So far

So far I've consumed a mini Hershey S'mores bar, a Reeses Peanut Butter Cup or two, a bunch of Junior Caramels and some Laffy Taffy without guilt. Because it's Halloween, damnit. Who says it's just for kids? WHO SAYS?

Two ways my parents can scare the crap out of each other this Halloween

My mother has Graves disease, a thyroid disorder which, in her case, has affected one of her eyes. She's had two operations to get things mostly back to normal, but the disease basically causes the eye to open wider than it should as well as causes some vision problems. My mom's been absolutely stoic through the whole thing. She talks about how it's "annoying" whereas should I have had this problem I'd been beating the ground with my fist and demanding J bring my ice cream because God is putting me through such agony and I need comfort. Many times a day I'd indulge in such a scene. Luckily my mom's got it all pretty well sorted out. She might have one more operation in the future, but all in all, her eye is looking so much better and she's just been such a trooper I couldn't be more proud to have her as a parent.

So, you know, it's totally ok that I find humor in her disease because she, unlike me, can surely take it. My father called me this morning to tell me how wonderful I am and also to tell me about his newfound jaw pain and the fact that the dentist is giving him a mouth guard. Now, I myself had a mouthguard when I was in high school for teeth grinding and I'd wake up in the morning having thrown the thing halfway across the room in my sleep. They're fragile and cost like 80 million dollars, so this wasn't the ideal way to handle the precious commodity but hey, I was sleeping it wasn't my fault. Anyway, I wish my father the best of luck with that contraption.

He said that wearing it would be funny, what with my mom wearing Saran Wrap and all. My mom met with the doc again this week and he informed her that wrapping Saran Wrap around her eyes and head while she's sleeping would probably help keep the affected eye moist. Saran Wrap! This might beat the time my dad donned an elastic nurse's cap - you know, one of those paper garments worn in the ER - and bounded out in the front yard to greet my little brother. Just a bathrobe and a nurse's cap. It was for the "itchiness". You know, to keep him from itching his head. Naturally.

I'll listen.

Twentysixyears.blogspot.com is really a misnomer, isn't it. I'm no longer 26. Let's get down to it. I'm 27. And 27 means it's time to think about my hopes and dreams in a very mature, methodical way.

Like: What do you want do for a living? Like that.

When I was a youngster, an adorable blond-headed precious young child, I stumbled across writing in an English class and never looked back. I proudly announced to my parents that I would be a writer and they were so happy about that, more so than they were about my whimsical cranberry-farming scheme, that I figured I must have hit the goldmine.

Well, a goldmine, in the financial sense, it is not, but at a career expo today I did have a rendezvous with that part of me. That part that, you know, got it. The part that seems to, of late, have been suffocated by the wedding-planning, email-checking, looking-for-something-better part.

You see, I don't have any particular interests besides writing. And reading of course ("Interests: reading, writing..."). I tried. I got into horses, which led to a couple ribbons and some really pathetic diary entries from the pre-adolescent years in which I wanted to become a good horseback rider and also wanted to experience my first-ever kiss with a dual intensity unlike any I've seen since. I was a pretty good French student, but my desire to become fluent in any language since has been limited to fleeting moments when I can't get what I want ("Red wine per favore...?"). And you're not going to believe this, but I'm a damn good actress. Not award winning or anything but in college my Acting for Non-Majors class did a performance at the end of the year and I heard my friends oohs and aahs as I flaunted my skills. Damn good. But not ready to trot on out to Hollywood at this point. Too much competition.

The only thing I've really kept up with, for all my life, is that I like people to tell me about what they do. Be it their job, or their passion for herding cattle. I used to think I was impressionable. And don't get me wrong, I am. But it's more than that. When someone tells me about chiropractic adjustments, I'm pretty much sold. Accupunture? Sounds good. Avian Influenza? I'm terrified. Growing marsh plants, managing corporate offices, making really excellent cookies. You name it. I can't help but be enthralled, and I've decided that that's where my talents lie.

Luckily this line of work, in whatever form I choose to pursue it, fosters my interest in people - and their interests.

Today, at the career expo, I spent a good long while learning about types of wood from a guy I've known for the two years I've worked here. He's got a sawmill and showed me about six kinds he'd cut himself, naming their properties, right down to why the woodpeckers like pecan.

I won't get into it myself, the wood, but I'm glad he has. And when I write my book, I'll dedicate it to all the people in the world, all the interesting people, and I'll be thankful that I got over the horses, but, I mean, if someone offered me a role in an off-Broadway musical, well, I'd still be a little tempted to say yes.

M-C-D-U-N-A

Pumpkins and cider!

The slight bite in the air has forced the heat on in our little office today. Sweet autumn is arriving, rejoice! While driving home last night I spotted large and small and misshapen pumpkins on many a doorstep. Haybales and horse-drawn carriages! Scarecrows that walk and talk and folks enjoying hot cups of cider with their neighbors, telling tales about the days of yore!

Well, alright, I did not see all those things but please forgive my enthusiasm. The fall in North Carolina is like an unbelievably generous gift after the summer of always relentless heat. While in Boston it seemed the students would go from sporting bikini tops one day to buttoning up quilted jackets and donning fur caps the next, the seasons down here in the southlands gracefully flow from one to the other and the present weather just happens to be my favorite. That's how I chose my wedding date. To experience the all-too-perfect weather of the Mid-Atlantic at that time of year. Despite the fact that the weather didn't go as planned ("drenching rain," recall please), I'll always have our anniversary and be able to say "We got married in the fall. It's my favorite season."

It will be fleeting, however. Luckily there's Halloween right around the corner to ensure everyone is sufficiently festive for the great harvest.

Again, my apologies. There might not be a great harvest. There will be a keg and costumes. Costumes!

Column for The Chatham Record, 10/27 (thanks for the picture, Sarah!)

meanddad2
Originally uploaded by caramaria.

The forecast was rain.

“Drenching rain,” to be specific.

“Really?” I asked my father as he read me the details from Thursday’s Washington Post, two days before the wedding. “Drenching rain?”

The prediction rang true the next morning. The rain poured, the front yard flooded, and that weather became part of the memories.

It didn’t matter.

The rain fostered moments that were, quite honestly, some of the happiest of my life.

Naturally, getting married to Justin was the big one. We fumbled through the steps a few times. We sang hymns I’d picked hastily with the organist just a few days before, catching eyes with our friends and laughing.

But before getting to that point, I spent the rainy day inside my parent’s house with eight girls, every gossip magazine in existence and an impressive array of candy. While our hair was styled we questioned celebrity romances.

My brother appeared in a tuxedo and suddenly realized I might not be spending every Christmas at home with the family anymore. He said he might object during the ceremony.

When we’d donned the dresses and double-checked the make up and forced on the shoes, my parents, bridesmaids and I sat looking out the window at the muddy driveway.

After filling plastic cups with white wine and after my mother helped me get my all-the-way-to-the-floor veil under control we were ready.

We didn’t talk about the weightiness of the situation as we waited for transportation to the church to arrive.

Instead, we tried to remember all the verses to Roger Miller’s “King of the Road.”

That’s what my father and I would dance to later at the reception.

We belted out the first verse: “Trailer for sale or rent, rooms to rent fifty cents!”

Subsequent attempts ended in mumbled words and peals of laughter.

Once the cars arrived, we were hurried along. We reached Our Lady of Sorrows Catholic Church after all the guests were seated. Everything was quiet except the violin music that ushered the mothers and bridesmaids to the front of the church.

My father and I were last to leave the car. When we were beckoned, we scurried across the brick pathway leading to the open door, an umbrella overhead. We ducked inside out of the drenching rain and into the cozy church filled with what seemed like everyone I knew and loved.

I wanted to say hello and tell them how happy I was to see them, but that would have to wait.

My father reminded me to “walk slowly” and then it was our turn.

Newlyweds

My mother kept telling me this story, over and over again before we flew to Costa Rica, about how when she got back from a European honeymoon with my father, no one had watered the flowers in their apartment and they'd all died and that's when she realized she was back. Back to real life. I wondered what kind of depressing crap she wasn't trying to feed me, but then the other night, while making Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, I got it. I had boiled the water and the noodles had cooked. I started the stir in the correct portion of butter and suddenly I had to find J, I had to bring him into the living room to sit on the couch and I started crying.

Surrounded by presents. With my new husband. Who loves me. And dogs. Wagging their tails. After the greatest wedding I could ask for.

Crying.

What a loser.

At least that's what I thought. It took me a few to realize I wasn't sad, per se. You just have to crash a little after an event such as holy matrimony.

After the wedding, which was (I know, typical, but I mean it) the happiest day of my life, J and I escaped to a tropical land of monkeys and other honeymooning couples and there's no way to get over the euphoria of just having gotten married when you are surrounded by titi monkeys while you eat pancakes and drink Costa Rican coffee with hot milk while staring out at the Pacific every day.

That hits when you're back at home with the piles of boxes and the promise of work the next day. Macaroni and cheese. Dead flowers. The event planned over months and months is over. J told me it was ok to feel down and it really was. Then I was fine. It's good to be home. We watched some tv and opened presents. They didn't have television in our hotel in Costa Rica, which meant it was amazingly quiet and peaceful. We loved it. But it was pretty nice to watch some Simpsons reruns and honestly, who doesn't love Kraft Macaroni and Cheese?

New Wife vs. The Magnificent Frigatebird

Listen. If I come home and I'm not tan, I don't want to hear anything because it has poured rain almost every single day except for a few glorious hours yesterday and thankfully we were able to really take advantage of the sunshine. The thing is - it doesn't matter. Seriously. It didn't matter on the wedding day and we are having the most spectacular time here despite the weather. After all, we are in a rainforest. I can barely include it all in this write up, I'm sure, and we've only been here a few days. The taxi driver stopped above a river on the way to our hotel to show us some crocodiles. He didn't know the word in English so he guestured with his hands, made them into chomping jaws on his face til we got it. The next day we met some friends on the 50 cent bus into Quepos, a nearby town. They'd gotten married Saturday too, in fact, it seems half he hotel did. We walked around, I bought saline solution and razors, a task that involved our Spanish-English dictionary and pretending to shave my legs.

Although I felt very strongly that this honeymoon involve a significant amount of laying around, in Costa Rica, it seems so far, the adventures are every bit as relaxing and fun and hilarious as "just relaxing" could ever be. Yesterday we took a hike through the National Park at Manuel Antonio...up and up til we reached the highest peak for a stunning view of cliffs and clear blue water below. The trail took us back down and we emerged onto a beautiful beach that felt incredibly private, maybe because it's not really tourist season and maybe because that's just how it is here. The sun was shining, the hot equatorial sun, and we stripped down to our bathing suits and talked to people who'd made it there with us. I swam and then sat on a hot rock to dry. Tiny hermit crabs scatted everywhere, on our towels, hiding quickly in their shells when I bent down, over and over again to exclaim, "Look at the crabs!" White-faced monkeys made their way down trees and onto the sand and looked at us, the visitors. Yesterday morning at breakfast in the hotel they performed a similar show, scurrying up the vines and onto tin rooftops, almost as though someone had paid them to do so for our benefit.

This morning we continued the adventure swinging through the jungle on a series of zipwires and repelling down trees. It wasn't scary. I mean, standing 120 feet up on a wooden platform without guardrails is bound to give your heart a little jolt, but the guides were funny, and what's more, they were knowledgeable and all the things I'm normally afraid of just seem so ridiculous in this place. Last night we walked through the woods at night, in pitch darkness with our guide, Chris, flashlights, and an adorable family. We saw frogs, like the red-eyed tree frog that abounds on travel brochures, and spiders and we were on the lookout for (but didn't see) snakes, and I was so happy and not worried, as usual, what would happen should we be attacked. Costa Rica is wonderful for reinstating a true sense of adventure. I feel incredibly healthy.

It hasn't all been swining from tree to tree or getting a huge workout hiking up steep cliffs. Yesterday J and I spent a delightful afternoon in the pool, washing the sand from the beach, that clung tightly to my ankles and shins, away. We swam up to the bar and made friends with a couple that had been married 21 years and one that had just gotten married, like us. We chatted about the war, about Costa Rica, about marriage over beers and margaritas. About wildlife. Before we'd met these fun and interesting people, I'd asked J if he thought maybe be could go for four minutes, just four, without talking about birds. He's been craning his neck almost constantly, pointing out to me the Magnificent Frigatebird, which has a forked tail and soars high overhead. I was interested the first time I saw one, but not really the 200th. Just after the four minute non-bird-talking period had begun, the boy turned his head and watched in awe as "some species" he'd never seen before flew by. That's what he said. "But Cara that is a species I've never seen before." So much for the four minutes.

Despite the birds, I married the right person. We are having the most amazing time. I had a small breakdown of sorts the night we got here, I hate to admit. It all hit me. I got married. We were on our honeymoon. I was Cara McDonough. "My naaaameeeee!" I told J. "I changed my name! Am I still part of my family???" Oh yes, he assured me, and said, "Hey, when we have a kid someday, he'll go to apply for a bank account, and he'll have to give his mother's maiden name, and that will be Rotondaro." Hey, I thought. "Hey, that's true." And we moved on. And the birds followed...

The McDonoughs in Paradise

I am sitting at the internet terminal in my hotel after spending several hours at the swim-up bar with my new friends, and of course, my new husband. We're about to go on a night tour (thanks for the tip, Lisa and Eitan!) to see all the nocturnal animals. It will be even better bc. I'm slightly tipsy, our0 new friends at the swim-up bar said and I will report fully tomorrow when I plan on updating you guys on this paradise. I am in love with this country of Costa Rica. Until tomorrow my friends....

Getting married!

During the last few days I've been too busy threading ribbon through programs and ensuring all my friends are placed at tables with people they know (but not too many people they know...)to write and I'm sure the next few days won't provide much down time, either. So I'll be back soon, no doubt with many new stories (J and I? Marriage? A long Catholic ceremony? A week-long trip to Costa Rica and hundreds of new birds? Yes, there will be stories...)

We met at a wedding (five days left!)

A lot of people know this, and no doubt it will come up (a lot) this weekend, but J and I met at a wedding, and to think that we're going to have our very own wedding this weekend is kind of unbelievable. I mean, it's not unbelievable when I think about all the work we've been doing ironing out the nitty gritty details, and there's been work sufficient to produce a wedding let me tell you, but it is when I think about that first night we met and how improbable it was that we'd get together. Then again, I never doubted that we would.

I remember my mom telling me when I was at the oh so malleable age of 12 or 13 or so that not getting into trouble had a lot to do with making decisions before you were in the difficult situation. Like drinking. If I didn't want to drink (What? Amaretto stolen from the liquor cabinet turned up randomly out near the garage? Me and my friends? Gin? Gin and juice, a concoction obviously made by high schoolers? What?) then you had to decide you didn't want to drink before you were at the party and the 17-year-old was waving vodka and Hawaiian Punch seductively in front of your face. Because, she explained, if you hadn't firmly decided at that point, you'd probably do it.

But when I met J I rejected that good line of reasoning because I just couldn't firmly decide not to want to be with him when we were together. And the moral, I think, is that sometimes you have to decide what it is you really want to do when you're close, when you're right there in the midst of the action and the only thing you can go by is your heart. Except, of course, in certain cases, like maybe if you are getting a full-body tattoo, or if you are in a whorehouse - in those cases I think you should put some thought into the consequences of your actions before you go buck wild.