The Memorial Day Weekend Wind-Up

Well, I'm well back from my whirlwind mid-Atlantic East Coast adventure. I saw my foster brother Joe in his new Marine Man mode. I had my toenails painted by my nephew Soren (his first time nail painting; I was grateful he was willing--my nail painting is profession-confirmingly bad). I jumped into a cold, cold pool, courtesy of the many enthusiastic demands of my intrepid niece Coco. I raced Dan and Nate in an underwater swimming competition (Dan won, but I like to think it was a close race). And I realized, once again, I am my parents' daughter, as we three similarly and delightedly negotiated our South Carolinian hotel's breakfast offerings.


Once back in DC, I reconnected with former and future roommates--Alison, Jeanette, Erika, Becky, Stephanie. I cartripped from DC to OBX (North Carolina's Outer Banks) in a baby blue convertible VW with J-Lym, E-Borg, R-Rygg. In North Carolina, I spent two afternoons on a beach, one morning at church, one morning running and panting through the hot (hot!) NC sun, and two evenings choosing couch-chatting with the girls instead of crowd carousing with the young single adult LDS masses. I reconnected with Rich A., the first boy I ever went on a date with; with Maren R., a blonde-headed woman out of my Stover Hall heart and past; with Bobby H., a law school compadre expatriated to DC for year; and with Jed B., a white-toothed and smiley-faced law student friend, with whom I had two Welch's fruit snack fights (the second of which, I have to say, he totally won).


And then, given a day by myself in DC, with an empty house, all my friends at work, and all my Barbri books and supplies around--I watched an entire day of TV. I opened with Fever Pitch in the morning (a Drew Barrymore romantic comedy I'd never even heard of, surprisingly satisfying) and, in the afternoon, I stocked up on 3, 4, maybe 5 episodes of The Real Housewives of New York City, a Bravo-network reality TV show (of course). And then I did a short run before a short trip to the airport and a 5-hour, TV-full flight on JetBlue back to OAK (and to Reija, who so kindly picked me up and returned me home).

That is my Memorial Day Weekend report. I did not hike the Grand Canyon. I did not visit a long-distance boyfriend. I did not decide to go medical school. I did not make any professional or academic headway. I did not even meaningfully consider the wartime sacrifices of those who lived and died in ages past. (Memorial Day Weekend doings of some I know and love.) But I did have a good, good time. A good time.

And I will remember that.

Probably.