in-law own the restaurant, we learned that Darius Rucker recently filmed a video there for his new single "Homegrown Honey."

Cousins at Mac's Pride Roadside Market

We laughed at recollections of times past spent with our family members on vacations. And, as we left, we stopped at Mac's Pride Roadside Market in McBee, South Carolina, to have a peach enchilada (like a fruit turnover) with peach ice cream.

Mountainside

Driving to the mountains, we raised our eyes to the hills, thrilled to see the blue ridge appear in the distance. Entering Virginia, we began to ascend with rocky ledges on the driver's side and a stunning passenger view over the wide valley with the distinctive top of Pilot Mountain just visible and not obscured by mists. When we arrived in West Virginia, I couldn't help but remember the state song, "Oh, the West Virginia hills! How majestic and how grand, With their summits bathed in glory like our Prince Immanuel's Land!" And, I also might have hummed "Take Me Home, Country Roads."

Amtrack to Charlottesville

For an excursion,we took a train trip through the narrow passes to Charlottesville, Virginia, watching the rolling countryside with a car full of Mountaineer enthusiasts heading toward the game to be played in Maryland. Lots of blue and gold. We ate excellent beer battered cod and drank mango/strawberry/mint sweet tea at Charlottesville's Downtown Mall.

Back at our family home, my cousin grilled fall off the bone ribs and fried green tomatoes (following his father's recipe). On my birthday, we sat around an outside fireplace enjoying the beautiful chilly evening, the snap of burning wood, and some excellent wine. Before leaving, I felt compelled to stop for a milkshake at the Dairy Queen, remembering how I used to get one there with my aunts and mother.

Charlottesville's Downtown Mall

Where I live in Columbia, South Carolina, employers tell prospective hires that an advantage of the location is it's two hours from the beach and two hours from the mountains (which makes some folks ask what's in Columbia, but that's the subject of another blog message). I feel privileged to be in such close proximity to places where some of my happiest moments have been and are being made. So, if I had to answer E. B.'s question, I'd call it a toss up.

How about you? Do you prefer beach or mountains, or do you enjoy both equally?

"One Word" of Travel Advice

Kassiopi

Everyone has advice about travel. Travel light, most people say.  Others advise, Take twice as much money as you need and half the clothes. Audrey Hepburn said, “Paris is always a good idea.”

My advice is, always learn at least one word of the language of the country you are visiting. Being able to say “hello” or “thank you” will make more of a difference than you can imagine. At least, I figure I’ll give the native speakers a laugh. At best, trying to speak the language can build a bridge to unexpected places and perks. I discovered that being able to say “good morning” in Greek paid off for me on my recent cruise.

Our cruise line hired a smaller boat to take a group to several spots on the scenic island of Corfu. Our own S. S. Minnow dropped me, my husband, Bill, and thirty other beach lovers in Kassiopi, a tiny Greek village/postcard come to life. Cafes and shops ringed Kassiopi's harbor, but it was a bit early for a snack and my husband is not a shopper. So we headed toward the first place I go to take the temperature of a new country – the grocery store. Kassiopi’s market offered a welcoming spread of local cheeses, breads, olive oils, and tourist kitsch.

Several fellow travelers shuffled through the shop, replying in English when greeted in Greek by the owners, an older gentleman and a young woman who looked enough like him to be his granddaughter. They made their purchases and left.

I eyed plastic place mats printed with a map of Kassiopi.

The gentleman greeted me. “Kalimera.” Good morning.

A word I knew! I took a deep breath.

“Kalimera,” I replied.  He smiled.

I pointed to the map. “Beautiful.”

He nodded. “Beach?”

He must have assumed I was searching the map for a beach.

I remembered the word for yes. “Ne.”

He pointed away from the harbor, up the hill behind the shop. “Pristine beach. No cigarette butts.” I laughed; he definitely knew some very helpful English.

This was unexpected, but highly useful, tourist intel. My husband heard “beach” and perked up.

I thanked my gracious grocer/tour guide with a smile. We purchased some snacks and olive oil and headed in the direction the man had indicated.

Bill and I headed up the hill, which led past a dramatically crumbling fort we hadn’t seen on any of our tour information, then followed a trail further up the hill, past numerous feral cats, backyards strung with laundry drying in the sun, and deep into a sea of olive trees.

Just when I started wondering if the “pristine beach” was this guy’s little joke on tourists, we saw it: Sparkling peacock blue water ringed by a bright white half moon of beach at the end of our trail.

“No cigarette butts,” I breathed.

Do you have any travel advice?