The Man I Love

I remember the day we met, you hunched over the desk of a coworker, me, in the door frame, muttering something about something else not working. I figured you’d totally think I’m an idiot, not knowing what I am talking about when it comes to any kind of technology. Being in a tech job and you being hired to teach us technology, I was mortified by you listening to my mumble and surely judging me. You seemed cold, distant. Annoyed, even. But then things changed ... I remember the first dinner out together, when we were mostly bitching about work, frustrations and what not ... we agreed on so much. I figured we must have something in common because we could not give two thoughts about the lemon wedged on our water glasses. We both mindlessly (maybe me, less so, since I noticed) let them fall into the glasses. I remember when I asked you if you collected anything and you promptly said “I buy a souvenir coffee mug on every one of my trips.” I chuckled, as a “friend” because I figured silently in my head that “so do I and I always thought that was weird.” I remember when I asked you if you wanted kids and you pretty much said in no ambiguous terms that hell-crap-no. I chuckled again and thought you might not be real. But we were friends then. Two and a half years since the day we met, we decided we’d exhausted all the friendship juice we could get and we decided to date, then got engaged 5 months later, and married 5 months after that ... I thought then and I think now: we are weird in the same identical ways. If I am hard to live with for most people, so are you, but you’re so easy to live with, for me ... I remember us being locked out of my car in the middle of a blizzard on Grandfather Mountain. I remember driving for hours in the dark, at the end of a hard work day to get to our hotel in Bryce Canyon only to discover the hotel is closed for the season, although we very clearly made confirmed reservations online. I remember you feeding iguanas in Honduras and us hiking the rain forest in Hawaii - eucalyptus trees towering over us and no snakes in sight. I remember our drives across the country, East to West, and back ... Our drive across “the windy states” rushing to beat out the tornadoes chasing us. I remember the fear, and stress of moving three cats from hotel to hotel room every night till we made it to Utah. I remember all the trips, the camper - what a heaven that was! On top of the world, in The Rockies, so close to the sky and the stars we could smell and hear them - and peace. Quiet, crisp air and big sky. I remember you showing me around your favorite mountains (Montana) and me showing you around mine (Pojorata), on another continent. I remember how we discovered that we both read the mountains through our souls; how they speak to us; how we cannot live too far away from them. Ever. I love the photography archive we built together over the years. Every frame tells me a story of you being there, close by - making it that much more special. I remember you taking me to my first casino where I won $20 the second I touched the machine. I remember lots of firsts ... The first house we got together, the first car, the first piece of furniture. I remember the first B52 you ordered for me and how it became my favorite cocktail, just like yours. I remember how we lost the cats, and then how we found another one that filled the massive void the others left behind. I never knew that could be possible, but you persisted and I am glad you did. I remember how we both thought on our own what to name our cat - the very same thing - without so much as ever mentioning a thing about that to one another. In the same breath. In the same sentence. That was spooky! I remember the hard times, too, because it would not be real life without them. The losses, the pain. The jobs gone, the money we lost here and there, the scare of a (literal) broken heart (mine), the gentle walk between life and death, the daunting 12+hour surgery in a dinky (some may think!) little mountain town in Utah, the amazing empathy and care you’re capable of (your most amazing and more hidden gift!) that built me back up when that ordeal was over. The hard times - they all seemed less hard because you were there, through it all ... It still boggles my mind that 1. God made two people so similar to the point of being identical, almost, and put them at opposite ends of the Earth from one another in the first place; and 2. He somehow made it possible for us to meet and live out our lives together. My life is what it is today because you walked into that newspaper building that day and because I walked into that office. It was like I turned a sharp corner and it was all flat and easy from then on out ... I would not be who I am today without you in my life. I have never been more “me” than since I’ve met you. You complete me and let me be free ...

I love my me-ness and your you-ness when we’re together the most. I love how people think you’re ever so serious and stern but how you keep me in stitches, all the same ... Don’t dare change! Don’t dare run away! Love you more each day, if such a thing is possible, and I am grateful for all of it. Happy birthday, my love! And here’s to the next 55!

Your Special Day

Every year on the eve of your birthday, I sit here and try to gather my words. What can I possibly say to you that I have not yet said? What can be new to you, who knows me so well, as if we were brother and sister - for in a way, we are ... ?!

It’s so easy to take for granted those who have been in our lives for longer than we are counting anymore ... Since you have been part of our lives since you were a teen, almost the age of your oldest son now, that would be longer than I count anymore ... There is something of a routine that settles in after knowing someone for a while that makes us comfortable, maybe too comfortable, with each other. The familiarity, the feeling of closeness takes over and we forget to stop and actually voice our feelings for one another. 

I can only hope that you know that I am grateful for everything you’ve ever been to this family, for sharing with us your beautiful children, and for loving all of us, with the good and the bad, and the helpless, hard-to-love bits ... I hope you know this today, and every day.

I look back at all the things we’ve shared over the years - good times, and bad, adventures and accomplishments, like our moves across the world, and many losses, too, the most painful of ones being those losses of the many loved ones we shared together.  I am grateful for all of it and for the way you melded into our family and have become such an integral part of it. I am grateful for your strength and honesty, your devotion to those you love. 

On this celebratory day, I want you to think back, way-way back when I was in college and you were in high school: we would go to the beach, you, my sister, your brother, friends, classmates,  and we’d spend every night drinking Vermouth and dancing till the wee hours of the morning in open air, in the salty, breezy soft air of the Black Sea coast. And we never felt tired. And we never felt hungover and we could never get enough of the fun ... I hope you find that happiness, that energy today and feed off of it. 

Here’s to you, sir! Have a glass of cheer and I promise I will too - to your health and so many more beautiful, happy years to come! Looking forward to our next get-together later this month and to continue to make many more memories together yet ... 

He’s 11!

Oh, good Lord! You’re 11! 

I know you’re going to mock me as a cliché if I say “when did that happen?”, but seriously: when did that happen?! I guess when we were too busy getting old you were too busy sneaking around growing up. 

I remember like it was yesterday the first time I saw you. You were three months old and you were just lying on your day bed and your dad said you are already grown up and judging us. He said that the only things you could not do yet were to speak or walk. But you already knew everything, you already knew exactly how you felt about everything in the world and you could not wait for that one day when you’d finally be able to tell us. 

And, boy, was he right! You went from zero to 60 in less than 10 years, flat! You’re wiser than any kid I have ever met, smarter than most, more well-read and knowledgeable than you should have had time to be in 11 years ... 

On top of everything, you are the funniest human being I know, tied only, possibly, with your grandfather, my dad. 

Tonight, while looking through my “bag” of pictures to see how you’ve grown and while rummaging through my memories of you, I remembered all the times when you made us laugh or made us look inside ourselves and think a bit deeper ... All the times you cracked us up and all the times you wowed us with your “intelligence”, as you so astutely call it:

That time when we were in Toronto and you said I need to stop saying that I am fat and that I need to look around me to see  “people who look like balloons, and until I look like them, I am not fat ...”

That time when you told us that the American Niagara Falls are “a bit underwhelming, if you were to tell us the truth ...”

That time when you told us that “mamaliga” was evil and that you were afraid of it ... I guess something went crazy in your Romanian genetic code at some point to make you say that ... 

That time when you told us that the roseate spoonbills are pink because they feed on shrimp and crustaceans - way more than anyone else around you knew and way more than a 10 year old should know ...

That time when you told us that junk food is not a good thing, but it is, “however, delicious” ...

That time when you were wondering what Trump was doing, some time in 2021 and that you were sure he “was looking for a job, but no one was hiring ...”. That cracked you (and me) up! 

That time when you told your dad he “can never be a millionaire because he’s too old and already missed his opportunity ...”

I remember all the trips we ever took to see each other and all the visits we ever had - they were short glimpses of time, but they packed so much energy and love and gusto into each second. You made them count, sweet boy! 

When you came to visit me in The Rockies when you were just a year and a half old and chased the kitties around the house; or when you came to North Carolina and you dipped into the ocean for the first time in your life; or when we went to Mont Tremblant one summer during the one very rare hot day of the year in Canada and we went souvenir shopping and you got Windy - the stuffed elephant to add to your growing collection of ‘stuffed friends’; or when I visited you once and we went for a walk and you dropped your candy and said “it’s OK. I’ll leave it there for the ants.” 

And I can keep going. I am so lucky to have a front-row seat at this beautiful play that is your life. So lucky you are my nephew and so happy to love you and watch you grow, mature and turn into the beautiful person you’ll continue to become. 

You may be growing out of being a baby anymore, but in my eyes you’re always be a wide-eyed child, full of curiosity and ingenuity; full of life and surprises. I hope you never lose that, no matter how many years you add to your age. 

Thank you, sweet Kev, for sharing yourself so truthfully with all of us! You are a treat!  

Happiest of birthdays today, and love you to eternity and further beyond ... 

A Winter Walk

There is something of the reverence and deep silence of a gothic cathedral - a walk in the winter. Nature, usually so lively, so loud, turns off the music, and all other noise. Nothing but the sound of your shoes beating the pavement, maybe a random leaf finally giving up and shedding from a high branch. Defeated by the shy whisper of a February, sharp, but timid breeze. 

For three weekends, we have been kept inside by unseasonably (for North Carolina) cold, rainy, snowy or frozen weather. This weekend we ventured out because it was the first one with no precipitation. But it was cold. Man, it was cold. But our bodies needed it. And our minds needed it more. 

Even the puppies out for walks were speechless. Their owners, sleepy heads hurrying through (you could read cabin fever all over their puffy eyes), were blowing hot air into their high collars and rushing along. "Let's get this over with" written all over their faces. Not many people out. Nor creatures. 

The usual liveliness of nature in the warmer season - the swishing of the bushes, the fish leaping from the creek besides us, the birds chasing in the thicket - none of this was there. It was just us, the crisp air, fingers almost frozen inside gloves, and focusing on the nature around us to find something, anything, to shoot. Trees, dead grasses, the murky creek asleep, frozen in time. 

But life was there ... if you listened. If you looked. There were squirrels chasing each other, birds silent, but awake and puffed up to keep warm. It felt like the cold weather froze the birds' song. The sky was cloudless and the sun blinding. With no leaves, not much shade was there. The sun was there, but it gave no heat. 

When the sun hit the water just so, at some point, it must have woken up a family of frogs because for a brief minute they started singing so loud - their shrieks sounded mad, but they could have also been just saying thanks for a few rays of light. If you closed your eyes and you forgot the frostbite in your fingers, you'd think it's summertime - the frogs, so desperate! And then it got quiet again. Like a tomb. Just silent. 

And then, the king. This beautiful (I think) hawk, just sitting there. Observing. Not more than maybe 20 feet from us, on a fallen tree. Majestic and lofty. Taking in the grounds like it were his kingdom. Demanding respect. Towering. 

For a few minutes, he stood there, gracing us with a couple of head tilts for a couple of shots. Then, he drifted away in the woods, quiet and barely there ... Like a ghost ... 

It would have been so easy to miss him. He made no noise. He was not moving. He was the color of the dead trees around him - brown and gray: we could have totally missed him. And yet, if you listen, if you watch, if you look to understand - life is always there. 

Our trail guardian: a red-shouldered hawk (I think)

Tree gaping at the cold world, by Sanford Creek

Sanford Creek - Wake Forest, NC

There were so many diseased and fallen trees. This one was full of burls and incredibly tall.

Sanford Creek Greenway - Wake Forest, NC

The dead grasses draping on these fallen roots looked like a soft blanket, arranged just so

A spell of light ... the promise of warmth ... 

In cold and warm - life wins ... 

More trail companions - mostly quiet and elusive, but there nevertheless ... 

Drifting into the New Year

At the close of 2021 and the dawn of 2022, we decided it was high time for us to escape our four walls. True to our tradition of heading North and West in the summer and South and East in the winter, we more or less randomly picked the Georgia Golden Isles to migrate to. Just like the birds. 

I am writing this piece in the middle of a winter storm, with freezing rain, wind and temps below 30F and it’s exactly the kind of weather we ran away from right before the new year clocked in. 

I am not sure where I came up with “Georgia isles”, truly. I was dreaming of going back to Kiawah island, in South Carolina - something I have been meaning to go back to for a while. But there were not a lot of AirBnB options open for the New Year and not a lot of places to eat too-too near-by. So, I went more South with my searches and the maps landed me in Georgia. 

It was our first time in the islands of Georgia and we had zero expectations. We knew we would want to take in some of the beaches - not to lay out, but to walk and shoot. We knew there had to be some birds to watch and we wanted good, fresh seafood and a reason to sit around on a fish-smelling patio and sip a cold drink. 

And those were what the Georgia isles delivered and more ... 

There is no way to properly describe the haunting beauty of the Spanish moss draping over hundred-year old live oaks. It’s something that must be experienced to understand. It has a lot to do with the chill, or the skin-crawling feeling given by watching a horror movie and less with the quiet, majestic beauty of a landscape. Nevertheless, it is as mysteriously beautiful as it is scary. 

I believe every Georgia coastal town (Savannah included) is flooded by these beauties, but I could be wrong. I have just personally not been in Eastern Georgia where they were absent. 

They haunted us everywhere and framed the adventures we were about to have. 

The first day, we woke up in our AirBnB condo in St. Simons Island, on a marsh flooded with sunlight. There was not one egret under our balcony, but a whole farm of them. Kingfishers, herons, cranes, ducks and many other water fowl that we could not even identify. My husband said “wow! It feels like we’re in Africa or something.” - a little bit wetter than that, I’d say, but the golden water vegetation, the minimalistic trees and the birds everywhere, the wide-open sky were all there ... We felt transported. Our little house in North Carolina, of which we have been growing way too bored, was eons behind us ...

We had breakfast reservations on Jekyll Island, at Eighty Ocean Kitchen and Bar. We ate outside, under the palm trees and by the pool. We were the only people on the patio. There were people eating inside and we could not understand why: the weather was amazing, maybe 75F, partially cloudy and breezy. Just beautiful. Not to mention: pandemic! Why would you want to be inside?! 

You have to pay a toll to go to Jekyll Island, which was news to us, so having done that, we decided to do as much as we could on Jekyll Island before we'd get out again and pursue the adventures on our own island of St. Simons. 

After breakfast, we went to Driftwood Beach which was on our “to do” list. Whatever the google tells you that Driftwood Beach is ... is incorrect. If you’re ever in these parts, the $8 toll is 100% worth it just for this beach alone. Just like the name alludes to it: it is a beach full of driftwood. But not just some twigs and branches of driftwood like you see in the decor of many beachy cabins. No, ma’am! It’s a whole forest of driftwood: entire trees just “shipwrecked” on the beach, thrown around, laying on their side, some still standing, dry roots over wet sand, leafless for what it seems like ages, just bracing the ocean; the wind; the hurricanes; life. 

The enormous trees of Driftwood Beach - Jekyll Island, GA

You feel small and unimportant in the whole scheme of things. If the elements can throw around trees the size of buildings like these, what can they do to you?! No control ... There is so much freedom in driftwood - not knowing where it will land, in a different place every day, moved by the water ... There is so much about chance and history that they whisper ... Again, so much mystery. 

Turkey vulture at Driftwood Beach

After the beach, we drove around Jekyll Island in search of Tupelo Trail. We drove by the Horton House, a historic tabby house built in the 18th century by Major William Horton who was believed to be the first resident of the island. He also was the first person (from what is known) to ever brew beer in Georgia and his “brewery” still stands in ruins on the same land as the house. Learning about the Horton House, we also learned about the rich history of the island which was captured from The Spanish in the early to mid 18th century by British troops stationed at Fort Frederica. In case you are wondering, a tabby house means it was built from a mix of burned oyster shells mixed with sand, water, ash, and other shells. 

The "farm" of egrets behind our condo - Sea Palms Resort, St. Simons Island, GA

The entrance to Jekyll Island with the Sidney Lanier bridge in the background

Once we found our trail, we realized that we just stepped into almost another climate, or even another part of the planet: the landscape surely changed drastically between the open, wet-and-dry, windy beach and the trail: Horton Pond at the mouth of the trail was a quiet little heaven for ducks, turtles and alligators. The trail itself looped around the park through a forest of live oaks draped in Spanish moss and resurrection ferns and littered with palmettos and exotic blooms. We were now thinking we were transported to Hawaii in the middle of the rain forest. It was hot and humid. Sticky humid and almost blistering hot. This was December 31, 2021. Definitely the warmest December I have ever lived. 

Tupelo Trail on Horton Pond - Jekyll Island, GA

We stopped by Tortuga Jack’s on the island for some drinks and some snacks before we headed out. Jekyll’s Island overdid itself in beauty and surprises! 

We headed towards the St. Simons Lighthouse on - where else but - St. Simons Island. We took the tour of the keeper’s house and visited the museum, but it was simply too hot to climb all the 129 steps to the top of the lighthouse. We resigned ourselves to walk around the park that leads to the St. Simons pier and take in the gorgeous sunset. The last one of 2021. All the worries and “muck” of 2021 seemed to drown into the ocean with that sun ...

Last sunset of 2021

St. Simons Lighthouse

St. Simons Pier

As we were watching the sun drowning into the ocean, I called my parents in Romania around their midnight, to wish them welcome into 2022 although we were still 7 hours away from it. I wished them well watching that sunset - it was like speaking with them on the other side of the precipice and the sun’s brightest lava was bridging us - on either side of The Atlantic, in two different years; present and future to us ... present and past to them ... 

Later that night we had a delicious seafood dinner at Coastal Kitchen and Bar and we rang the new year in our room because all restaurants and bars closed before midnight. Go figure! 

The following day, we woke up to a brand new year! Oh, the possibilities and hopes! The dreams and prayers we were sending out into the world! 

Somewhat augurally, we had breakfast at the Echo Restaurant at The King and Prince Resort on St. Simons island. The sound and the birds were echoing premonitions of the new year, twined with those of the one we had just left behind ... but we could not make up the voices. We could only hear the sound ... When we stepped on to the patio at Echo, we were on the beach again. Although there was no beach to be seen! I had never seen the ocean clad in so much thick fog! I have always wondered when watching maritime movies how they make it so foggy on the ocean sometimes because having lived on The Atlantic in my time, I had never seen fog that thick. Well, it was there, on St. Simons Island on the first day of 2022, I can promise you that! The ocean was silenced and seemed far, far away, although we knew it was right there, within a few hundred yards really ... Puppies and children ran all around ... We sat under an umbrella and enjoyed our breakfast. Or rather lunch because they were done serving breakfast ... All the restaurants seemed to have trouble keeping up with what meal they were serving when and with what reservations were made and for what dining room (inside, outside, covered patio?). They were all very good but it took them a minute to find their bearings with every guest. 

The foggy beach at The Echo - St. Simons Island, GA

We walked briefly around the beach after breakfast and around the resort and the streets in St. Simons. Everything felt very much like we were in Charleston, SC or Savannah - Southern coastal history at its best. Live oaks and beautiful, well-manicured palm trees were greeting us at every corner, majestic villas wrapped-up in history and dramas untold. There is a strange mix of Southern and Spanish architecture in these islands, perhaps hailing back from the times when Georgia was deemed as “Debatable Land” - not too sure whether it belonged to Spain or the British Empire. That debate was settled in 1742, when the soldiers of Fort Frederica fought The Spanish under colonel Ogelthorpe and decided once and for all that the land belonged to The Empire  ...

After breakfast, we headed towards the Christ Church Frederica, an Episcopal church, one of the oldest in the state, originally established in the 18th century, destroyed during the Civil War and rebuilt right after that. A walk through the cemetery on the grounds reveals the long history of these parts, old families with elaborate plots. Makes you wonder where they all came from, who they were and what secrets they took with them on the other side of this dirt. 

Christ Church Frederica - St. Simons Island, GA

The cemetery on the grounds of the church

The day was once again getting hot. We headed next to Redfern Village, a shopping and restaurant kind of neighborhood, to browse the book offerings at Righton Books and cool off with a latte at Jittery Joe’s while getting some energy back while savoring one of their oatmeal cookies. 

Cheeky and inviting sidewalk sign at Righton Books

Over our New Year’s Eve dinner at Coastal Kitchen the night before, a couple sitting by our table on the patio started chatting with us (the magic of dogs! They had a cute little Australian shepherd terrified of the fireworks who came and spoke with us first) and told us that while we were on the island, we must go to Sea Island (Resort) and listen to the bagpiper at sunset. They promised a once in a lifetime experience. Sea Island is a gated (with a guard) golf club and resort which was built on the grounds of many establishments that existed between the 18th century and the beginning of the 20th century (as explained here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sea_Island,_Georgia). Today, it is on the PGA tour and although it is breathtaking, it smells a bit of dirty money and too much pomp for our taste. Or at least that was my first impression, mostly judging by the self-entitled crowd that roams the place with a self-important swagger, drink in hand and superior grin to boot. Maybe I am wrong. 

Even if you can’t get into the exclusive resort, it is worth driving down to Sea Island to see the Avenue of the Oaks - the street that leads to the resort, lined, like loyal soldiers, forever en garde, by old live oaks draped in the now ubiquitous Spanish moss ... The low branches and the hairy moss are quite the spectacle in the breeze of the island ... 

The Avenue of the Oaks at Sea Island Resort, St. Simons Island, GA

Our dinner “friends” told us the “secret passcode” to get in: “Just tell them you’re there to see the bagpiper. They’ll let you right on through.” And they did. We were not too sure where everything was and where the piper might be playing, but a very friendly concierge lady directed us to the back patio which opens up in the driving range, framed by palms and palmetto trees. The bagpiper started playing around 5 PM and he was to play for an hour. He walked up and down the golf cart path in front of the back patio and played sombre tunes. The sunset was around 5.30 PM. We listened in awe to the beautiful sound of this instrument but it was far from the serene experience we were promised. People were talking very loudly on the back porch, shouting out orders, mothers, babysitting their children while the husbands were loading up their golf gear in the overpriced vehicles, were running around trying to keep an eye on the little ones, watching as they were getting ready to hit their first golf ball and hurriedly posting every move to their social media accounts ...

Ruins, oaks and moss at Sea Island Resort

The bagpiper at dusk

We left the porch and the too-busy-to-take-in driving range area and found a more solitary “crowd”, much quieter, by the infinity pool on the shores of the ocean, still within earshot of the bagpiper. There, we waited for another glorious sunset - the first one of the year 2022. We were silent as we both probably made a mental plan or said our quiet prayers for what the new year might be bringing onto our lives.  

The infinity pool and the first sunset of 2022 at Sea Island Resort - St. Simons Island, GA

On our last morning on St. Simons Island, January 2, 2022, we woke up at high tide, with our condo marsh flooded by the tide water. It no longer looked like Africa. It very much resembled Kiawah Island ... the trees were half-way buried in water and the birds were happy, restless and hunting for fish. 

 

 

The marshes behind out condo on our last day on the island

View of our condo from the marshes in the back

I threw on a shirt and some jeans and I had to walk behind our condo and take some last pictures to remember this place by. There was no noise, not a sound, other than of fish occasionally leaping up from the waters, or of water fowl letting each other know they are home. 

Birds in the marshes behind our condo

On the way back, with my husband driving, I kept thinking of all the things we had learned, about The South, its history, about what kind of people live in these parts and were buried in that solemnly quiet graveyard, about all the old year’s remains that we buried in the ocean with that last sunset and about the new slate ahead of us - a new year, with new dreams, hopes, promises ... 

My thoughts were drifting in and out of my mind, oscillating between the old and the new; the old I had left behind, the new that was wrapped up in the fog of the unknown new year in front of me. Will it be better? Harder? More rewarding? Or a let down, not worthy of new year’s resolutions or even prayers? An uprooted tree, at the mercy of torrents knows no direction. It just follows the drift until one day, it might just find a friendly shore to rest on ... forever ... 

Happy new year, all! Wishing you all safe shores! 

Sunrise to a new day behind our condo right as we were getting ready to head back home. Click on the picture to view the entire album from this trip.