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Posts tagged ‘100 Days in Paradise’

Look Who Remembered How To Blog

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This deserted stretch of beach is located on the north coast of the Samaná Peninsula, just east of Las Terrainas. With places like this to explore, is it any wonder I’ve forgotten to blog for a few months?

Ok, ok. I know. It’s been awhile. Months as a matter of fact. Sure, I’ve teased you with photos and vague Facebook statuses. But I’ve deprived you of all the juicy details of the adventures I’ve been having in paradise.

Sorry about that.

In my defense, I’ve been busy. Busy having all of those adventures I’ve been teasing you with. Busy exploring my home-away-from-home (a.k.a. the Dominican Republic). Busy studying Spanish. Busy spending as much quality time as humanly possible with the love of my life, who I had the fortune to meet eight wonderful months ago. (Thank you, universe!)

In short, busy living every moment of every day to the absolute fullest.

One thing, though, has kept me the busiest of all. Writing. True, little to none has trickled down to this blog. But rest assured, I have been writing.

And I haven’t forgotten about you. Really I haven’t. You, my dear readers, have kept me motivated, inspired and scribbling away even when all I’ve wanted to do is…well, anything except actually write. And I plan to repay you for being the best friends and family a scatter-brained writer could ever have.

I know exactly what you’re thinking right now. How on Earth could she possibly repay me for being so awesome?! (Well, at least that’s what Liz and Julie are thinking, I’m sure…) Well, I plan to do it the best way I know how: by sharing my random observations and crazy adventures. Because I assure you the last few months have been anything but dull. And I know you’re dying to hear all about it.

You’ll get a taste of some of those projects I’ve been working on before long, too. I promise you that. But for right now…

Stay tuned, my friends. The Accidental Blonde is back. And, thanks to the tropical sun (and a slightly overzealous emergency highlight), she’s blonder than ever.

Two Out Of Three Ain’t Bad: A Modern Air Travel Adventure

I would have a preferred a strict "No Bag Left Behind" policy, but I suppose two out of three ain't bad...

I would have a preferred a strict “No Bag Left Behind” policy, but I suppose two out of three ain’t bad…

“You can only check two bags,” the man in front of me said for the second time. Seeing my expression – and no doubt both questioning my grasp of the English language AND grateful for the counter that stood between us at this point – the airline representative repeated himself yet again. “You can only check two bags. There’s a strict embargo going into Santiago.” Perhaps I would have been better able to process this information if I hadn’t just slid all three of my to-be-checked bags to this man. The three bags I’d spent a week packing and repacking. The three bags containing everything I thought I’d need during the 3+ months of my extended stay in the Dominican Republic. The three bags which, incidentally, I’d had no trouble checking in online the second I was able to do so 23 hours 59 1/2 minutes prior to departure. I couldn’t do anything but stare. First at the man in front of me – whom I’m sure really is a very nice man and I feel horrible about the things I was thinking toward him – and then at those three beautiful bags. Because I want you to think, just for a minute, what it’s like to pack for a trip of that length. Three and a half months in another country, one with a climate completely different from your own. A country where not all of the comforts of home are readily available. And where it is nearly impossible to ship anything without considerable expense and red tape. As you can probably imagine, a great deal of angst went into that process. It seemed never ending. And it wasn’t until I zipped up the final bag that morning that I felt a sense of calm. I was even a little proud of myself, because I felt like I’d struck the perfect balance: prepared, but not ridiculously over-packed. And now this man was essentially sending me back to the drawing board with only the narrowest of windows. I could have wept right there but, frankly, I knew I couldn’t spare the time. The cut-off was quickly approaching. Would it have been different if we hadn’t hit unexpected construction on the way to the airport? Maybe. But even with more time, the task wouldn’t have been any easier. My mind was already working, trying to calculate what was in each of the (very full) bags. What did I absolutely need? What could I live without? Because I wasn’t going to waste time arguing. The important thing was ME getting on the plane, after all. And I couldn’t risk running afoul of the air-travel gods any more than I already had. “I need 2 minutes,” I announced, reaching around to pull 2 of my 3 bags to the side. (Which sounds easier than it was. Keep in mind these were two rolling duffle bags stuffed to the gills.) I unzipped both, picked the one that held the most essential items and, as quickly as I could, removed as many non-essential items as I could. A half seconds later, they were replaced with the most important things from the other bag. Or what, at that split second, I thought were the most important things. Only, of course, I wasn’t half as calm and collected about it as I’m making it sound. I was nothing short of a hot mess. Time crunch or no, I was still distinctly aware of the fact that I was the floor show for the other passengers in line. As a result, that three-month supply of feminine hygiene products I had the foresight to pack didn’t make the cut. (A decision I may very well come to regret.) What felt like 30 seconds later, heart pounding and palms sweaty, it was time to zip up the overstuffed case. In my post-adrenaline haze, I had no idea what made it in and what didn’t. And I was too shell-shocked to care. Thankfully my mother, who had so graciously offered to drive me to the airport in the first place, had insisted on coming in with me. So she was there to take possession of the poor lonely suitcase I had to leave behind.

Post-adrenaline rush

Santiago-bound at last!

As for me, it took the entire first leg of my trip for my nerves to quiet. But now, a few days later, I’m settling in to my home-away-from-home in my tropical paradise. And I can’t for the life of me remember what was so important in that other bag. Because, let’s be realistic: this is hardly the worst airline horror story I’ve ever heard. Heck, it’s not even MY worst airline horror story. And it’s not like I’m never going to see the contents of that bag again. All that truly matters is that I’m in this beautiful place, following a lifelong passion and living a life that still feels a bit like a dream. And if I bit of worry or angst starts to creep in, well…I have the rustle of the wind in the avocado trees, the crowing of the neighborhood roosters, a view of both the ocean and the mountains, and the gentle clatter of the keys on my keyboard to remind me just how lucky I am. Besides, this is supposed to be an adventure, right? It wouldn’t be fun if it was too easy.

Sunrise over the avocado trees on my first morning. #100DaysInParadise

Sunrise over the avocado trees on my first morning. #100DaysInParadise

Spring Cleaning…in July

Time to purge!

Time to purge!

I’ve spent the last week hoeing out.

No, that’s not a comment on my morals, or a sign that I’ve developed a penchant for gardening. I’ve just decided it’s time to unload the accumulated debris of my past lives.

Since I moved back to Central New York six years ago, most of my possessions have been residing in the far corner of the garage. I’ve been reluctant to go through them. After all, those boxes and totes hold far more than clothes, books, household items and random odds and ends. They’re chock-full of memories. Many of which I was keen to put behind me when I initially packed it all away.

They say time heals all wounds, and in this case they are right. Because a month or so ago, I came to the realization that I’m finally ready to let it all go.

A sure sign from the universe. First item removed from box #1 on July 15, 2014.

A sure sign from the universe. First item removed from box #1 on July 15, 2014.

So, last week I arranged for a dumpster. And as soon as it arrived, I began the long-overdue task of going through those containers.

If I had any doubts about the timing of my endeavor, I didn’t need to look further than the first box for an assurance from the universe. One of the first items I extracted from its musty depths was a tiny tin of mints. The tin was a favor from a friend’s wedding – which took place exactly 8 years ago to the day. (Happy Anniversary, Liz & Kent!)

I’ve found myself less nostalgic about the past than I thought I’d be. As evidenced by the fact that I’ve had no qualms in discarding certain items I’d been previously unwilling to part with.

I’d list them here, but frankly, at any given moment I could veer toward sentimentality. And the next thing you know, I’ll be making a mad dash for that dumpster…

It’s the most random things I find myself most reluctant to part with. Like a pair of purple velour bell bottoms. I’ve been hanging on to them since the summer I was an orientation leader in college. Before you start jumping to any conclusions about my wardrobe, let me explain: They were part of my costume for the Brady Bunch-themed play we put on for that year’s incoming freshman.

Ahhhhh…the memories!

Yes, the memories… they have come flooding back. But I find I’m not quite as attached to the contents of those boxes as I thought I’d be.

That’s not to say I haven’t brought a few armloads of belongings into the house. (Including those purple bell bottoms…) But a far greater percentage has gone either in the dumpster or to Common Cents, the thrift store that supports our local food pantry.

I’m not quite done yet, but already I’m feeling rather proud of myself. And, somehow…lighter. As if by getting rid of the past, I’m more ready to tackle the future.

Which is a good thing, since I’m about to embark on my next adventure. Yep, that’s right. I’m heading back to the Dominican Republic. This time for a more extended stay.

It will be my 100 Days in Paradise.

Don’t worry. You’ll get to read all about it.

My favorite place to hunt for sea glass. A special thanks to my friends Kathie and Mike Holt, for introducing me to the Dominican Republic and for being so generous with their vacation rental. Find out more at: https://www.facebook.com/CostambarOceanfrontRental

My favorite place to hunt for sea glass. A special thanks to my friends Kathie and Mike Holt, for introducing me to the Dominican Republic and for being so generous with their vacation rental. Find out more at: http://www.homeaway.com/174655 or http://www.facebook.com/CostambarOceanfrontRental.