Expectations and Adventures

Last night, a friend reminded me that I haven’t posted to my blog in a while.   In truth, as I told her, I’ve been struggling to find a transition from talking about all the firsts involved with the first year of Wideauxhood to more positive postings.  Emotionally, the day-to-day has gotten easier over time, but there are still moments when I feel Bunny’s loss as acutely as ever.  His birthday--April 20^th—was one of those times.

Another was Easter, which I didn’t celebrate at all last year: it was just too soon after his loss to celebrate a holiday that Bunny loved so much.  This year, I planned the usual two days of events for the girls and their parents: egg dying, egg hunting, egg knocking and a big Sunday lunch, complete with deviled eggs.  Without going into the all gory details, things did not go as planned.   At all.  By the end of Easter Sunday, I swore off putting on any more holidays altogether.

It took me awhile to come to this realization, but one of the main reasons I enjoyed holidays so much was because Bunny enjoyed them even more.  Watching him dye eggs was as fascinating as it was entertaining—he and Trinity would spend hours carefully mixing colors and patterns to see who could make the most beautiful eggs.  They were artists at work, happily chatting and borrowing each other’s techniques, each making suggestions to the other on how to improve the eggs.

Likewise, his absolute delight in his Halloween preparations was a sight to behold.   He had to have the right candy, the right decorations and the perfect set-up for everything.  He would practically skip to the door to greet the little monsters and witches and ghosts, and complement each child’s costume as he handed out fistfuls of candy.

This year, when each of our Easter traditions toppled like dominos, it reinforced his absence.  After doing things a certain way for 25+ years, it’s a bit jarring when the procedures are changed chiefly because the one person who enjoyed them most is gone.  Until the end of that weekend, it hadn’t occurred to me that I couldn’t recreate the happiness of years gone by, and that the holidays as I had known them would never again be the same.  Some might say I had unrealistic expectations going in, and maybe I did.  Even so, it hurt to have the point driven home.

On a happier note, in late January I decided to start getting out and doing things.  I’d heard radio ads for a group called Events and Adventures.  It’s a singles group that has at least one event planned every day of the month.  If you like the event or adventure du jour, you sign up in advance.  You show up, meet other singles interested in the same activity, and have a good time.

So far, I’ve gone to more events than adventures: mostly cool restaurants around the area.  I’ve met some nice people and had fun, which is the whole point of the group.  Developing friendships or romances is a bonus.  Adventure-wise, I’ve gone sailing and on a brewery tour and a brew bus, which stopped at four area breweries.  The breweries were geographically spaced apart—Tampa, Dunedin and Clearwater—so there was lots of time to ride on the bus and dance in the aisles as we drank bus beer. 

Tonight’s adventure was something I’d barely heard of, and had certainly never done: stand-up paddle boarding.  It works this way: you kneel on an oversized surf board and use a special paddle to navigate around the body of water.  The body of water in question: The Hillsborough River.  When you get some momentum going, you stand up and paddle from the standing position.  Sounds easy, right?

My success at water activities is hit-or-miss.  Sailing?  Love it!  Waterskiing? Can’t do it to save my life.  Literally.  I’ve tried many, many times.  I went into tonight’s adventure expecting I’d be able to paddle from a kneeling position with no problems.  The trouble, if any, would come in trying to stand up.  I also optimistically expected that I wouldn’t actually end up in the water, but had realistically worn a swim suit top under my tee shirt.   I couldn’t find the suit bottoms, so I wore Burmuda-length jeans (ending just above the knee).  Naturally, I didn’t wear shoes.

We got our pre-instruction, were measured for paddles, and were assigned boards.  We made our way down to the water, got on the boards, and started paddling.  Piece o’ cake!  I was probably one of the older members of this active little group of 12 or so, but I managed to keep up with the head of the pack.  Two of the pack members mustered the nerve to stand, and by then, emboldened by my paddling expertise, I carefully made my way to the crouch as previously instructed. 

In the meantime, the wind had picked up slightly, and my momentum had slowed because of the wind and because of my caution with the first-ever attempt at standing. I didn’t realize how much momentum I’d lost—I was focusing on my standing form.  Soon enough—bam!  I was standing.  Yea!  Just as soon—bam!  I was in the water.  I wasn’t so surprised that I’d ended up in the water, but I was surprised that it tasted salty, and that it was quite a bit warmer than I’d anticipated.  As soon as I came to the surface, I yelled “First!” as I pointed the number 1 sign heavenward.  The people who fell in after me could now say they weren’t the first to have done it.  Bonus: I didn’t lose my sunglasses.

One of the instructors swung around on his board to tell me how to get back on.  Again, not as easy as it looks.  You have to make sure your board is pointed in the right direction, get to the center of the board and grab the opposite side (or as much as you can, because it’s as long--if not longer than--arm’s length.  Then, you have to pull your midsection up onto the board.  In my case, there were two impediments to this procedure—a kind of spikey, rubbery mat on the very part of the board you’re supposed to pull yourself up onto; and the infamous Chatelain boobs.  It’s got to be much easier for the less well-endowed to drag their chests over spikey rubber to get on the board.

Nonetheless, I managed to get my midsection onto the board without too much difficulty.  The second part of the procedure: swing your leg up over the board.  In other words, like mounting a horse who’s floating in the water.  I managed that part of the procedure, despite the soaking wet half-jeans, which probably weighed at least five pounds by that point.  Note to self: wear only swimsuit bottoms next time.

Back on the board, I resumed kneeling paddling and caught up with the group.  The wind was sustained now and it made forward momentum a bit difficult, but going back would be easy.  I decided to give it another try on the easy part of the ride.  We paddled under the bridge—you can see the cars rolling over your head through the grate in the bridge—and paddled a short way on the other side before turning around.

Floating along with the wind to my back, momentum was easier to achieve.  My time had come.  As I got into my crouching stance, one of the instructors told me not to look at my feet.  “Keep your eyes on the horizon.”  I looked to the horizon and saw the beautiful Tampa skyline, which nearly always hypnotizes me, especially when I can see water in conjunction with the buildings.  I quickly rose to standing position and started paddling.

“Yea, me!” I called.  I rocked!  It felt almost like I was flying through the water.  I was elated with my success.  I was happy with my sense of accomplishment.  I may even have done a little excited wiggle or two.  I was back in the river within two minutes.  Crap!  But I had done it—I had done stand-up paddle boarding!  “Yea, me!”

For the moment, I held onto my board like it was a piece of flotsam and I was a Titanic survivor.  I was a bit tired from the first plunge into the river and the paddling up and now down the water.  Plus, I felt even more soaked-through than I had the first time.  On the plus side, though, I still had my sunglasses. Score!

This time, the remount was a bit more difficult.  It took three attempted heaves onto the board and two attempted leg swings before I was back on my board.  For a few seconds, I just stayed prone on the board until I caught my breath, then I knelt and paddled.

When I got to the dock, I found a few women who had never mustered up the courage to attempt a stand-up. Other people drifted in after me—some damp, some dry..  Everyone looked really happy for the experience.  I had exceeded my expectations, so I was thrilled.

Next week: rock wall climbing.