There's A Difference

I’ve been on the coast of Georgia for the last week on my one week of TRUE vacation this summer. It was family reunion time with my dad’s side of the family, and we did a whole lot of sitting on the beach, and sitting on the beach, oh, and sitting on the beach. You might be wondering why this is my only true vacation…haven’t I been on vacation all summer? Well, yes, I suppose you could say that in a way, but in my head, “vacation” has always only meant one thing…sitting on the beach. And that is the fault of my father.

My dad is a hard-working man, so when he takes time off from work…he goes on Vacation. That means we go to the beach and sit on the beach, eat, and Dad goes fishing. Don’t bother bringing cute clothes because we aren’t going sight-seeing or exploring in the town. No, we’re going to the beach and that is it. And when you’re on vacation, you can eat whatever you want, sleep whenever you want, and wear whatever you want. Nobody can judge you for it.

Sister: I thought you gave up sodas.

Me (as I’m popping open a can): I’m on vacation.

Mom: That’s right, you can do whatever you want on vacation.

I didn’t know other families went on different kinds of vacations until I was 14 or 15. You actually see stuff on vacation? You actually have a schedule? Yeah, that’s not vacation…that’s a trip. Trips, I did on my own when I got older, and when I could go places with friends. Trips involve agendas, new places, and clothes other than gym shorts and swim suits. Trips are fun and energy-sucking; vacations are “decompressing” (in the words of my father). So, I suppose what I’ve been doing all summer has been a mixture between a trip and just plain real life.

So, now that I’m finished with that exhausting definition of a vacation, I made a discovery on this stop in Georgia. I tried to drink the cheap beer all week; I even drank 3 or 4 of them one night thinking that if I just drank more of them, they would taste better. Instead, it forced me to go to bed early with a stomach ache. Then, one night, the cousins escaped into Savannah for dinner and I had 2 good beers with dinner. I could feel my stomach gurgling with gratitude and joy. You might think I’m crazy, but it’s TRUE, I SWEAR! If my stomach could talk, it would have said “Ah, finally! This is what I’ve been waiting for!” I’m pretty sure that would have freaked my cousins out though. Anyway, the only conclusion that I can come up with, is that I’m a beer snob. I know, I know, I’m too young to be a beer snob. I just graduated from college, and I’m broke. You try explaining that to my stomach. It's the picky one, not me.

So, now that vacation is over, I’m embarking on a trip. Right now, I’m in Louisiana since I rode back from Georgia with my cousin. Today begins a little Texas Tour – because I’m about to leave it for the next 4 years, if not forever. I know that’s morbid, but it’s true. I really don’t know when I’ll be back. So, now it’s time to say some goodbyes.

The Four Year Rule

I left Albuquerque a week ago, and stopped near Amarillo for a night with Alicia from college. We ate Bobotjie (a South African casserole type dish) and hiked around Palo Duro Canyon. It was a good night, but it reinforced just how out of shape I am. One of these days, I might actually give up beer for longer than a month. But probably not. After lunch with Kellan and Kallison the next day, it was off to Dallas to catch a flight to Pennsylvania on Friday.

I spent the weekend in Pennsylvania but I might as well have been in Poland or South Africa. I was sleeping in an attic bedroom of a (mostly) Polish-speaking family's house out in the middle of the state. The important part about this latest stop on the Nomad Natty Journey...is that this family happens to be related to my best friend Zuzka. And Zuzka happens to be one of my best friends from South Africa who I haven't seen in FOUR WHOLE YEARS!! This "long weekend" was way overdue and not quite long enough.

For some reason, Zuzka's Polish uncle loves country music. I listened to more country music in the past few days than I have in a long time. He also found it pretty funny that I used to have the accent that so many of those singers have. I demonstrated...it was a fun time. Thanks to South Africa, I no longer have that accent. In fact, as soon as I was in the presence of Zuzka, I started saying "ja" again...just like in South Africa. Funny how things come back to you like that.

Zuzka and I only make up half the foursome of my friends from South Africa. They basically saved my life when I was living there. Now, however, it is incredibly difficult to keep in touch with them, seeing as Zuzka lives in Poland, Gail lives in Wales, and Thandi is still in South Africa. Look how cute we were at age 17/18...

Thandi, Gail, Zuzka, and I

So, the least I could do was cross the country to see Zuzka. It seemed a fitting way to use frequent flier miles I'd accumulated flying back and forth to South Africa. We sat on the back porch of her uncle's house, sipping tea or Amarula and reminiscing about our school days and the nights when the four of us would sleep over at my house. We discussed how we'd changed and how things were different, and yet...for us, it didn't seem all that different. Yeah, we're in different places in our lives, we were missing the other half of our group, and we hadn't been together in 4 long years...but the whole weekend was like stepping back in time, in a way. We were 17 again, and it was like nothing had changed.

Zuzka and I on her 18th birthday drinking Sangria

(Side note about Pennsylvania: It's 10 times cooler than Texas or New Mexico. Paradise, comparatively.)

We talked about when I was a new kid in South Africa, and how we met. She helped me put together this portfolio thing in History class on my first day of school. It was one of those moments when I thought my world was going to fall apart because everything was so damn different and everything was changing without my control. And there was Zuzka...except I thought her name was Shishka at the time. Little does she know...that nearly 6 years later, that moment is still helping me deal with change. Haha...that sounds really corny. But basically, my life is a big question mark, and friends like Zuzka are how I keep such a cool head in my nomadic life.

I could be sentimental and reminiscent for pages. It was sad to leave her again, and it reminded me a lot of when we said goodbye last time in South Africa. Gail, Thandi, and Zuzka came to see me off at the airport and gave me a South African flag. It was tough, but I think we all knew that someday we'd see each other again. It wasn't the end...it still isn't.

Saying goodbye 4 years ago

So, Zuzka and I made a pact on the way to the airport that four years was long enough to go between now and our next visit. Four years went by so quickly...four more can't be so bad. So, Four years max...that's the rule.

Saying goodbye again at age 22...

 

 

 

Maybe sometime in the next ten years, the foursome will get together again in some unlikely location like...South America or Asia. Who knows.

Proof: You Try Keeping it Straight

Sometimes, you just have to let some things go. For example, the entry that was to be published a week ago called "How to Write a Eulogy." It detailed my 7 hour drive to Denver with my sister, brother-in-law and their screaming baby; writing a eulogy for my beautiful grandmother's memorial service; and the impromptu family reunion that induced because of that memorial service. I think I just wrote myself out with the eulogy. Eulogies...are rough. Not only do you have to latch onto everything you remember about the person, but you have to remember everybody else's memory of her as well. Not to mention, you have to somehow make your words eloquent and beautiful enough to represent the person your talking about. Anyway, let that blog entry rest where it is for now.

I'm still in Albuquerque, and I've been slacking a bit on the writing. In the Black Hole, I spent all my time in coffee shops. Here, I spend all my time watching the National Geographic Channel, searching for Harry Potter interviews on YouTube, and reading articles on the changing publishing industry. Basically, I've been totally nerding out all day, then I play with my 10-month-old nephew in the evenings. Exciting, right?

I got new tires for my car today. Here's part of my conversation with the tire guy...

Tire Guy: So you living here now?

Me: No, I'm just visiting my sister.

Tire Guy: I was wondering...with your Oregon address and your Texas plates.

Me: Yeah...I don't really live anywhere at the moment.

**Awkward pause** 

Me: I mean...I go to school...I just finished school in Texas.

Tire Guy: Oh yeah? What now?

Me: I'm trying to figure that out right now. 

(This would have been the opportune moment to throw Alaska into the mix...just for fun.)
 

So, it turns out...I'm not the only one confused by my state of being. Tire Guy is confused as well, and he had it all written down on paper for him. I, on the other hand, have to remember that my (not so) "permanent address" is in Oregon, my stuff is in storage in North Texas, I'm from the Black Hole, I'm temporarily visiting New Mexico, I'm moving to Alaska in a year, and I live in Honda Civic. You try and remember all that. I suppose I should be grateful though. Only a few years ago, I had three addresses in Dallas, Sherman, and South Africa...none of which were "permanent." Not to mention my stuff was sprawled through 2 storage units in the Black Hole, my closet in South Africa, and my dorm room at school. 

That long list of locations is basically me proving to you how nomadic my life actually is.

You would think by the age of 22, I'd be able to fill out paperwork with out calling my mom...but you try doing it. Hell, I can't even remember I'm a college graduate and not just on vacation. Also, I'm pretty sure "Honda Civic" doesn't count as an address on forms.

I'm not complaining. I'm moving on from Albuquerque tomorrow, and I couldn't be happier that my life is so carefree at the moment. I mean, the next time I'll be able to live like this is when I retire, and that's if I actually get to retire, seeing as how I want to be a writer and all. Aside from attempting to fill out paperwork, the worst part about being constantly moving and living in Honda Civic...is the packing. I will never learn to love living out of a suitcase. But I suppose, I'll take the bad with the fantastic.

Until the next stop...