Taking a Bite Out of Birthdays: Happy Forty-First to the Husband

Yesterday was the husband's birthday.  The celebration started on Saturday, with a party at my parents'.  My mom decorated this adorable birthday tree and found the coolest candle for the cake.

Sunday was all about recovering from the carbs while re-watching parts of Step Brothers.  At night, we ventured out to the Luminocity Festival in Atlantic City to see these dynamite dinos:

Yes, it was a prehistoric playground intended for kids.  But we got a kick out of it.  And it was certainly more our speed than hitting the clubs like we would've fifteen years ago.  

A night in AC doesn't mean what it used to, but we're more than okay with that.  

Because truth be told, we've both always been a little more kindergartner than club kid.

You, Me, and the Sea: Nine Years and Counting

So, why You, Me, and the Sea?  Obviously, because it rhymes with Owen Wilson's, You, Me, and Dupree!  Which makes even less sense than "sea" unless Dupree equals Van Gogh, Hokusai's The Waves being the inspiration for Starry Night.

For our ninth wedding anniversary, which was yesterday, the husband suggested going to see Beyond Van Gogh: The Immersive Experience.  A traveling exhibit, it had landed just miles away in Atlantic City at the Hard Rock Casino, so it seemed like a fun, local option.  Yet at first I was like, I don't know.  With COVID still looming large, going to a casino seemed dicey.  And yet, I was wavering.  The husband is a huge Van Gogh fan, and I like him too.  Also, an "immersive experience," whatever that was, seemed intriguing.  Finally, we'd marked our last two anniversaries with takeout.  Maybe it was time for a risk.        

So I ordered the tickets, and we embarked upon our day of, as the husband put it, "culture and COVID."  It goes without saying that we had a wonderful time, as evidenced by this pic of us posed at the café table in the gift shop.  An older couple took it for us after asking us to take one of them.  And yes, we whipped off our masks for the second or so it took to "click."  Like I said, risk ruled the day.

The first part of the exhibit was a room filled with texts about Van Gogh's life interspersed with empty picture frames for photo ops.  But the main event was an enormous room, which was first superimposed with Van Gogh's self portraits.  This was probably the most iconic, and my favorite:  

In some portraits he looked angry, in others old, and, yes, in one his head was bandaged because he'd cut off his ear.  Yet although his faces were both magnificent and haunting, part of me was wondering, is this it?  Then the colors shifted, filling the entire room, floor and all, with a breathtaking landscape.  I actually gasped, causing a teen sitting on the floor to shoot me a dirty look.  I scooted away, not wanting her to harsh my mellow. 

This painting and the many that followed jibed with one of my favorite blurbs from the previous room about Van Gogh's gift for making the ordinary extraordinary:

Not surprisingly, I liked the sunflowers best of all:

And then, of course, there was Starry Night.  Painted from Van Gogh's view from his room in the asylum, it epitomizes finding light in the dark:

People always think of Van Gogh as the crazy guy who cut off his ear and eventually took his own life, but Beyond Van Gogh shows us a hopeful, sensitive artist who never stopped believing in the power of his vision.  And that's beautiful.  

As is this pic of the husband at the entrance -- yes, playing up the auricular angle.  Check out that crazy casino carpet!  

This wouldn't be a Tote Trove post if I didn't 1) show off my gift shop buy (a scrunchie!) and 2) expound upon my outfit.  As we were leaving the immersion room, the docent (not sure if that's the right word for a casino showing, but whatevs) stopped me and asked, "Did you wear that sunflower barrette just for today?"  I nodded.  "And the dress, too?"  Again, I confirmed.  She smiled and then said, "Thank you."  I was a little embarrassed but nonetheless pleased.  

Necklace: The Tote Trove; Sunglasses: Party City; Flower clip: The Tote Trove; Bangles: B Fabulous; Ring: Mixit, JCPenney

Dress: So, Kohl's; Bag: Dancing Days, Banned, Modcloth

Flipflops: Katy Perry Collection (they smell like pineapples!)

Even after we left the Hard Rock, there was one more piece of art to see.  I was absolutely delighted by this colorful food hut, which I caught outside the window as we exited the city:

On the way home, we stopped for an outdoor meal at this blessedly deserted spot, followed by dessert at Rita's:

It was a lovely nine-year anniversary celebration, not to mention a lovely nine years.  

And maybe Van Gogh is a little bit like Dupree after all.  Misunderstood but following the beat of his own brilliant drum, riding Hokusai's waves out to sea.

Sunflowers snapped at the farm stand a couple of Sundays ago.

Two for Two: Giving COVID the Cold Shoulder

It's official!  The husband and I got our second COVID vaccines this morning!  Before arriving at the Atlantic City Convention Center, we stopped to get gas and saw a truck that said J-CORONA, with the Os filled in to look like suns.  Weird, huh?  Whenever I encounter "coincidences" like this, I know that everything's connected.  Anyway, as with my first shot, I wore a shoulder-baring top for easy access, although this one was more out-of-style cold shoulder than Susan Sarandon off-the-shoulder in Bull Durham.  I still love it, though (as I do the dozen or so others I'm still hanging onto).  

In other fashion news, the husband asked if I brought a cactus wristlet because I was getting pricked, and I said maybe subconsciously, as I carried a (different) cactus wristlet last time!  See?  Everywhere, connections.

Now that I'm fully vaxxed, it's great knowing that in just two weeks I can safely go out if I need or want to.  The first order of business will be scheduling all those long-overdue doctors appointments.  And then maybe, just maybe, I'll feel ready to reopen The Tote Trove!  Last week someone emailed me asking how long I'd be on break (it's been more than a year), and I said maybe until Memorial Day.  I've been updating my site a little, tweaking listings and weeding out the ones that seem past their prime.  It's strange to think about going back to the post office again.  A little scary, but mostly good.  I miss the thrill of seeing an Etsy Transactions email in my inbox, then drawing hearts and rainbows and cupcakes on a padded envelope and stuffing it with something I made that someone wanted.     

So, yeah, now I'm one step closer to rekindling the human element of this crazy arts and crafts venture.  Which is pretty exciting.  

Also, it balances out the mammogram.      

A Shot in the Arm to Ward Off All Harm: Vaccination Jubilation

This past Sunday, the husband and I got shot up full of Pfizer while Gloria Estefan's "Conga" played in the background.  Or, as the husband likes to put it, we got our "Fauci ouchies."  Because I'm not the only one in this duo who uses humor to combat tribulation.

When I first heard about the vaccine rollout in January, I thought, good, finally.  But also, somewhat perversely, that was fast.  Because I felt a little uneasy.  What if this miracle drug made me sprout a third eye or something?  It turned out that the husband felt the same, so we decided to wait to get it.  I rationalized this decision by reminding myself that only people older than sixty-five were supposed to be getting it at this point anyway.  But then, these last couple of weeks, I suddenly felt like we should get it as soon as possible.  Maybe it was the reports of the new, more serious strains.  Or even just the fear that they'd run out of vaccines.  Probably it was both.  But mostly it was my gut telling me that the husband's luck couldn't hold up forever.      

As you know, I've been working from home since last March and have ventured out of the house only a handful of times to visit my parents, plus once to the office to fix my computer.  The husband, on the other hand, has been working out in the world every day.  He's a painter, which means that he's in and out of people's homes.  This drove me crazy, especially when the pandemic first started.  I tried to convince him to go on hiatus, but he was concerned that his business would dry up and never recover.  Then a few months in, I was like, he's being careful, it's fine, we haven't caught it yet.  Because I couldn't be angry and scared all the time and had to make some sort of peace with it.

So, a couple of weekends ago when I announced that I was starting to look into vaccination scheduling, he was surprised -- but not really.  Deep down, we both knew that he was the one warier of the actual vaccine, whereas I was the one warier of rejoining civilization.  Getting vaccinated would bring me one step closer to saying see ya to the recluse life to which I'd grown so accustomed, and that made me anxious.  Still, my fear of contracting the coronavirus was bigger, and I wanted that shot.  The husband knew that.  So he agreed to get vaccinated, for me.  I thought that was very heroic and romantic and, at the end of the day, just plain kind.    

At first, I was overwhelmed by the scheduling logistics.  I didn't even know if we'd get appointments, and on the first try, we didn't.  By the second time I'd learned more about the ins and outs of the system and was able to secure us back-to-back slots for the following Sunday, bright and early, at the Atlantic City Convention Center.  I felt like I'd won the lottery, or at the very least, Air Supply tickets.  When Sunday rolled around, I was so glad that the husband and I were climbing into my Honda together.  We always go to the dentist, dermatologist, and optometrist as a pair.  Why should the vaccination of the century be any different?

I'm happy to report that the whole process ran like a well-oiled machine.  (My car, not so much.  After barely being driven for a year, it now sounds kind of clunky.  But, as Chandler Bing would say, one ridiculous problem at a time.)  The Atlantic City mega site is run by the National Guard, and they, along with the nurses, were so efficient and upbeat, which helped to make it all seem more normal.  As did the selfie station on the way out.  Its bright colors and snappy sayings really brought the carnival flair, befitting a vaccination site located in a city once known as America's Playground.

So, yeah.  One down, one to go.

My only regret is that I didn't wear a snazzier mask.

Also, that I never got to see Air Supply.

Duck Duck Truce: Crayon Box Rocks

Welcome to another exciting edition of rhyme time!  That's right, I wrote a new poem, and it's about the duck decoys on my mantel.  They say that when you spend a lot of time alone, you start talking to yourself and/or inanimate objects.  In this case, the objects are talking to me -- or rather, to another inanimate object, my faux forsythia wreath.  Anyhoo, I call the poem Flighty Ducks Get Their Wings Clipped -- for reasons that will soon be clear.

The four little ducks
In this pic had a fight
Each wouldn't give in,
Each thought he was right.

But the wreath below them
Was upset by their strife
And said they should stop
If they valued their life.

That gave the ducks pause
And they shut their beaks
For only fools quack
When a wise woman speaks.

The wreath smiled sweetly
And glowed like the sun
She wasn't just decor
For good times and fun.

I was once like you,
She told the four ducks
Ungrateful and selfish
And out for big bucks.

But then a wise antelope
Showed me the way
And soon I gave thanks
For each gift of a day.

Thank you, wreath lady
Chorused the quartet
We'll be good to each other,
We'll be our best yet.

No need to thank me
Replied the gold wreath
Just help one another
And treasure your teeth.

"Wait, what?" said the ducks.  "We don't have any teeth!"

But the wreath was already gone.  In her place was the grinning face of Emilio Estevez.  His smile was mostly toothless, and The Mighty Ducks theme song was playing in the background.  The duck decoy on the end screamed; the duck next to him muttered that he would've preferred to hear music from St. Elmo's Fire. 

Me too, duck one space from the end, me too.

This post isn't just about repentant waterfowl and underdog athlete flicks.  It's also about Crayola crayons and the Hard Rock Casino, two artsy icons at opposite ends of the rainbow paint palette spectrum.  Crayons are wholesome (even when eaten, they're nontoxic), whereas rock and roll is all rebel yell (although I realize how unhip it is to reference Billy Idol instead of Billie Eilish).  They have nothing in common.  Except for maybe when the waitress at the Hard Rock Cafe brings little Katie a pack of crayons.   

Well, that and they're both built for expression.  Which is obvious given my unfortunate air guitar performance in the pic above.  The husband took it back in January, or, as I like to call it, "the time that came before" (the coronavirus).  And although it's true that I had a good time, it wasn't as good as the time I'm having now.

Right, Emilio?

I quack myself up.

I Had Walked Nearly Five Miles (Or Something Like That)

And I could not walk just one more!  That was the song (or at least it was a version of that Proclaimers song popularized by Benny and Joon) playing in my head the day I took these pictures.  You see, the day before Christmas Eve I decided to take a walk on the beach.  The sun was bright and the air was less cold than one would expect on December 23, and I though it was a good time to do some thinking and sneak in some exercise.  So, when I reached my usual quitting point I kept going.  I passed a man with a kite and some people with dogs, and it being Brigantine, some people in trucks passed me.  I saw the Emerald City of casinos glinting in the distance and couldn't help but wonder how long it would take to reach them.  Not unlike our friend Forrest, I figured that I'd walked this far, so why not walk some more?
 

An hour or so later I slid onto the cool, smooth seat of the jetty that borders the water barricading the Revel.  It was strange seeing that (to me) unexplored stretch of beach up close and personal, and I spent a  few minutes taking some pictures and taking it all in.

And then it was time to turn back.

I took my time on the return journey, stopping to collect seashells, both in celebration and in deference to my protesting legs.

Then, once back on concrete land, I came upon this less picturesque but nonetheless much-loved Brigantine landmark:

Naturally, once back at home base I made a necklace from the seashells I'd gathered.

I call it the Mermaid Magic Necklace, and Tammy, minx that she is, models it here in her Venus swimsuit.  "That's one must-have mollusk," the fiance said as he was passing through.

I can only hope he was talking about the necklace.

Slot Machines and Beachside Scenes

I realize that there are no slot machines in these pictures.  (Just tire tracks, those calling cards of driver-friendly Brigantine Beach.)   If you squint, then you can kind of sort of see the faint outlines of some of the casinos in the distance, but that's about it.  Like many South Jersey natives, I've always associated casinos with the ocean.  The one time I went to Las Vegas I remember thinking that it was weird to see the city emerge, Shangri-La-like, from the desert. 

A week or so ago the weather was so nice that I decided to walk down to the beach.  In the tradition of people who live in touristy spots, I don't do this nearly as much as I should or would like to.  Kind of like how I rarely visit the casinos, (if not for the gambling, then for their gaudily glitzy trappings).  So every spring I make an effort to take advantage, mindful that I may one day find myself living in some suburb with 2.5 children, regretting that I didn't make the most of the sun and sand before it became a traffic-choked car ride away. 
 
On this season's inaugural visit, the beach was deserted save for a few lone fishermen and a couple walking a dog.  Which sounds rather anticlimactic, especially on the heels of that suburb bit.  Maybe I should've cooked up a splashy story about a metal-detecting old man happening upon some treasure, or a more subtle yet cerebral account of myself having an epiphany after locking eyes with an all-knowing seagull.   
 
Oh well.  Plenty of time yet to make waves.