I’ve never successfully kept up with a blog unless I was traveling. It makes sense; spending time in multiple cultures demands a set of new senses, really. Your ears are more in tune with languages you don’t speak, music you’ve never danced to, and your eyes are completely bombarded by cathedrals, mountains, people, customs, that you may have imagined but never seen to reality. I have found great joy in the unexpected: ten extra days in Colombia due to neglecting a Yellow fever vaccination, planning an entire weekend trip to Germany around a Coldplay concert when you’re 19 years old, deciding to be talkative to three Brits in a tea lodge on the Annapurna Base Camp trail. For me, those moments are inspiration and have been the impetus for any of my writing for the past ten years. Even though traveling is one of my great loves, it by no means is my only one. I mean, I have every season of Friday Night Lights on DVD and now live in a city where resides a Trader Joe’s.
Basically, I’m going to make a greater effort to keep up with some essence of this thing. By no means do I have an agenda or even a focus, but I do love food and have just finished sewing my first little dress. I’ve almost given up on Andrew, but he has much more handy hobbies like mechanics. And now that he’s back in Nashville, he will inevitably be using his brother’s shop to pimp out his motorcycle (Strider), my Jeep (Falcor), and his Jetta (Jethro). So maybe he will offer the every now and again tutorial and I will just go on and on about how much I love Tim Gunn, fresh basil and live music.
The beginning of this blog was the beginning of our post-nursing school/pre-end of divinity school travel series. May through July we spent the majority of our time in Nepal in addition to weeks in New York City, Kentucky, Memphis, and where we began to settle in Nashville. We didn’t actually ‘settle’ in the Music City until last night when we slept back in our 1954 Airstream three and a half months since we first it moved from Memphis. This past month Andrew’s parents were kind enough to let us housesit/crash their home just outside of Nashville while they currently work and reside in KY. Two of the major perks of such a hotspot: community pool and DVR. The first was essential for the 107* days in July and afternoons in early August when we would try our best water polo ab workout. The second was new to me—and quite possibly one of the greatest of modern inventions. It records, pauses, rewinds and fast forwards live television (gasp). I still own old VHSs that were recorded over and over until a series finale took permanent place on its ribbon: Party of Five, Will & Grace, Fresh Prince, Early Edition, ER, Friends…or pretty much any 90s necessity. So still without a job (no need to voice my [un]employment frustrations [input pity here]) I became close friends with the DVR and the London Summer Olympics.
My obsession with the summer games goes back to my wee young years. When other children wanted to be veterinarians, teachers and astronauts when they grew up, I adamantly pursued a future as an Olympic swimmer. That pursuit ended at the ripe age of 12 but my passion only continued the following summer when Atlanta hosted the 1996 games. Swimming, diving and gymnastics were always my favorites as I cut out newspaper articles and made my own Olympic journal. I am one devout patriot when it comes to this stuff.
Let me go ahead and confess that I was really looking forward to watching Ryan Lochte swim in London. There. I may have thought he was fairly attractive and was eagerly looking forward to someone else winning besides Phelps. Fail. I mean, fail. Lochte turned out to be one hot mess. Please spend the next fifteen minutes reading this huh-larious article my bestie Jocelyn led me on to…no, read it. You finished? That grill?? Seriously? I shake my head at how naive I must have been to miss it. Therefore, I offer three far superior alternatives who were hot without the mess:
There ya go, folks. Redemption for my Lochte miscalculation. Nathan Adrian, Ryan Bailey, and Andrew Crimmins were the most refreshing fellas of London Games (don’t worry, the man with the sunflowers had his favorite ladies as well). Hours were spent watching beach volleyball, track and field, swimming, water polo, ping pong, and gymnastics. But no event left me in knots like David Boudias straight up owning the 10m platform diving competition. He should have been my own son as nervous and excited as I was for that kid. Okay, so my Olympic rant is finished (and weeks overdue, I understand).
The rest of August has been filled with celebrating Andrew’s birthday whilst white water rafting the Ocoee River, catching up with dear friends, and re-reading every Harry Potter (don’t judge). Here are a few fun ones from our wee road trip down past Chattanooga (Andrew’s brother, Chris, took the underwater photo with his iPhone…what?):
(My bday gift to Andrew. Coach & Tammy Taylor 4eva!!)
So until my nagging translates into an RN position, I will continue to dance with Ellen, figure out my sewing machine, and pray autumn into existence.