 I just got back from seven, blissful days in Florida. It’s going to take me a minute to re-acclimate to autumn temperatures and, well, the real world. I predict it will be at least Thursday before I stop wandering out onto my porch in a tank top, expecting an ocean view instead of the dying hostas and caladium in my front yard.
Truth be told, I hope I’m still surprised that my Highlands bungalow isn’t, in fact, oceanfront property all the way into December. I want this beach high to last until spring because I hate, hate, HATE the cold. I feel like Louisville got gypped out of summer, what with all the cool snaps and dang rain, so this trip sort of helped me to reclaim the final fragments of a season that ended too soon in my hometown. And speaking of trips and vacations, the two are not mutually exclusive in my book. A vacation out of town is a time to reflect, rejuvenate, overeat without remorse, soak up your surroundings and basically sit on your ass. A trip, on the other hand, is an excursion with an agenda, guided tours, scheduled stops and a frenetic pace. You go on a trip to Rome; you vacation at the beach.
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 I am sunburned, scratched, scabby and inordinately sore. Like, when-I-sit-down-I-may-never-get-up-again sore. And I couldn’t be happier about it.
See, I spent about eight hours outside this past Saturday, and it was not to watch the Thunder Over Louisville air show at the waterfront, although I’m sure that was fun for people who like that sort of thing. No, I was doing my first major yard work blitz of the season. I was so excited about firing up my mower and dusting off my pruning implements that I had trouble falling asleep the night before. (I probably wouldn’t be in quite so much pain if I hadn’t let my personal trainer beat the shit out of me on both Friday AND Sunday, but I digress.) I mowed, edged, pulled weeds, cleaned up leaves and other rotting vegetation, took out the remains of dead tree all by myself, and trimmed ornamental grass and ground cover along my front sidewalk. My teenage son came out front at one point and, upon seeing me knee deep in a pile of monkey grass wielding garden shears, said dispassionately, “That looks like a really big job.” Gee thanks, kid.  It’s getting green out there, thankyoubabyJesus. And I don’t mean drive-a-Prius-and-recycle-gum-wrappers green. You’ve probably noticed that spring weather is finally starting to transform the browns and grays of winter into emerald hues and colorful blooms.
It’s about friggin’ time. I may have mentioned once or twice how much I loathe the cold. So right now, I seriously feel like a grumpy bear coming out of hibernation. This ol’ bear is hongray — for the sun on my shoulders, the warm pavement beneath my bare feet and the scent of peonies wafting under my nose. I’m SO ready to dig out my straw pool bag, fluff the beach towels and inspect my raft for leaks. Some of my happiest memories from childhood are set against the backdrop of sunbeams and sticky summer weather, so I always get a little nostalgic at the first chance the temps allow me to hang up my winter coat. Perhaps even a little over-eager, but what the hell.  On this lovely Monday, I’m recovering from my annual trip to the mountains of Eastern Kentucky for the 28th annual Tacky Lawn Ornament & Pink Flamingo Soiree. I camped, hiked, laughed ‘til I cried, ran around in the pouring rain and got a total of about six hours of sleep in three days.
And I can’t stop smiling about it. The Soiree is a festival of sorts, except it’s not. In fact, it’s impossible to adequately explain its appeal to those who have never been to that area of Pine Mountain in Whitesburg, Ky., for this particular weekend event. It’s an invitation-only shindig, and admission is $25 and a tacky lawn ornament. Another $10 will get you the event’s T-shirt, which is quite possibly the best souvenir EVER. This year’s Soiree was unique for me for a couple of reasons. One, I made the trek without my usual camping buddy for the first time — my wingman, my BFF, Whitney. And two, this is the first year in which my one and only vice was caffeinated iced tea.  Thank God my days of squeezing strangers’ boobs are over.
See, I’ve been making a concerted effort to socialize more this year, so I’m open to trying new things. Within reason. My most recent weekend excursion was boating in an area of the Ohio River affectionately known as “Party Cove.” I was a virgin to both boating on the river and the Party Cove bedlam. And boy, was it one delight after another. I mean that in the nicest possible way. Mostly. For the uninitiated, Party Cove is a summer hotspot for anyone who owns a boat and a beer cooler in the Louisville area. I’d heard of it, of course, but the idea of joining in the debauchery never really appealed to me before now.  It’s here!! The scorching sun, the baking pavement, even the sultry humidity. ... I am thrilled that the 2013 summer solstice has finally arrived.
Yep, I love, love, LOVE summertime. I’m the kind of person who, when asked if I would rather be really cold or really hot, my answer is always a resounding, H-O-T. The argument that you can put on more clothes when you’re cold but you can only take so many off when you’re hot does not fly with me. In the dead of winter, THERE ARE JUST NOT ENOUGH CLOTHES. I do have to admit that last year, when temps hovered around 105+ degrees for weeks at a time, that was a bit much even for me. But this summer is shaping up to be flawless for this here beach baby. Unfortunately, the only “beach” I’ll see during my first summer as an entrepreneur is made of concrete. Fortunately, I’m a member at Lakeside Swim Club, so I think I’ll be able to make do. |
About Amy HiggsA former newspaper columnist, Amy takes her random, slice-of-life stories to the web. After 12 years, she's still just saying. Archives
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