It’s not like we sat on the front porch ALL day.

Just all day so far.

It’s almost 11:00 AM as I type this, and we’ve had a fun morning. I’m checking into the blog because Rex is cooking breakfast for us (what a guy), and I’ve got some time to write.

The front porch of our cabin is perfection: it has a porch swing, rocking chairs, side tables for our coffee/tea, and it overlooks some horse pastures where we can watch horses grazing and doing horse things. The best part of the porch, though, is this:

Yes, a gate. To the casual observer, this gate might not look very important. To us, though, it means that dogs can be on the porch with us without fear of them running off! Yippee!!

We spent the morning watching horses and dogs. So fun.

At one point Rex said I should stop trying to stage pictures (which was probably true), but I said “It’s for the BLOG!” and kept trying to get pictures of the perfection. “Ruby, sit!” “Elvis, get your head out of the rails!” “Penny, stick your tongue out!” “Rex, pretend like you’re enjoying a sip of coffee!” (lol). Then, as if on cue, Ruby jumped in front of a picture of Penny and tried to grab the phone out of my hand with her mouth. It’s like she was saying, “STOP TAKING PICTURES AND ENJOY THE MOMENT, LOSER!” So I did. Here’s your picture of my life lesson by Ruby:

When I put down my phone, Rex snapped this picture of me and Penny. Who’s taking too many pictures NOW? But it was cute, so here you go:

Oops, gotta go. Breakfast is ready. More later!

Okay, I’m back. It’s now 8:15 PM, so we’ve had a full day. When I last left you, we were eating the delicious breakfast that Rex cooked. After that, we went back to the front porch again and watched a storm front move in. Our dogs didn’t like the thunder. Once it started raining, it was time to bust out the indoor activities we brought for just such a situation. Hooray!

Rex worked on the thousand-piece puzzle we brought, and I worked on my cross stitch project. I know, I know….cross stitch?! Who do I think I am, some pioneer days woman? Except they can be forgiven for cross stitching because TV and the internet hadn’t been invented yet. I don’t know why I thought buying a cross-stitch project was a good idea, exactly. But it’s a fun indoor activity, and I made some headway while it was raining. Can you guess what the picture will be?

It’s a work in progress. Don’t judge me.

The rain let up after a while, and we went down to the pasture to feed the horses some of our carrots. They loved them. I could see this becoming a daily occurrence.

After feeding the horses, it was time to go hike! We went to Fall Creek Falls State Park and sought out some waterfalls. Rex also found this weird cave thing, where I was sure he was going to get eaten by a bear or swarmed by bats or something. Who walks into a random cave!? Rex, that’s who.

Here are some waterfall pics:

Fall Creek Falls, the park’s namesake, was probably my favorite waterfall. It was so beautiful as it flowed over the edge of the rock, and pigeons flew behind it to get to their nests (which made Rex comment that he misses our pigeons. Who misses pigeons!? Rex, that’s who). We set out to get to the bottom of the falls, which was quite a steep hike but definitely worth it.

At the bottom of the falls, we had a small picnic of poptarts and Doritos. Rex gazed up at the falls and said, “Can you guess what I’m thinking right now?”

“Pigeons?” I guessed. BECAUSE HE’D SAID HE MISSED THE PIGEONS. THIS IS A LOGICAL GUESS, PEOPLE. Rex, however, looked horrified. “Pigeons?!” he screeched. You think I’m staring up at this majestic waterfall, and the first thing I think of is pigeons?!?”

“Uh…I guess not?” I answered. “What were you thinking about?”

“Psalm 121!” he said. “‘I lift my eyes to the hills; where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the maker of Heaven and Earth.'”

Okay but like…there is no way I would have guessed that. Maybe when we’re married for fifty years or something. With our measly eleven, I had no shot at that level of mind reading.

“We’re looking at a hill!” Rex didn’t give up, gesturing wildly at the mountain in front of us. “And the water is like our help that is coming down from the Lord, and he made all the majesty of this waterfall. It makes perfect sense.” He hung his head. “Pigeons?!?! My wife thinks my first thought was pigeons?! I have failed somewhere.”

Tee hee. Oops. So we had a good laugh about that. Apparently Rex is a much deeper thinker than I gave him credit for in that moment.

When we came back to the cabin from hiking, we had dinner on the grill: burgers and brats. Yum! Now we’re watching the Olympics (again. Oh how I love the Olympics) while I blog and Rex edits pics.

Thanks for the comments, people who commented. It’s always great to know someone reads this thing. See you tomorrow!

I go back to school in about a week and a half, but Rex and I are sneaking in one last summer trip. We’re in Tennessee, staying at a cabin on some property that used to be a golf course. It’s beautiful!

The cabin is also dog friendly, making it even better, so we brought the whole muttley crew.

Most of the nine-hour drive here, whenever I turned around to check on the dogs, I saw one eyeball sticking out of one of the kennel holes. No prizes for guessing which dog was sticking her eyeball at me the whole time.

We kept telling the dogs we were going to a really far away vet. “Only one hour until we’re at the vet, guys!”

We passed the time by listening to some Dateline podcasts, and Rex turned on a jiu jitsu podcast that was THREE HOURS AND TWENTY-SIX MINUTES LONG. Who knew there was that much in the universe to say about jiu jitsu?! I may have fallen asleep for part of it. Not because it was boring, of course…

Or maybe because it was boring. *shrug* At one point, the guy on the podcast said, “Jiu jitsu is not just a sport. It’s a philosophy. It’s a way of life. It’s at the root of everything we do.”

Like, whoa Rex. Is this a hobby or a cult?!

There’s not a lot I can say about nine hours in the car…basically there was the Penny eyeball trying to bore a hole into my brain, Rex learned a lot about jiu jitsu, and we saw this life-size T-Rex.

Don’t ask questions about the T-Rex. I don’t have answers.

After arriving at our cabin, we unpacked and settled in. Then we decided to go get some groceries for the week. We went to the Gly Wiggly, which is Piggly Wiggly with some letters broken.

We had to drive over twenty minutes to get to the nearest grocery store, which should tell you how remote our cabin is. It’s kind of awesome that we’re in the middle of nowhere, yet the cabin is fully equipped with all modern amenities.

As we were leaving the Gly Wiggly with way too much food, a man in a red truck pulled up to talk to us. He was around sixty years old and looked friendly enough. “Excuse me,” he said. “I noticed the stickers on your truck. Do y’all have bird dogs?”

“Yes, sir!” said Rex. I immediately thought, “OH, HERE WE GO.”

The guy asked if Rex grouse hunts, and Rex smirked. “I do. It’s…kind of my thing.” The subtext was, “It’s all but consumed my life and I LOVE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!” but Rex was playing it cool.

The guy stuck his hand out of his truck window. “George Hamilton,” he said. “Nice to meet ya.”

I’ll spare you the details, but now George Hamilton and Rex are friends and are planning a grouse trip in Michigan this fall. Rex meets his friends in the weirdest ways. One was by the blueberries at Meijer…one was in the fishing department at Gander Mountain…and now one is in the parking lot of a Tennessee Gly Wiggly. I mean, was Rex not paying attention during those Dateline podcasts?! This guy could be a serial killer who preys on unsuspecting grouse-loving tourists!

Not likely, but still.

Now I’m cooking a frozen pizza while we watch the Olympics, and Rex is scouring the Google for information about his new friend George Hamilton. He’s an auctioneer, which is a pretty cool job if you ask me.

Overall, the trip is off to a great start. Stay tuned for stories of hiking and… actually, I have no idea what else we’re doing. Probably eating a lot of the food we just bought and hopefully having a lot of fun!

I just got back from a trip to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, and I didn’t plan to blog about it. After all, I was backpacking in the Porcupine Mountains for a few nights and then staying at a remote campground. We didn’t have access to a shower, let alone wifi.

But then, as our friends’ motor home was on a steep slant, broken down, and threatening to roll into the lake? Well, my fingers started getting twitchy. I needed a keyboard and wifi, but I made do with a notebook and pen (because after all, it’s not like I would travel without at least a notebook – who knows when something like this might happen?!). So that’s why you’re getting a one-post blog instead of daily anecdotes. Sometimes life just throws you a singular blog post.

We were on a fishing trip with our friends Chad and Amy. At the point of this bloggable story, Rex and I were setting up camp at our campsite. Our friends had a camper, but we had a tent (because we’re more hard core….or because we simply don’t have a camper. Take your pick).

Anyway, a text came through to Rex (whoo hoo! Momentary service! We hadn’t had service for days!). Our friends were stuck, broken down, on the public fishing launch where they had been putting in their boat.

We hopped in the truck and went to see our friends (not that we could really do anything, but it seemed like the right thing to do). Their motor home isn’t new, exactly. As a matter of fact, it’s older than me. So. It could be that this trip was too much for the lil guy, and he finally crapped out on them. Or maybe it was something easily fixable. At that point, we had no idea. Chad and Amy thought the battery might need a jump, so they’d requested help from a random guy named Mike.

Mike was a middle aged guy wearing a faded yellow University of Michigan shirt. He was out with his dog Pumpkin, the sweetest orange-colored retriever that you ever did see. Mike had a strong Yooper accent and a disdain for “city folk,” though he determined we were not, in fact, the dreaded “city folk” once he and Rex started talking about grouse hunting. *eyeroll*

When our friends attempted to jump the battery, the engine started smoking. This, as a rule, is never a good sign. After that attempt, the engine wouldn’t do anything when they tried to turn the key. It was super dead.

Because we are more city folk than we’d care to admit, all four of us did what any good city folk would do in this situation: we whipped out our phones.

“Yer not gonna get good service,” Mike said, petting Pumpkin. “We don’ like all that cell service up here. No service keeps them city folk away.”

Yeah, well, WE NEED SOME SERVICE AT THE MOMENT, MIKE. I called Pumpkin over to help keep me calm. Dogs are great for that. She walked over, turned around, and promptly sat on my feet. Mike said that Pumpkin does this because she knows people can’t walk away if she’s sitting on their feet, and they’re more likely to keep petting her. Sweet dog.

Rex finally got a bar of service (hooray!). He looked up all the local auto repair places (two of them within about a gazillion mile radius).

“Aw, they’re not gon’ be open,” said Mike. “The rodeo’s in town!”

Of course it was.

And of course they weren’t open. Because who could have car trouble when the RODEO was in town? It goes against the laws of science or something.

The one place had an after hours number to call for emergencies. “Write this down,” Rex instructed me. I held my pen ready.

“Okay, it’s 906-327-56…. dang it! I lost service! I don’t know the last two numbers!”

“Well,” I said, trying to be helpful, “there are literally only a hundred possible phone numbers with that beginning. We could try them all.” (This wasn’t as hopeful as I thought).

Chad tried calling. He got one more digit before he lost service. Whoo hoo! We were down to only ten possible numbers!

Time out: can I remind you that this motor home is broken down IN the public boat launch? So not only is it slanting down toward the water, but it’s blocking the launch, making it impossible for anyone to get in or out? YOU’RE ALL SPENDING THE NIGHT ON THE LAKE, PEOPLE! GET COMFY!

Hehehe…not exactly. There weren’t people actively trying to get in or out at this time (thank goodness for the U.P. being so remote), but if there were people, they weren’t going anywhere. We were blocking the whole thing.

When we finally – finally! – got the blessed last number to the phone number, we called it. The guy’s answering machine said he was “out of the office.”

“He’s at the rodeo,” said Mike. “I guarantee yeh.”

Thanks Mike. Why was Mike even still here at this point? He wasn’t being helpful…he couldn’t do anything…I think he was enjoying this excitement that we brought into his life. “Call 911” said Mike.

“This isn’t a life-threatening emergency,” said Chad.

“Yeh, but 911 will know what to do. They kin give you some advice.”

Please tell me Mike has called 911 for life advice before.

“There’s got to be a 24-hour towing service somewhere,” I said.

“No, there doesn’t,” said Amy. “It’s the U.P.”

Amy was right. It was Friday night, and nowhere was going to be open until Monday.

“Maybe we can ask the camp host,” Chad suggested. The camp host is basically the director of the campground.

“Well sure yeh can ask him, if he’s sober today! Hahaha!” Mike, once again, was enjoying our peril a little too much.

Rex and Chad left to go find the camp host, Mike finally left to walk his dog, and Amy and I waited in the motor home.

Before too long, the men came back with the camp host. He was at least mostly sober. “This is gonna be great!” he said, hopping out of his truck. “We’ll hook up the ratchet straps to my truck and try to pull the motor home out. When you put it in neutral I might be able to pull it, or it might pull us into the lake. But what do I care because this isn’t my truck! Ha!”

I didn’t pause to wonder whose truck it was. Now that I’m typing this…whose truck was that?! But after over an hour of waiting for help, we were happy for any chance at salvation. Camp Host guy hooked up the ratchet straps, Chad put the motor home in neutral, and we all held our breath.

For a heart-stopping moment, nothing happened.

Then, slowly, the motor home started moving up the ramp. It was working!

Camp host guy was a total star. He towed our friends back to the campsite so that they could at least be broken down somewhere where they wouldn’t be blocking traffic. Mike drove by to check on us, and he and Rex talked grouse for a while longer. Mike really didn’t have a lot going on.

Rex had to be back to work on Monday, so we had to leave our friends stranded. I know, I know – we’re terrible people. But they were stranded AT the campsite, and before we left we drove them to town for extra groceries, propane, and other supplies. We tried our best to help.

Karma still kicked us in the butt, though – when we tried to stop for a hotel on our way home Saturday, we called FIFTY-FOUR hotels and couldn’t find a vacancy. FIFTY-FOUR. The entire lower part of the U.P. and the upper part of the lower peninsula were completely sold out. It was a crazy Mary and Joseph situation. Rex said I should start asking if anyone had a stable out back where we could sleep.

In the end, we drove through the night and got home at 5 AM. Bleh! We stopped a couple times at rest areas for nap breaks. We had too much in our back seat to put the seats down, so we had to sort of curl around the center console together. It was NOT GREAT. At one point, though, Rex reached out and held my hand as we tried to catch a nap. Maybe we were kind of miserable, but at least we were miserable together.

Our friends are still in the U.P. She’s a teacher, and he’s a truck driver with a flexible schedule, so I think they’re both a little secretly excited for the extended vacation. Keep your fingers crossed that they make it out soon!

Waking up on a yacht is beautiful. It’s like waking up into a good dream. The waves slowly lap at the sides of the ship, the sea breeze kisses you good morning, and the stillness makes your swirls of anxiety slow down for a few minutes.

When I woke up, the sky was aflame with sunrise. It looked like this:

I went down to Lauren’s bedroom (they’re called “staterooms” on a boat, which sounds fancy) and woke her up because I didn’t want her to miss the gorgeous sunrise. Good thing I did, or she would have missed all the excitement that came next.

We hopped in some kayaks to paddle around the glassy water surrounding our ship. I saw a turtle come up for breath, so I paddled in that direction. Sure enough, an adorable loggerhead was chillin in the sand. When my kayak got close, it pressed itself into the sand and reeds even deeper, trying to be invisible.

I see you, Loggerhead. We’re literally making eye contact. Say cheese!

I didn’t want to freak my new turtle friend out too much, but I stayed right next to him until Lauren got close enough to see him too. Then we went on our way, ooo-ing and ahhh-ing about the many tropical fish and tiny crabs and sea life that we found. That’s a perk of having your yacht anchored close to a sandbar/reefy area. At some places, the water was only a couple feet deep – great for wildlife viewing!

As I was puzzling over some species of fish, Lauren called to me from maybe twenty yards away. “Look, Christine! A dolphin!” There was a fin sticking out of the water around fifty yards from us. Cool! We both paddled that way quickly, hoping to see the dolphin.

As we started to get closer, the fin suddenly sped up in chase of something. A large fish jumped from the water, trying to escape. There was an epic battle, lots of splashing, the fin zigzagging this way and that. Then, having won (or lost?) the battle, the fin started slowly meandering away from the scene.

Lauren and I looked at each other. “Uhhh…” I said. “That’s not a dolphin.”

Lauren’s eyes were wide. “It’s a shark.”

I nodded, eyes matching hers. “Totally a shark.”

We looked at each other, then wordlessly turned our kayaks around and started heading the other way.

“Are you hungry for breakfast?” I asked. NOT that I was scared of the shark, OBVIOUSLY. I was simply hungry. The shark had breakfast – why shouldn’t I?

“Yes,” Lauren replied, a hint of relief in her voice. “Definitely hungry. Let’s go back to the boat and have breakfast.”

“Not that I’m scared,” I said. “Just suddenly hungry. Of course.”

Lauren later asked if this was like when I tear up sometimes, but instead of admitting I’m crying I say, “It’s so dusty in here.”

WHATEVER, LAUREN. YOU WENT IN TOO.

Because, you know, what if the shark lost the battle with the tarpon or whatever it was hunting, and now it thought my red kayak looked delicious? I’m just saying!

So we went in. Eco-Queen Lauren did an analysis of the size of the dorsal and tail fin (we saw the tail fin too during the battle), the coloration, the habitat, and blah blah blah. She narrowed it solidly down to a bull shark or a reef shark (pics from Google…they look pretty much the same to me). We estimate it was probably around six feet long.

So we survived the shark attack (though the shark wasn’t attacking US, strictly speaking). By this time the sun was fully up, and it was time to start packing up to head back to Nana’s.

Our water taxi guy, Mark, picked us up right on time, and we were off. We made a quick stop at the Southernmost point of the United States for the obligatory tourist picture, then it was road trippin’ to Key Biscayne.

I’m so pleased to report that I have no blog info to share from the ride back. No crashes, tickets, or breakdowns. Phewf! I was thankful for an uneventful ride on the beautiful Overseas Highway.

When we got back, Nana had dinner ready for us. What an awesome grandma. Then we watched a sort of depressing documentary about species that are going extinct. Lauren didn’t get in any trouble this time.

Wait, did I tell you about when she got in trouble last time? *scroll scroll scroll* No! I didn’t!

Last time we watched a movie with Nana, Lauren bumped something on the table next to her.

“What’s that noise?” Nana asked, concerned.

“Just me,” Lauren said. “I bumped this…thing.” She pointed to the large pointy item on the table next to her.

“Oh no!” Nana exclaimed. “That’s an African tribal killing weapon. It’s very dangerous!”

“WHAT?!” Lauren looked at it again. People hunt with this? But…how?

“People dig a pit, put a bunch of these in it, then an animal comes along, falls in, and it’s lights out. You could really hurt yourself.”

“Sorry,” said Lauren. “I’ll be careful.”

Even though the probability of someone digging a pit and throwing Lauren on the spear thing was slim, Nana wasn’t taking any chances. “Trade me seats,” she said. “For safety.”

And that’s how Lauren got banned from sitting on the right side of the couch.

I took the danger seat this time, since I can be trusted around African tribal spears, and we had a great night watching our movie and chatting with Nana about our trip and also listening to her travel stories. Then it was time to pack up. Bleh.

Now we’re sitting in the airport at 5:19 AM, waiting to board our plane home. I’m very glad I came on this trip, but I’m also looking forward to seeing Rex and the pets when I get home.

Thanks for following this adventure! See you next time! 🙂

I told Lauren it was a bad idea.

I said, “Lauren, you should not get a tattoo. This is a bad life choice. Think of your future. Do you really want this on your body forever?”

Just kidding. Of course I didn’t say that. I said, “Great idea! Get a tattoo, and then I’ll blog about it!”

So here we are.

After a breakfast of bagels and a morning kayak, we were picked up by water taxi to go into town. We went straight to the tattoo shop to make Lauren’s appointment (this was the “top secret thing” we were discussing last night). The shop was… well… let’s just say Lauren had full faith in it. She even commented how great it was that no one else was there. To me, I thought that made it more questionable. Don’t you want to be at the tattoo shop that’s packed because everyone loves their tattoos? Or something? Oh well. What do I know. I’m a tattoo-less puritan.

This tattoo shop was far from puritanical. Here are two things I saw immediately upon entering:

Mrs. Westerman, I TOLD Lauren to do her research. She claims this was the best place in town. Lauren was the valedictorian of our high school class, right? Or at least close? She’s smart, anyway. We’re going to trust her.

But if she dies of sepsis or something, no one can say I didn’t warn her.

Anyway, Lauren discussed her chosen design with the tattoo person, and we made an appointment to come back at 4:00. Then it was off to snorkeling!

We sat by a family from Ohio on the catamaran to go snorkeling. The dad was a grouse hunter who owns a German Shorthair, so we had plenty to talk about. Because of Rex, I am fluent in grouse hunting.

Once in the water, we saw lots of beautiful fish and coral. Lauren took some GoPro footage. At one point we saw a bunch of jellyfish, which was half cool and half “AHHHH! SWIM AWAYYYY!”

Luckily, we didn’t get stung. We enjoyed our snorkel and then our cool ride on the catamaran, heading back to land while drinking complimentary wine, laughing, and talking to our new friends. Prior to getting on the boat, we’d realized we forgot to bring towels. Here we are posing with the dog towels we bought at a chintzy souvenir shop:

Then, after snorkeling….it was TIME.

We headed back to the tattoo place, and Lauren was waiting to fill out paperwork when an older couple came in. The lady was sweet – gray hair, a floral shirt…she looked like a grandma, and she looked quite scared. If you took me to the street outside and said, “Pick the one person least likely to go to a tattoo shop,” I probably would have picked her. I didn’t ever get her name, so we’ll call her Betty.

“Are you here for a tattoo?” asked Lauren. Lauren is always making friends.

“Yes,” Betty said. Her eyes were wide as she surveyed the setting. “It was on my bucket list.”

From her age and her frightened demeanor, I translated her statement to mean, “I put this stupid thing on my bucket list decades ago, and I just looked in the mirror and realized I’m old. Looks like I’ve got to get cracking on this stuff.”

Her husband was taller than her, and he was wearing an orange shirt and a khaki bucket hat. He said, “I told her, if she can put up with my shit for forty years, she can handle getting a tattoo.”

Well said, sir.

“I’ve tried before,” Betty said, “but I always chicken out at the end.”

“Today’s the day!” said Lauren.

“Yeah,” I added. “You can do it! This is the one!” She needed a cheer squad. I snuck a picture of her to show you.

Betty and Mr. Betty worked on paperwork while Lauren got her tattoo. It’s on her right ankle. It’s a little pug reaching up for a heart balloon. I might be biased because I love pugs, but I think it’s adorable.

The tattoo only took fifteen minutes. I didn’t even dig into the book I brought with me to read while I waited. Who knew tattoos were so speedy? You too could have your body forever altered in only fifteen minutes!

When Lauren finished her tattoo, we wished Betty good luck and headed on our way. We found a Mexican restaurant a few buildings down, and we had dinner. As we were walking back down the street, we peeked in the window of the tattoo shop to find BETTY GETTING HER TATTOO! YAY BETTY! We went inside and told her we were happy for her and said congratulations. She got a turtle on her right arm. I should have taken a picture, but poor Betty was already a bit overwhelmed. I don’t think she needed paparazzi hounding her.

After dinner, we started meandering back to the dock to get our taxi ride back to the yacht. We stopped on the way for chocolate covered key lime pie. I’m not positive that it’s the best dessert I’ve ever had in my life…but I can’t immediately think of one that was better. They were delicious!

Then it was back to camping chairs and watching the sunset on top of our yacht. I could really get used to this life.

I’ll start this post with the same place the day started: at sunrise. Lauren and I have been getting up to watch the sunrise every morning, and most mornings we do sunrise yoga using videos on her phone. The beach is mostly deserted, but every once in a while people walk by and wonder why the heck we’re contorting our bodies in weird positions. Once we were in child’s pose (which is basically bowing on your knees), and I swear someone thought we were worshipping the sun. They probably went home and were all, “Oh Mildred, I think those flibbity flabbing Millennials have started a new sun-worshipping cult…” Alas. At least the sunrise was beautiful.

We went for a walk on the beach and checked out the bird sanctuary again. There was a peacock hangout where we saw sixteen peafowl all in the same area! (I can’t say sixteen peacocks because Lauren will read this and say, “You know, Christine…a female peafowl is actually a peahen, and only males are peacocks.” I want to spare myself the eco-lecture).

After that, we had some breakfast and started packing for our trip down to Key West. It was weird – we were packing for a vacation within a vacation. It was vacation Inception. The yacht owner told us to pack light, so we each packed a backpack and that’s it. Then it was on the road and heading south! Most of the highway was right next to the water, making for a beautiful drive.

We stopped in Islamorada for a break from the four-hour drive. We first stopped at the Bass Pro Shops because, as a Webb, I felt morally obligated to get my picture taken there. Then – what luck! – there was an awesome restaurant right next door. Look at our view!!

I didn’t want an alcoholic drink at 1:30 in the afternoon, but the drinks at the table next to us looked so tasty. I asked our waiter if he could invent something non-alcoholic that was still fruity and delicious, and he knocked it out of the park. It was the perfect fit for the scenery. They were even playing tropical music, which at one point included the limbo song. *shrug emoji*

When we got to Key West, we had a little bit of time to shop before we had to meet our captain at the dock. I got presents for my dogs and cat (nothing for Rex yet…oops). We picked up some takeout so we’d be able to eat on the boat. Then we met the guy who was scheduled to take us out to the yacht – he was about as sketchy as one of those crew-neck grandma sweaters with kittens on them (aka not sketchy at all, unless you have a very strange grandma). That was a relief, because getting murdered sounded really unpleasant.

Our yacht is awesome! Lauren and I each have our own bedroom, and I’m currently writing at the kitchen table that seats six. I did a video tour on my phone, so ask me about it sometime if you want to see it. Here are a couple of pics I pulled from the listing:

We put on our bikinis to go kayaking and took some pics. Please notice that my bikini has ALL ITS BUTTONS (yay – thanks for fixing it, Nana!), and I’m wearing cat-eye glasses and legit boat shoes. I’m so retro-chic that it’s going to break the internet because we’ll all be instantly transported back to the fifties when you look at this picture.

Here’s a pic of Lauren!

After pictures, we hopped in the kayaks (the yacht is equipped with kayaks and paddleboards). We paddled around for a while. We saw a cuuuuuute sea turtle and an osprey who caught a fish, but we didn’t snorkel yet (the yacht has snorkel gear too). Hopefully we’ll see more wildlife tomorrow.

Remember earlier this week when I said I couldn’t figure out what the boat camping equivalent to a campfire is? Well, I found it! It’s drinking wine from a can and eating rice krispie treats while sitting in camping chairs and watching the sunset. We sat around and talked about life, God, and all the things. Then we decided that this is one of those things we’ll tell our grandkids about one day (hopefully we’ll have grandkids one day):

Grandma: Sonny, pass the marshmallows for the rice krispies. Did you know I once ate rice krispies off the southernmost tip of the United States? I was at sea. Ah, those were the good old days when I could rock in a bikini. Did you know I used to wear a bikini?

Grandkid: Um, okay grandma. I don’t care. When will the krispies be done??

Kids these days. I tell ya.

Now I’m blogging while we brainstorm what to do tomorrow. Our plan is to do some snorkeling and then also probably this other TOP SECRET THING, which I can’t put on the blog because my friend Janell would probably get all “Christine! What are you thinking?!” because she had a cow when we picked up hitchhikers last summer. Lauren’s mom would say, “Tut tut, girls! Make good choices!”

Don’t ask me why I just made Mrs. Westerman say “tut tut.” I’ve never heard her say that in my life. It seemed like a mom thing to say.

But anyway, this TOP SECRET THING isn’t dangerous, and I think we’re gonna do it. You’ll have to tune in tomorrow to find out what it is. For tonight, I’m signing off from yacht life. It’s amazing out here.

Today was so chill that I don’t even know what to blog about. The biggest disaster of the day was that a button fell off my swimsuit. I mean, that’s what I get for buying a new bikini that cost only twenty-eight-ninety-five-plus-tax, you know? A button will fall off.

I only bought a new bikini because I Iost my baby bump and now have a passable bikini body (bleh). To distract myself from pouting about it, I decided to buy a new swimsuit. I got this super cool retro looking one, as it looks fabulous and nautical for boat camping. The buttons even have tiny little anchors on them:

After reading by the pool for a while, I noticed one of my buttons was missing. Ack! We had just sun-dried and were finally ready to go back inside for lunch. When I found out my button was missing, though, the hunt was on. I spotted it at the bottom of the 8-foot deep end of the pool – a shiny little silver dot.

I immediately jumped in without pausing, like it was a pirate medallion and I was Captain Jack Sparrow. I had to get to it before any of those weird kids with snorkel masks spotted it, said, “Oooo, shiny!” and scooped it up like the grabby little hoarders kids can be.

Luckily, I beat all of the (non-existent) competitors and rescued my fallen button. I’ll have to sew it back on before we get to the boat on Tuesday.

And that was the worst thing that happened to me today, so I don’t have a lot of complaints.

Lauren and I spent a lot of time outside today: we walked the beach, checked out the lighthouse, bought freshly squeezed fruit juice, and even took some glamour shots of Lauren so she could update her profile pic. My FitBit informs me that I’m over 20,000 steps for the day. Here are some pics:

We did spend a little bit of time inside, though. Lauren had to read some certification applications (or something), and I had some graduate homework to finish up. Am I nuts for still trying to pass these two grad classes even though my life is falling apart? I think yes. And maybe no. At least it gives me something to do to fill time…I had a high A in each class before the disaster. All I need to do is pass (as Rex keeps telling me – “C’s get degrees!!”). Five weeks left of class… I think I can do it.

Anyway, one of my journal entries for a class had to be about a brief scene that took place this week or last week. I’m going to share this assignment with you since it explains how the “rustic boat camping” Lauren and I planned to do actually turned into “50-ft Yacht Camping,” which will be different but also pretty fab if you ask me.

Sit back, pop some popcorn, and enjoy my homework assignment:

WRITING PROMPT #3

The guy seemed sketchy from the beginning.

My friend Lauren and I wanted to go boat camping over spring break. The thing about boat camping is that you need a boat, and neither one of us have one. But it’s 2021, so AirBnB was an obvious solution.

We reserved a small sailboat to use for boat camping. It would be anchored in the water, and it had two single beds, a small table, and really, what more did we need? It’s boat camping. It’s supposed to be rustic.

The owner of said sailboat is named Mike. Mike was sketching me out from the beginning of our reservation, because his answers to my questions came in short sentence fragments with grammar errors. I’m currently in a grammar class that’s instructing students stop being so judgy about “correct vs. incorrect” grammar, so thanks to Dr. Metz I decided to go ahead with Mr. Sketchtastic and try to practice not being so judgy.

Here’s the thing – once my trip was booked, Mike the Sketchy Guy stopped answering my questions altogether. Total radio silence. Considering that we are supposed to be counting on this guy to meet us at the dock and take us in his dinghy out to the sailboat, and then we were also supposed to count on him to come pick us up from the sailboat at the end of our stay, radio silence seemed a little scary.

Dr. Metz hasn’t had a talk with us about respecting radio silence from AirBnB guys, so I figured now was the appropriate time to start acknowledging my mental red flags.

I voiced my concerns to Lauren. She agreed that, considering my experience with Mike, maybe it was time to look for a different sailboat.

So I did.

I got sucked down the wormhole that is the internet, and about a half hour later I texted Lauren: “Maybe this is the dumbest idea ever, and maybe it’s my grief talking, but I found this fifty foot yacht…”

Of course, a yacht is significantly more expensive than a sailboat (as in, over twice as expensive). It has two bedrooms, a kitchen, a dining area, and an upstairs. But we wouldn’t have to deal with Sketchy Mike and his dinghy, and boat camping would get a major upgrade. It would be like going from camping in a tent to a fancy-pants RV.

I held my phone, waiting for Lauren to text back. Would she say I’m nuts? I know I haven’t been myself since my loss, but that experience taught me that life is short. You only live once – if you’re lucky enough to be born alive in the first place – and in my mind that translated to, “spring for the yacht.”

My heart leapt when I saw the return text pop up from Lauren: “Let’s do it.”

I quickly cancelled my reservation with Sketchy Mike, even though he finally got back to me in his grammar-lacking way. Too bad, Mike! We’ve moved on! I booked the yacht instead. Robert, the yacht owner, had flawless grammar skills. This immediately raised my confidence in the yacht situation (sorry Dr. Metz). He’s been great at communication this whole time, and Lauren and I are excited for our “Yacht Camping” (can those two words even be in the same sentence?) experience.

There you have it. We are now YACHT CAMPING on Tuesday. With all of my swimsuit buttons. Stay tuned…

I forgot about what it’s like to travel with Lauren “Bear Gryllz” Westerman. Today I remembered. It’s like a constant study of ecological fun facts.

The day started with walking down a trail toward the main road to go exploring. Lauren said, “Wow, look! A snake plant IN THE GROUND!” (Pic below is from Google images in case you don’t know what a snake plant is).

Her comment made me wonder where snake plants are usually found, you know, if they’re not usually in the ground. I pictured some plants flying through the sky. Lauren said that in Michigan, you can only get them as potted plants.

Ah. I see now.

So the snake plant was very exciting (if you’re Lauren). She went through naming a bunch of plants as we walked. I saw a pretty flower and said, “Hey Lauren, what’s this one?”

“An azalea,” she said, as if I’d just asked what color the sky is. Oops. I probably should have known that one.

She also practically squealed in delight when Nana set the table for breakfast and used cloth napkins. “Your Nana uses reusable napkins?!” she said. “She is AWESOME!”

And, I mean, I know Nana’s awesome. But only Recycle Obsesso Lauren would think it’s because she uses cloth napkins.

As we continued walking down the Lauren-knows-all-the-plants trail, we came across a plant that she didn’t know. We had to camp out there for some time while she wowed over it and we tried to figure out what it was. She commented that the seed pods were especially unique. Here’s the flower:

And y’all, I’m all about a unique seed pod, but am I the only one who giggled when seeing it?

Lauren, of course, drew no inappropriate conclusions. Because she’s a scientist, that’s why. I’m a middle school teacher. We each acted in accordance with our professions.

We found a spa and got pedicures so our nails could be beachy-chic. I went with shocking pink, because I’ve recently learned that life can be very short, so for the love just GET THE BRIGHT NAILS. Lauren went with blue. Please note our matching pug masks, which I got us for this trip. We get lots of compliments from people who either actually think these are cool or Regina-George-style think they’re awful and just want to make us feel better about being lame.

As we were walking back to Nana’s from getting our nails done, we came across a man in an Easter bunny suit throwing candy at children in a park from the back of his red pickup truck.

Does that not seem incredibly sketchy to you?!

We stopped to watch for a minute. The kids seemed so happy. Then a cop siren wailed. I thought for sure the easter bunny was going to get arrested (which would have been interesting). BUT NO.

The cop was a police escort for ANOTHER EASTER BUNNY.

This rival Easter Bunny came rolling down the road in a golf cart, wearing the exact same suit, and I thought a few things at the same time: First, “Ooooooooh snap. It’s about to GO DOWN with these Easter bunnies,” and also, “How are those poor parents going to explain to their children why there are two Easter bunnies?!” I mentally catalogued a list of options:

1. The Easter Bunny has an evil twin. He’s the one who steals your Easter candy after you get it, not me.
2. One of them is obviously a robot.
3. You are seeing two bunnies when there’s only one. Oops, time to take you to the eye doctor!
4. One of them is an imposter, like the Santa in Elf when Buddy freaks out. Watch this brawl that’s about to happen. When one pulls the head off the other one, you’ll know who the real Easter Bunny is.

Lauren got confused, as this sudden prevalence of Easter bunnies did not fit her ecological profile of the Florida Keys. “Is this a cultural thing?” she asked me. “They love Easter bunnies around here?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I’ve never seen them before today.”

I admit I was the tiniest bit disappointed when the Easter bunny with the police escort did a friendly wave to the truck Easter bunny and simply continued on his way down the street. I was really hoping for a “This town ain’t big enough for the two of us” kind of showdown. Alas. The truck Easter Bunny kept on throwing eggs full of candy at the kids, and we headed on our way.

Back at Nana’s, we ate some lunch before going out to the beach. The water is warm and perfect, so we went swimming in the clear sea and also read our books under a beach umbrella. There’s nothing to say about that because nothing happened (which was amazing).

When we got antsy to do something different, we went to the bird sanctuary that’s near Nana’s condo complex. We saw so many birds and even a couple bird families with little pluffy baby birds. They were so cuuuute! I admit I had one sort-of breakdown moment where I lamented, “Why does every creature on the planet have a baby except for meeeeee?!” But I rallied pretty fast. After all, the babies WERE really cute.

One family of baby birds was swimming in a pond where Rex photographed crocodiles last time we were here, so I rushed Lauren away, saying, “We’ve gotta go! I can’t watch these babes get eaten by a crocco, but it’s for sure going to happen. I don’t want to see it!”

Hopefully they’re still okay.

When we got back from the bird sanctuary, I took a nap. Then it was time to get ready for the Yacht Club with the Fab Four. The Fab Four include my Nana and her three sisters-in-law. They’re the best group of 70’s and 80’s ladies that you’ll ever find. We got all dressed up (why didn’t I get a picture of us?!), and we drank blueberry cosmos while watching the sunset over Biscayne Bay. It was a perfect way to end the day.

Now I’m writing this while sitting in bed while Lauren grades some papers or something. *yawwwwn* I’m sleepy from today, but I did have fun. I even laughed. I thought, “WHAT IS THIS ODD SOUND COMING OUT OF MY BODY?!” but it felt kinda good. It made me happy that I came here. ❤

For anyone who follows this blog but may not follow me in real life, my husband and I just lost our baby boy. Today is the one month anniversary of his stillbirth. It was the most awful thing ever ever EVER, and if you want to know more about that tragedy you can read my final post on my pregnancy blog, which is linked here.

This blog post isn’t about that. This is my travel blog, so – as you may have guessed – I’m gearing up to travel.

“WAIT!” I hear you hollering. “You’re traveling?! Why?? Your baby son just died! You march back to that couch, put on some black clothes, and cry for a few more weeks or forever. Queen Victoria wore black for the next forty years after her husband died. You’re going to what, chill on a beach only a month or so after your son died? HAVE YOU NO SOUL?!”

Oh, that wasn’t you hollering that? It was my own mind then.

I struggled (and I mean STRRRUUUGGGLLLEEDDD) with the decision of what to do for spring break this year. Before Charlie died I had a ticket booked to Florida, but I didn’t want to go anymore after his birth. Rex convinced me not to cancel the ticket yet – just in case I decided I could go. After all, he still has to work all of spring break. Here are my options as I currently see them:

A. Cry on the couch at home. Do chores. Be lonely all day waiting for Rex to get home.

B. Cry on the beach in Florida. Hang out with my British grandma and talk about all of Queen Victoria’s black clothes (how did she have so many black clothes?!). Chill with my friend Lauren, who planned to go with me all along, and who has been a complete gem of a friend since Charlie died.

I mean…the choice looks a little obvious when I put it that way (Okay, I admit – it’s Rex who laid that out like that for me). If there was anything, and I mean ANYTHING, I could do to bring my sweet boy back, I would. But there isn’t. And I’m coming to a place where I have to live without him – not that I’m “moving on” from him or “over” my loss, but I have to learn to live with it. I can’t stay on the couch forever.

Therefore, I’ve officially decided: I’m going to Florida.

One thing my therapist said was that I need to find things that make me happy and try to make time to do them, even if I don’t feel like being happy (yeah, I’m seeing a therapist. My son just died. I DARE you to judge me).

Well, you know what I love to do? Write. And travel. And especially write about traveling.

So I’m going to blog about my trip to Florida (or try to, anyway. No promises). If that’s going to offend you because you prefer that I pull a Queen Victoria and publicly mourn 24/7 for my son for the rest of my life, then you don’t have to read this. Plus, I might add that you’re not a very nice person to demand that of me.

Warning: I won’t talk about Charlie much on here. It’s too sad. If I’m writing as a form of therapy, it’s supposed to be fun. So if you’re reading these posts and it sounds like I’m *gasp* having fun, well…I’m trying. And don’t think for a second that Charlie isn’t on my mind all day every day, but I just can’t write about him all the time. Otherwise Lauren and Nana will have to mop the puddle of sorrow that is me off my keyboard, and no one wants to do that.

I might even try to make jokes on here. Because I used to like making jokes.

(I can’t currently think of any jokes, but maybe as I write other posts I will remember how to be funny).

Plus, Lauren and I are going boat camping toward the end of our trip. It’s like real camping, but on the ocean. Take a normal camping trip and simply make the following switches:

Tent = boat

Forest = endless ocean

Bears = sharks

Chipmunks = fish

Hiking = kayaking

Bonfire = (actually, I have no idea, but I’m quite sure you CANNOT have a fire on a boat)

Stars = Stars (those stay the same)

If you’re going to tell me that there won’t be anything bloggable about BOAT CAMPING, then you’re just plain wrong. There will be. Basically I had to write this ridiculously long disclaimer to try to assague some of my guilt about going on this trip.

Oh, and don’t worry – I’ve already informed Lauren that there will be NO picking up of hitchhikers this time. Unless a pelican lands on our boat or something. I have no control over that.

Within a few hours of starting our train ride back, Lauren and I were holding a secret summit in the observation car (so we could be away from our fellow travelers in the weirdo car). “What are we going to do?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

“I think it’s time to upgrade,” Lauren said. “It’s going to be a loooong thirty hours in the car with those guys.”

By “those guys,” she was referring to the two stars of our coach class experience: Cory, Lauren’s new boyfriend, and Mr. American Idol, whose name we will never know. Here’s a picture from the observation car, where we held our summit.

When we first got on the train this morning, we asked about getting an upgrade. We’d been spoiled on the way out with our sleeper car, and the thought of spending thirty hours seated in coach was a little bummery. But, when we were quoted the price of the upgrade, we declined. (That’s actually a much longer story that includes both of us walking all over this train looking for different people when one guy said, “Go ask that guy,” and then that guy would say, “Go ask that guy,” etc., and we had to walk car to car searching for these people like they were suspects on the Orient Express).

We resigned ourselves to sitting in coach. It wouldn’t be so bad, really. The train isn’t full, so we could each have two seats and an aisle between us. I could lay down on the chairs if I scrunched myself up really tight like a closed accordion and didn’t breathe too much.

Right as we were sitting down, Cory came to chat with us from his seat further back in the car. He was a lanky blonde guy with a lazy eye who looked to be in his early twenties. Cory recently got out of jail and has been homeless for a while, but he’s heading east to start a new life with his “almost girlfriend,” a young lady who lives in Minot, North Dakota, and invited him to move in with her three weeks after they met (well now, isn’t she in for a treat).

Lauren was her usual friendly self, but I basically said hi and then attempted to be aloof. After all, I didn’t want thirty hours of chatting with Cory the ex-con homeless guy. I buried my nose in a book and turned away.

Disappointed by my exiting the conversation, Cory tried to rope me back in. “What are you reading, Christine?”

“It’s a book about spies, Cory, thanks for asking.”

*buries my nose harder*

While Cory and Lauren bonded, the guy behind me started singing. Now, when I say “singing,” I don’t mean “humming softly and murmuring a few words.” I mean, “WHY YOU HAVE TO BUILD MEEEEE UUUUP?? JUST TO BREEEEAK ME DOOOWWWWN??” at a volume that was clearly audible to everyone around us. I think because he had earphones in, he figured it was all good to sing along with his jams. He was probably congratulating himself: “These poor people on a thirty-hour train ride. I will provide them with a free soundtrack.” He warbled mangled lyrics that sometimes vaguely resembled an American top forty song, but he was so off-key that it was hard to tell. He would also sing random lines, really loudly, and then mumble through the parts of the song he didn’t know. Sometimes he would go silent entirely. But then, when it was back to the part of the song he knew, buckle up. He was going to be back at full volume.

I started trying to guess what songs he was singing by the lines he threw out there. Sometimes I could tell, sometimes I couldn’t. I laughed a little to myself when he belted the Billie Eilish lyric, “I’M NOT JUST SOMEBODY’S DAAAAUUGHHTER!!!”

I wrapped myself in a blanket, scrunched up in my accordion position, and attempted to take a nap. Meanwhile, I heard Lauren finally extricate herself from the Cory conversation by saying, “Okay but really… I’m going to read my book now.” Books, man. I tell you. They’re lifesavers.

A little while later, I heard Cory come back, sit behind Lauren’s seat, and say, “I see you’re taking a break from reading now.” Apparently she had put down her book for a second, and he’d been watching for it. Eeeep! I closed my eyes tighter, playing dead so Cory wouldn’t talk to me again too. At this point we’d heard all about his son (“Two years old, but I lost custody of him at six months. Here’s a picture.”), his bike (“Very sentimental because it belonged to my mom. Want to hear about how many locks I have on it?”), and even his phone plan (“Sometimes I don’t pay my bill, but I promised T-Mobile that I’d recommend them to others if they cover the bill for me. I think it’s gonna work. But I might need to borrow your phone.”)

Luckily, I think everyone believed I was asleep. Eventually, I did fall asleep. I’m not sure how long I was out, but I was woken up by an outburst of lyrical passion sung by Mr. American Idol: “BITCH. ASS. HOOOOOOOOE!!!”

Ack! I sat up, a little disoriented as to why a large man was singing profanities at me. Lauren gave me a look that said, “What have we gotten ourselves into?” and picked up her knitting.

Cory appeared behind her again. “I see you’re knitting. What are you knitting?”

FOR THE LOVE, CORY. GO BACK TO YOUR SEAT.

At this point, Lauren had been chatting with listening to Cory for the better part of four hours. I sent a text to her that said, “How committed are you to taking coach the whole way? Your boyfriend and Mr. American Idol over here are pretty obnoxious.” She texted back that we should sneak away for a lunch summit to discuss this.

The dining car isn’t open to coach peasants like us, so we went to the cafe car (which is closed for seating, but you can get food to go). On the way out to Montana, I’d looked at the cafe menu and thought it looked pretty good. Sandwiches…bagels…pizza… plenty of options! Today, they were out of almost everything. I got stuck buying a lunch that was called “macaroni and cheese” but could have been more aptly named “chewy bits in glue.”

As I ate my chewy bits in glue, shuddering to think of how this was going to gum up my insides, we started talking about how to get out of there. “I think we should spring for the upgrade,” she said. “This is going to be a really long trip. At least we should try to transfer out of the weirdo car.”

It was not a hard sell. I quickly agreed. We called Amtrak to try and secure the upgrade (that’s what the conductors told us we had to do earlier), but they quoted us TWICE as much as what we had been quoted that morning! Ack! My heart sank. There was no way we could afford it. I was going to die from either ingesting thirty hours of chewy bits and glue or having a heart attack from Mr. American Idol’s outbursts.

I told Lauren to hang up and that I’d call back and hopefully get someone else. Sure enough, I did. He quoted us HALF of what we’d been quoted on the train earlier. Like, dear Amtrak – do you have a dart board with prices on it, and when someone calls you just throw a dart and see where it lands? Why do you all have different numbers?? I tried to lock that number in, but he couldn’t change it because our tickets had already been scanned.

To make a long story short, we ended up with a napkin full of notes and math that we scrambled to pass back and forth while we took turns calling Amtrak and hunting down conductors to try and figure out how to make our escape happen. It felt historically accurate – once you’re a peasant, no one wants to let you jump social classes. Go back to your chairs of doom, peasants! Let all the first class passengers gawk at you trying to accordion sleep as they float past you on their way to the all-inclusive food plan in the dining car!

Finally – after talking to TWELVE people (we counted), we secured the ticket upgrade. We even got it at the super low price I was quoted from the one guy (which turned out to be a mistake on his part, but Amtrak honored the quote). YESSSSSSSS. We all but ran back to the coach car to get our things, escorted by George the attendant who was super nice to us now that we were first class.

As we passed by our friends, Cory was on someone’s phone (“I am a paying T-Mobile customer! This is unacceptable!”). Lauren grabbed her things and said, “We got upgraded, bye” as we slid past him. She said it so fast that it all sounded like one word: Wegotupgradedbye. And we were outta there!

Once in our room, we breathed the biggest sigh of relief to be back in a private room. The attendant came by to take our dinner reservation – red wine braised beef with vegetables, salad, and dessert? Included in my ticket? Don’t mind if I do.

“We should have known better,” Lauren sighed. “You own a literal tiara, Christine. I don’t think you were ever cut out for peasant life.”

To be fair, I think coach class would have been doable. It may have even been enjoyable if we weren’t busy trying to avoid everyone else in our car. But this – a private room with good food, a shower, and beds? This is way more fun. I have a feeling that my cross-country coach days are over. Lauren and I agreed the views were better from first class, even though that’s impossible. But there were lots of pretty views!

I sent Lauren back to coach at one point and said, “Go get a selfie with Cory. I need it for the blog! I’ll give you $5 if you let him kiss you on the cheek in the picture.” Shockingly, Lauren decided to forego the $5. She did, however, go get a selfie with Cory. Because she’s a team player.

She came back with the pic, and I said, “Ummm…why is he wearing a hard hat?” She said she asked him the same question, and he said, “I was sick of having it stuffed away and packed up.” So. There’s your explanation to that obvious question. She also kept the selfie distanced. Because of COVID. Allegedly.

Cheers to a good night’s sleep! This has been a phenomenal trip. I’m sad that it’s almost over, but very happy that we get to end it in style. Thanks so much for your support and comments as you followed along on this blog. See you next time! 🙂