Fiddle-dee-dee, it's Leap Day

I've been restless all day today and haven't been able to determine why. Maybe because I have been stuck in the house for two weeks, cleaning and organizing and spending money I don't want to spend fixing up my house before it goes on the market. Maybe because I have no clue when or where I'll be moving when it does sell. Maybe because, even as I'm determinedly pushing forward, part of me is a teeny bit anxious and uncertain about -- well, everything. But it's unlike me to overthink these things; faced with uncertainty, I usually just have a cookie and, like Scarlett O'Hara, decide to think about it tomorrow. 

Then, like a flash, it hit me. I'm not restless because of my house--I'm restless because it's Leap Day, and once again I have nothing planned. I don't know why, but Leap Day presents a challenge for me. All the other holidays come around reliably every year, and I know that if they're not special this year (I'm talking to you, Valentine's Day), I only have to wait 12 months before I get another chance to do better.


But Leap Day comes only once every four years, and if I blow it, it'll be 1,416 days before I get another chance. Should I make a special dinner? (what is traditional Leap Day food, anyway?) Should I light candles? Dance? Sing? (well, no, because I don't want to frighten the children). Stay up late? Go to bed early? Drink champagne? Wear a costume? (I'm thinking a tiara, 'cause why not?) Break some cascarones? (if you're not from San Antonio, you're gonna have to google that one). 

Sigh. I just don't know. But I'm pretty sure that's why I was restless today. Guess I'll just have a cookie and think about it tomorrow.






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Sunday Haiku XIX

Willingly naked

and shivering, the live oak

awaits her spring leaves.

More Haiku

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Happy Birthday, Dad!

As  today is my Dad's  87th birthday, I am rerunning "Now That's Inspiration," which has become my 3rd most popular post of all time. It's easy to see why -- he's a pretty great person and it's a pretty great story. Here is an updated photo, taken just a week ago at his youngest grandson's rugby game. Keep on keeping on, Dad!

Two weeks ago, I wrote that my sister, my good-spirited friend Milinda and I (along with 30,000 other people) finished the San Antonio Rock 'n Roll half-marathon. As none of us had ever even thought of participating in an event like that, I can tell you that we were pretty proud of ourselves (as were our families, who had harbored some serious doubts about the whole enterprise).





But, so you don't think we have swelled heads, you have to consider our role model.  A few years ago, my dad--who had not participated in track since elementary school in the 1930s, nor ridden a bike since at least the 1950s--watched an 80-year old man running in the St. Petersburg "Meek and Mighty" triathlon.  Dad's reaction was simply, "I could do that."  So the next year, when he was 84, my dad entered and finished his first triathlon.

As he made the final turn, he heard the announcer tell the crowd to cheer for the winner of the 80+ age group.  He took off his hat, broke into a run, and crossed the finish line smiling.

I don't know which was more palpable: my dad's excitement or my mom's relief that he had finished.  The adrenaline was still flowing a few minutes later when he was interviewed by a camera crew from the local news station.  Asked how he felt, my dad said, "It felt like I just hit the winning home run and my best girl was in the stands watching."  Isn't that cool?

Oh, and by the way, he entered and won his age group the following year, at 85.  So, until this blog becomes 80+ and on the Run, he remains the family champ.


Related post: Rock n' Roll is Here to Stay
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Sunday Haiku XVIII

A few drops of rain

And the parched earth forgets that

Dry will come again

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Impatient in Argentina

As excited as we were to arrive in Ushuaia, Argentina, we were more excited to leave. Not because there is anything wrong with this semi-quaint town at the tip of Tierra del Fuego, but because we were anxious to board the ship that would take us to our "real" destination, Antarctica. 

Arriving Ushuaia from Buenos Aires (so excited)

Departing Ushuaia en route to Antarctica the next day (way more excited)

Now, I'm old enough to know that every part of a journey is...well, part of the journey; nonetheless, I probably didn't give Ushuaia a fair shot at the time. Looking back, though, I realize that our time there was pretty great. (More about that in a later post.)

We arrived on the afternoon of December 31st, so most of the shops and restaurants were closed or closing. But it was New Year's Eve, so we rushed to the liquor store and bought champagne for later. Then we found a little convenience store where we bought snacks--and where my son was given chicle (gum) instead of change!

Rushed, hungry, and tired of all the beef we'd had in Buenos Aires, we quickly found an open restaurant and ordered pasta, seafood and cold beer. Yep, an Irish pub at the southernmost tip of South America. Go figure.

Irish pub on Avenida San Martin

King crab cannelloni

King crab cocktail

Then we headed to our hotel, where we found this view:

So, really, who could complain?

More Antarctica


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Snow Angels

On Sunday, my sister Susan and I participated in the St. Petersburg Rock 'n Roll Half-Marathon. It was soooo cold and windy at the start that we thought we had mistakenly entered a race in St. Petersburg, Russia, rather than St. Petersburg, Florida. (People keep telling me that Florida is warm and sunny in the winter, but I have yet to see evidence of this during my many, many visits.)  Brrrrrr.

As my teeth were chattering, it occurred to me that exactly one month before, my boys and I were in Antarctica.

This was one of the only days we had snow. I swear it was warmer than in Florida this weekend.  Warm enough for this sort of nonsense, anyway:

Snow Angels!

And Shirtlessness!

And--no kidding--swimming in 33 degree water studded with icebergs.

As I was too chicken to do the polar bear swim at Whaler's Bay, and otherwise kept my clothes on, I was not entitled to partake in the celebratory Jaegerbombs:

But I promise you this: if Susan and I ever agree to compete in another race as cold as the one we did this weekend, I will definitely buy us a round...or two.

More Antarctica

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Pictures I Wish I'd Taken

One of my 2012 resolutions is to improve my photography.  

Unfortunately, I haven't gotten very much past the resolving stage. 

In early January, I was on my way to Antarctica packing a brand new camera and all sorts of good intentions. Intentions like "reading the manual." Oops. Well, I meant to read it.


In light of my modest effort, I was kind of pleased with this gull photo. The penguins were gracious enough to stand obligingly still and pose while I struggled with the settings, but the gulls, skuas and albatrosses just refused to cooperate and insisted on flying away while I was still fumbling with shutter speeds and apertures and ISOs. As you might expect, I came away with some almost-good photos.


But because I like my readers, and think you deserve better than that, I want to share some really great bird photos from Cathy, John, Oleg, Trevor and Scott of the wonderful expedition staff of the Corinthian II who shared the following shots with me. Hope you enjoy them!

Aren't these just spectacular?

More Antarctica

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Icebergs

Like lots of people, I  have trouble imagining distances. When I was little, I measured everything in "Daddys." I knew my Dad was six feet tall, so I just compared everything to him. I suppose I shouldn't admit it, but even now I estimate the size of a room by picturing a whole row of Daddys laying down end to end and multiplying by six. Hey, don't judge me -- it works. Still, the "Papa method" of measurement has its limitations: when I invented this method I had not yet grasped the concept of "area." 

A 19-mile long crack in a glacier in Antarctica is expected to calve an iceberg measuring 350 square miles. To compare, Manhattan is about 23 square miles. San Francisco is less than 50 square miles. Cairo, one of the world's most populous cities, is just over 82 square miles. While interesting, these figures still aren't that helpful. Tell you what: go to Google Maps, locate your house and see what is 19 miles away in one direction, then go 19 miles in a perpendicular direction. Draw a square. That is how big this iceberg is expected to be. Yikes!

While you're worrying about that, here are some photos of the 

comparatively tiny icebergs we saw on our recent trip to Antarctica.

They really are that color

These were relatively small ones, but they look huge compared to our little Zodiacs

Makes me want to go back. But maybe not when the giant one is calving.

More Antarctica

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Super Sunday Haiku

No Bowl, no matter:

The Terrible Towel rocks

Any latitude

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In the Running

I haven't yet decided which Antarctica photo is my favorite.

But this is definitely in the running.

More Antarctica

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Unendangered Species

I'm a fairly terrible bird-watcher. This may be result of my first birding experience was when I was nine years old, on a salt marsh in coastal Maine. It was early, barely dawn. There had been no breakfast. It was chilly and there were approximately fifty bazillion mosquitoes. Oh, and some egrets.  I wasn't that impressed. Although the blue heron was cool.


Subsequent experiences weren't much better. Mostly I just strained my neck swiveling my binoculars back and forth unsuccessfully looking for a glimpse of the golden-headed scarlet-breasted whatever that everyone else spotted with ease. I must have been the person for whom camouflage was invented, because I can never see anything.

That's why I really liked penguin watching. They are big. They hold still. They roost on the ground. They do not fly away while you study them. They are cooperative with photographers. AND...there are lots and lots of them. Lots and lots and LOTS.

Not only that, but it's easy to tell one species from another. They very thoughtfully developed such clearly different markings that even a rotten birder like me can identify each species at a glance. So if you want to take me with you on your next trip to Antarctica, I will happily go as your penguin guide. This little guy is helpfully named the Chinstrap penguin.

                                  See the chinstrap marking?

The Gentoo (and only the Gentoo) has a strikingly bright orange beak. This allows you to identify them quickly and at a distance. Your friends will be so impressed with your ornithology skills.

And the Adelie penguin conveniently has neither a chinstrap nor an orange beak, so you can identify it at a glance simply by the process of elimination...

And if you're lucky, you can see a whole bunch of 'em playing on an iceberg.

More Antarctica 
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