Day 361: Shrimping, Finally

On Day 361, I arrived in Charleston to kick off my birthday weekend, and went straight to my friend Adam's house. He'd promised to take me shrimping as the thing I'd never done before since Day 294 when we overslept and quite literally missed the shrimp boat the first time we'd tried to go.

That day turned out to be a lot of fun. Adam and spent the day (ALL day) brunching instead, hitting various Charleston spots that I'd never been before. But I was still very disappointed that I'd blown my chance to go shrimping.

He wasn't sure if he'd be able to make the shrimp boat happen again, but Adam said when I came back to town, we could take his own boat and go shrimping ourselves. That sounded like a perfect way to kick off my birthday weekend. I arrived at Adam's house right as the sun was setting, and we, along with Adam's roommate Roy, jumped in his truck and headed to the boat ramp.

Day 361's thing I've never done before to go shrimping, finally.

I assumed that we'd be on the boat catching shrimp for a couple of hours and that we'd have plenty of time to head out on the town afterward. In fact, I liked the idea of myself wearing a fishing shirt and grabbing a couple of well-deserved beers following a successful evening out on the water. But Adam informed me, when we stopped at Harris Teeter to buy beer and something for dinner, that shrimping was an all-evening affair.

"There won't be any bars open when we finish up," Adam said, as he grabbed a bucket of chicken and a container of macaroni and cheese (sadly the only picture saved from the lost camera is that of Adam and the macaroni).

Clearly, I had absolutely no idea what we were in for.

By the time we loaded all of the tools, coolers and put the boat in the water, it was completely dark outside. A strange time to be headed out on the water, but the night could not have been more beautiful. The moon was full and bright and it hung over the harbor as if someone had painted it there for us. The light it gave was more than enough to guide us where we wanted to go and I wished that all nights could be so lovely, and that all of my evenings would begin on a boat in Shem Creek.

We all cracked our first beer and basked in the moon's glow for about five minutes. And then Adam said it was time to get to work.

Work meant making the shrimp bait patties, possibly the worst part of shrimping. Shrimp bait patties are made of powdered clay and shrimp meal. Adam had already mixed the dry ingredients in a painter's bucket and smiling the whole time, he dipped a few cup fulls of salt water and added them to the mixture, creating a thick, gooey, paste-like substance that stunk really bad. Adam's smile went from charming to sinister as he mixed, darting his eyes from me to Roy then back to me. He knew that I was eager to be involved in this process, and that I was willing to do whatever needed to be done. But he knew sticking my hands in this stinky mush would completely disgust me. And it did.

I didn't hesitate, though, and I rolled up my sleeves and got to work. While Roy and I made the patties, that looked like hamburgers when we were done, Adam scoped out a place for us to set up our markers and drop our bait. If there is any kind of rhyme or reason to choosing a place to shrimp, I couldn't tell. Adam merely chose an area that was far away from any other shrimpers.

When we had our area, we had to mark where we intended to drop our bait, so as Adam drove the boat slowly, Roy stuck the equivalent of a PVC pipe (or maybe it was PVC pipe) into the ocean floor every 10 to 20 feet. Ideally, the 10 poles should all end up in a straight line, only that didn't exactly happen. We were close enough, though, so we decided to go with it. Plus, the first one I tried to stake barely even stuck in the ground at all, so the fact that I was able to get it to stay was good enough for me.

Once the stakes were in the ground, we returned the boat to the first pole and we dropped a couple of shrimp bait patties in front of it, placing them gently into the water and letting them fall.

We hadn't caught a single shrimp and I was tired. I like activities that I can show up and they happen, but shrimping, I learned, requires a great deal of preparation and quite a bit of patience.

Once the bait was set, Roy took over as the driver of the boat, and Adam, wearing fishing waders, stood on the stern with a net. Driving slowly, Roy approached the first pole; Adam, using both hands and his mouth, shook the net out and cast it open. Almost as quickly as he dropped it in the water, he started to pull it back in with both hands.

I watched nervously, and jumped up from my seat, wanting to assist but not exactly sure how, or in what way to do so. Adam said nothing and didn't indicate that he needed any help, and as Roy drove the boat slowly away from the pole, he pulled the net into the boat and lifted it over the empty cooler in front of me. There were about a dozen shrimp inside.

I was elated.

"Alright!," I yelled. "Good job!" No, it was hardly the bounty I'd seen shrimpers get on big shrimp boats, but still, it was shrimp! That we (well, Adam) had caught!

Roy and Adam were unimpressed. They went on to tell me that they'd been out a few nights before and each net full had yielded 20, maybe 30 shrimp at a time. They filled their cooler in a couple of hours.

I loved that shrimping was something that these guys did often, and filed that fact under, "Reasons why living at the beach is way cooler than living in the city."

Roy turned the boat around, and went to the second pole and Adam cast the net again, the second time yielding just five or six shrimp. My role in the process became to pick up the little critters when they bounced out of the cooler and to throw any fish that may have ended up inside our net back into the ocean. The job sounds lame, but it was right up my alley and I only managed to get pinched a handful of times before I took Adam's advice and wore gloves.

There wasn't a whole lot of conversation throughout the process, much to my dismay, and I was the only one really drinking beers at all. Roy, as the driver, had to be focused on where he was going at all times. Adam was under a lot of physical stress because the net was heavy and for the most part the boat was in constant motion. If we'd stopped to take a break between each cast, we would've been out there for hours. Shrimping is hardly the kick your feet up and drink beers kind of outing. It's hard work.

At one point, Roy could tell I was really studying what was happening around me, and he spoke up.

"So, Gallman, how are you going to write this?," Roy asked me. "Will you say I, 'maneuvered the boat with pinpoint accuracy and Adam cast the net like it was an extension of himself?'"

I laughed. Those weren't the words I would've come up with, but I certainly couldn't think of a more accurate way to describe these two shrimping experts.

I couldn't let the night end without at least trying to cast the shrimping net, so when Adam paused for a well-deserved, much-needed break, I stood on the stern and tried to copy exactly what he did. My cast was not at all an extension of myself, more like an ugly toss, but I managed to snag a few shrimp. I only did it twice and I was exhausted. No wonder there wasn't a lot of chatter coming from him.

It took us several rounds (much longer than it had taken them in the past), but after several hours, we nearly filled a 50 quart cooler with shrimp for the Lowcountry boil I'd planned for the weekend. Adam was right, by the time we got back to the ramp, it was after two in the morning, and there was still work to be done. The three of us sat around the cooler and pulled the heads off the shrimp and threw them in the water. Another not-so-pleasant but necessary part of shrimping.

For all it's unpleasantness, the entire evening was the opposite. A perfect evening in my most favorite city catching my dinner. Not too shabby.

Day 294: Shem Creek Sunday

The plan, laid out days in advance, for Day 294, was for my friend and lover of the outdoors, Adam, to take me shrimping. On a real-deal shrimp boat.

Only we both over slept and missed the boat.

I was so upset about my irresponsibility, and sincerely had anxiety about oversleeping for two reasons:

1. I really wanted to go.

2. Adam's friend who set it up was counting on us to be there and we completely blew him off. I'd never even met the guy, but I'm sure he was not happy that we were so flaky.

After stressing most of the morning about literally, "missing the boat," we decided to do the next best thing to shrimping on a summer Sunday.

We went brunching.

Not only did we go Sunday brunching, we brunched at the very same restaurant we ate dinner at the night before, Red Drum on Mt. Pleasant. The same restaurant, twice in 12 hours? I have stayed at a restaurant long enough to eat two meals there, but I don't think I've ever eaten dinner and brunch at the same place on two separate days, in a row. That could've been Day 294's thing I've never done before. I think the hostess did a double take when we came and we had to remind her that yes, she'd seen us before (the very night before.)

We sat at the bar, where we randomly ran into an old college friend, Jacqui, and her boyfriend, Andy. I drank my first bellini (sparkling wine and peach puree), as another thing I'd never done before. And then we took our Sunday Funday outdoors to Shem Creek Bar & Grill, where we enjoyed the sun, the boats passing by, and eventually, the sunset, all at a place I'd never been to before.

Ok, so I didn't go shrimping like I wanted to, but I did manage to achieve several new things with old friends, and I call that success. Actually, I call it a most perfect Sunday.

If you live in the Charleston area and have not enjoyed Red Drum on a Sunday, then YOU are missing the boat.

Day 293: Training Day

When I told her I was in town on Day 293 and wanted to see her, my best childhood friend Danielle said, "Well come on over. [Husband] George and [daughter] Karson are both out of town. I'm potty-training [2-year old son] Greyson this weekend, so I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere."

I probably don't need to tell you that I don't know anything about potty-training, despite successfully making a diaper cake and changing my first newborn diaper this year. But I've heard enough horror stories from my own mother and seen other friends begging for advice on Facebook to understand that teaching a toddler how to use the bathroom is not always the easiest thing to do.

But still, not leaving the house? For an entire weekend? That seemed a little extreme.

I went over to Danielle’s to find her and Greyson in the front yard playing. The three of us stood out there for a while, until it got too hot, and then we went indoors. Danielle and I didn't waste any time catching up on each other's lives while also trying to entertain Greyson.

While standing in her kitchen, I noticed a stash of salty, unhealthy foods on Danielle's table. I looked the bags of cheese puffs and Little Debbie cakes and was confused.

“What’s with all of this?” I asked. Owning this much junk food was out of character for Danielle. Food of any kind strewn across her kitchen table was very out of character for her.

"The junk food makes him thirsty . . . which makes him drink water . . . ,” her voice trailed off as if these two pieces of information should all make sense to me, but I was confused. I shook my head slowly, a vacant look on my face.

“Then he has to use the bathroom . . . it helps him to understand the difference between being wet and dry,” she kept explaining.

“Oh.”

That technique seemed a little strange to me, but Danielle is an excellent mother, so I trusted she knew what she was doing (at least better than I did).

But I noticed, after she interrupted the conversation with her third or fourth, "Greyson, are you wet? Do you need to sit on the potty?," that he didn't seem to be "getting" what she was saying.

"So what's the deal?," I had to ask her, "He's not into it?"

"Um, no," she said, "He doesn't care if he’s wet or dry. He'd cruise around with poop in his pants for days if I let him."

I looked down at Greyson's sweet little face as he ran through Danielle's kitchen without any shorts on. He squealed and laughed while doing a little dance.

"See?," Danielle asked me.

She was right. Greyson didn't seem at all concerned with using the potty.

Even when we'd run him into the bathroom multiple times during one hour and force him to sit on it, he did so willingly, but seemed completely uninterested. We'd clap wildly and make a big deal about throwing the pee-pee from the little potty into the big potty, and he looked at us like we were nuts.

This went on for several hours; ample time for Danielle and I to catch up, but not much time to do anything else. Day 293’s thing I’ve never done before was to help potty-train a two-year old.

Frequent trips to the bathroom are the reason why going out into public is simply not feasible while potty-training. Potty-training takes commitment, stamina, and as Danielle and I were realizing, a child that wants to learn how.

Greyson, at least not at that time, was not.

There were several moments when I was borderline harassing Greyson to tell me if he needed to go to the bathroom, chasing him from room to room to ensure that he hadn't already gone, and sitting with him in the bathroom for long periods of time both of us staring at each other.

As far as all of my friends’ children are concerned, I am interested in one thing: being the absolute coolest aunt I can possibly be, gaining their adoration and unconditional love. I felt myself quickly moving from “Cool Aunt,” to “Mommy’s Sidekick.”

I was only a few hours invested into the project, and I cared more than he did. Selfishly, I wanted to make it happen (as if potty-training can happen in one afternoon), so that I could leave Danielle’s house confident that I would be able to say to Greyson later in life, “I was there when you were potty-trained.”

Weird? Maybe.

But considering I’ve been with Danielle for so many of these milestones in her life, in my life, and in her kids’ lives, it really wasn’t. In fact, I had to laugh, when at one point during the day, I took over for Danielle and took Greyson to the bathroom by myself. He sat on his little potty and I sat across from him, and we both looked at each other. It was like staring into Danielle’s elementary school face when we used to “play house,” on the playground at Harbison West. Only now we’re playing house for real! With her kids!

This version of “house” we were playing out in real life was far less glamorous, and not nearly like the one we had concocted all those years ago. But somehow the real thing felt a lot better, and I smiled to think about how far we’ve come.

After a stressful day of semi-parenting, I left Danielle at her house and went to the beach to meet my friend Adam. When his friends asked me where I'd been most of the day, I told them I'd been with my best friend, helping potty-train her son.

"That sounds terrible," one of them said.

But it wasn't terrible at all. It was pretty hilarious. And awesome.

***I'm happy to report that Greyson has, since Day 293, been potty-trained, without junk food, which Danielle tossed the next day. And no surprise, I had nothing to do with it.***

Day 182: Happy Half-Birthday to Me!

We're half-way there, blog readers. Actually, I am way past half-way there, just behind on writing about it.

Day 182 was my half-birthday.

Facing the downside of my 29th year freaked me out a little bit. I can't believe this project is half-over. I can't believe my twenties are almost over. I can't believe I'm almost 30.

I had to keep myself busy, and find a way to acknowledge this day in a positive way.

Day 182's thing I've never done before was to celebrate my half-birthday.

I started the day having lunch with my best friend from high school, Danielle, and her family.

The meal was good, the company was better and I laughed out loud when Danielle's daughter Karson dropped her fork while eating, turned to me and said, "Aunt Steph, have you ever had lice?"

Though that was a question I've never been asked before, this conversation really had nothing to do with my half-birthday celebration. With only six months left of my twenties, though, I loved that in her ever-hilarious way, Karson was able to take me back to my childhood by bringing up a word I hadn't heard in probably 20 years.

I laughed as I responded, "Lice? Yes, I had lice a looooooong time ago. Have you?"

"No," she replied, going back to eating her meal.

I looked at Danielle as if to say, "Why is she asking me about lice?"

Danielle said, matter of factly, "Big lice outbreak at school."

As humorous as this little exchange was to me, and as joyful as all of my visits with Karson are, I couldn't help but be reminded of how fast time is flying. She's seven-years old. She starting to lose teeth. She knows words like, "lice."

I'm almost 30. Ugh.

I find that the best thing to do when I'm feeling down about my age is to hang out with someone older than me. The obvious choice was my friend Adam, who is exactly two years older than I am. Exactly.

Adam and I met in college and I remember when I found out that we were born on the same day, I was floored. At that time he was the only person I'd ever met that had the same birthday as me. Like it was inconceivable to me that someone else could've also been born on September 27th.

I was even more shocked when I went to Adam's house and noticed that he, like me, set his clock 14 minutes fast.

Freaky, right?

I called him when I was done with lunch.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said.

I told him I was coming over to his house and that he was making his blog debut on Day 182 and we were celebrating our half birthdays.

I walked to Cupcake in Mt. Pleasant and bought four cupcakes, all different flavors.

"Happy Half-Birthday!" I shouted when Adam answered the door. It's a good thing we're such good friends, because he probably would've thought I was insane otherwise.

He happily supports my crazy ideas and though he's never said so, I know he would do anything to support the blog, even if it meant celebrating a non-holiday and eating cupcakes on Sunday afternoon.

We blew out the candles and made a wish. I wished that the next six months would go slowly and that when they were finally over that I would be level-headed about it. And that I would become more interesting and more beautiful when my real birthday did arrive.

I'm a greedy wisher, what can I say?

We ate our cupcakes, which were amazing, and then I had to return to Atlanta to get started on the second half of this challenge.

Happy Half-Birthday to me! And to Adam! And to Project 29 to 30!