A different side to vacation

My husband, myself, and our two daughters are wrapping up our summer vacation.  We took a trip to North Carolina to visit relatives on my husband's side of the family, then we drove another few hours to the coast.  We spent three nights in Ocean Isle Beach, North Carolina.  This small, coastal town only has about 450 permanent residents. There are no chain restaurants, no amusement parks, and we learned on our first evening there that mini-golf is THE most popular nighttime activity on the island (and there is only one mini-golf course, so it is one of the only nighttime activities on the island).  I would recommend this place to anyone who is looking for a nice place to take their family on vacation.....unless you get bored easily.  If you and/or your family need a lot of activities to fill each minute of the day, go some place else.  I, however, can fill a week with time sitting on the beach, watching the waves and pelicans diving into them looking for fish, reading a book in a hammock, and drinking frozen concoctions that help me hang on (Jimmy Buffet reference).  What I have discovered is that the less I do on vacation with my body, the more my mind wanders.  As my butt sits close to the sand, my brain is doing the equivalent of an Ironman competition.  To the other tourists on the beach, I appear to be dozing off in my chair, but my mind is a flurry of ideas so frantic for fruition that I still cannot calm them when it is time to sleep at night.  While I lazily lie in that hammock and try to read a book, I am asking myself questions about every aspect of my life:  Why don't we move to a state closer to the ocean?  I wonder if my dad would have enjoyed the beach?  What are my daughters going to be like in 10 years?  How did I gain back 20 of the 30 pounds I lost last year?  What do people see when they look at me sitting on the beach?  Am I ever going to finish one of the books I have been trying to write for the past five years?  Should I stop dying my hair and let it go gray?

You would think a vacation would put you at ease.  Do not get me wrong; this has been a much needed get-a-way for all of us.  We have all had a great time, and the beach does melt away stress better than any method I know.  But, how do I get my mind to be able to take a vacation?  How do I get that beachy feel to permeate the layers of hair, scalp, and skull to allow the subconscious to feel at peace?  I tried pouring sand in my ears, but all that did was cause a nasty infection.  I tried snorting sea water, but that just made me cough and choke and sneeze out salty boogers.  I even allowed a sea gull to make a nest in my hair...lets just say that did not give the desired results.  When we say a person has their toes in the sand, we instantly imagine they are relaxed.  When we say a person has their head in the sand, we see them as hiding from reality.  All I want is to be relaxed in my reality, so what do I bury to get that?

Peace does not happen when everything just fixes itself.  Peace is not a result of having everything you want.  To achieve peace, a lot of time there first is a war.  An objective must be made, and peace comes in the accomplishments in reaching that goal.  Instead of asking all the questions, maybe the time has come when I start answering them.  Maybe we all need to take one of the questions that keep us up at night and make it our goal to answer it.  Put it to rest.  Mark it off the list.  Maybe all the answered questions will start to build like grains of sand in your mind.  Maybe the goals that are reached will form an oceanside hammock that swings in the breeze.  And, maybe the accomplishments we make will blow across our skin and make us smile and smell the air.  Just maybe.

Which is worse: syphilis or Bieber fever?

My home town was recently graced with the presence of one of today's most famous, pop music performers - Justin Bieber.  Although we were spared any public displays of his rebellious nature (like his controversial pissing in a mop bucket at a show in another state), there were numerous Facebook posts about his performance, his arriving on stage late while suspended by wires and wearing angel wings, and countless opinions of how people feel about him.  Our local news station's Facebook page was full of comments from parents, grandparents, and youths who attended the show and thought it was great.  However numerous these type of posts were, the anti-Bieber following definitely tipped the scales in their favor.  I admit when I saw the picture of him in the angel-wing costume, I felt the need, and fulfilled the need, to express my opinion on the hottest thing to come out of Canada since Wayne Gretzky and Alex Trebek.  I simply typed, "Douche bag."  As I scrolled down to read some of the other comments, I started feeling bad for the little guy.  People were seriously slamming his music (which I do not care for), his look (which I find manufactured and pretentious), his attitude (which reminds me of any cocky, nineteen year old boy), and their disappointment in the parents that allow their children to listen to his music (which my daughters do not care for).  Then, it hit me......we sound like all the parents before us that hated their children's music.  I started laughing at myself realizing I was criticizing something I do not understand or appreciate because I will never understand or appreciate the appeal of Justin Bieber.  It does not matter because I never expected my parents to understand or appreciate the music I loved when I was living under their roof. 

Let's play a game!  I am going to post a few pictures.  I think it will help me get my point across.  Here is the nineteen year old that thousands of girls are going crazy for:

My guardian Bieber

When I was seventeen years old, here is the group of thirty-something men me and my friends were going crazy for:

Whitesnake circa 1988

 

When my older sister was seventeen years old, here is the band my mother let her drive to another state to see:

The Police

 







When my younger sister was seventeen years old, here were the performers she was going crazy for:

Featuring classics such as, "Gangsta Gangsta," "Fuck the Police," and, "Dope Man."

 

If you look at these pictures, I hope you see my point.  Bieber is a harmless, young, naive Canadian with a lot of money, good hair, and a limited time in the spotlight.  If the kids want to buy his CD's, download his music, and go to his concerts, let them.  He will eventually fall from grace, need his money for rehab and court costs, and in twenty years, VH1 will do, "Justin Bieber:  Behind the Music," and he will do a comeback album that even his fans do not really like.  It is the circle of life, so just let it run its course.  Who would you trust your daughter with?  The 100 pound Bieber, or five members of Whitesnake?

 

When you think back at the stupid, crazy things you did when you were nineteen, you can probably think of a few shenanigans that were worse than using a bucket as a urinal.  I will divulge no names and claim no responsibility for these antics, but I know people who have peed in a Burger King cup because they could not get to a bathroom, had intercourse in a row boat, flashed their boobs to an entire campgrounds, stolen street signs and a flag from a Dunkin Donuts, and outran the cops after drag racing through a neighborhood.  Give Bieber a break.  If you do not like him or his music, then do not listen to it or contribute to his wealth.

 

One last point:  the world changes, and we must change with it.  Just like we won't like our kids' music, they do not like ours anymore than our parents did.  Your grandparents probably hated your mom's music....especially those four, rebellious, long-haired British guys:

The most hated, dangerous twenty year-olds in 1964