Day 319: Family Eating Plan, Sunsets Included

On Day 319, we woke up planning to nothing other than continue our vacation activities: diving for sea urchins, tanning by Yaya's pool, sleeping wherever and whenever we wanted. In many ways, the trip had started to feel like a broken record. Like the best broken record there ever has been: sleep, boat, swim, tan, eat, and repeat.

I started to notice a pattern at our twice-daily sit down meals with Yaya that felt familiar to me. Somewhere in between me whispering under my breath, "This is so delicious," and happily indulging in another helping of whatever perfectly prepared food we were eating, Yaya would ask us what we wanted for lunch and dinner in the days to come.

Yaya, like members of my own family, likes to plan her next meal while still eating her current meal. Gallmans are notorious for this and it completely baffles me. How could I, taking my first bite of cereal at 9am, possibly know what I'm going to want in three hours for lunch, or in eight hours when it's time to have dinner? I'm obviously not a planner and I know this very fact is likely maddening to the more organized people in my life, but the constant need to know what we're eating for every meal in a week is both frustrating and humorous. In the case of my family, since we're dealing with a large group that includes kids and bedtimes and grocery shopping, I understand the need for some foresight and discussion. And in the case of Yaya, her goal is to please her grandchildren and she wants to make sure they get all of the meals they like to eat while they're in Greece. But the whole planning thing just goes against my natural tendency to just take things as they come, and eat when I'm hungry. I can't plan dinner now because I don't know what I'm going to feel like eating in six hours, or if I'm going to want to eat at all. But the Gallmans want to know. So does Yaya.

I make these comparisons because I had to chuckle thinking that while Chios, Greece and Oak Island, North Carolina are quite possibly the two most different places on earth, I felt an instant connection between them, strangely: perhaps it was the nothing to do, nowhere to be, family time at its finest feeling? And even though it wasn't my family with home I was enjoying this unbelievable vacation, I still felt the love. And as if Yaya had gone out of her way to make me feel at home by incorporating my own family traditions, we'd decided, while eating one of our meals on Day 318, that we would dine out on the evening of Day 319.

Thanks to an already established plan, Day 319's things I've never done before were to visit an abandoned city and to watch a sunset in Greece.

In addition to her lovely, super-romantic story about marrying Pappou on Day 318, Yaya also gave us a mini-history lesson about Chios, specifically about this town of Anavatos. Now I haven't been able to confirm that this next part is historically accurate, but I'm pretty sure that if Yaya told me the sky was green, I'd believe her, so I have no reason to think her story isn't true.

According to what Yaya knows, Anavatos had been able to resist the Massacre of Chios in 1822, thanks to having been built at the top of a steep, rocky mountain. The mass killing left tens of thousands dead, but because the terrain up to Anavatos was simply too treacherous, that city's people had been spared from the brutal attacks. That is, until a woman Yaya described as, "Not smart, not all together there, a village idiot-type," told a man promising to help her people just exactly how to navigate the terrain to get to Anavatos. She more or less showed him the route, unaware that when he got there, he would destroy Anavatos, and kill everyone in his path. Like I said, I have absolutely no proof that this story is factual, but after seeing the city, I definitely believe that something horrible happened there.

Getting to Anavatos in a car in 2010 felt every bit as difficult as it must've felt getting there in the 1800's. I can't recall ever getting motion sickness, but this is certainly the closest I've come. Yanni, the driver, did the best he could to get us there quickly and safely and without making us sick, but there was only so much he could do. The roads were steep and narrow and they winded back and forth; Anavatos was at the very top. Looking over the cliffs from a car window was nauseating.

Once we arrived at the top of the mountain, I thought we were on a movie set. The entire scene, the destroyed buildings, toppled over bricks, piles of debris, all looked like they were staged for the invasion scene of a film. Yaya insisted we walk to the top to check out the view; she said she would stay behind with Yanni at the car. The walk, she said, was just too much for her.

Katy decided she'd stay behind with Yaya while Jana and I walked to the top.

"No," Yaya said, "You go."

"Yaya, I don't want you to stay by yourself," Katy said, walking away with her.

"I'm fine. I don't need you to stay with me," Yaya returned. "You should go to the top to see the view."

"Yaya, I don't want to leave you," Katy said.

"This could go on for a while," Jana said jokingly. She's seen her sister's will, and her grandmother's, and it was unsure who would win this battle.

They went back and forth for a solid five minutes, Yaya taking Katy's hand and guiding her to the stairs to start walking, and Katy turning around to following Yaya back to the car. It was Granddaughter vs. Grandmother in likely the sweetest fight I've ever witnessed. I'm not a gambling woman, but I would've taken Yaya as the winner of this scuffle, and I would've been right. Katy had no choice but to relent to Yaya's wishes that she walk to the top with the rest of us and enjoy the beautiful views.

Katy, Jana and I took off through Anavatos; I stopped repeatedly to take pictures of the town, which rivaled San Francisco in terms of ass workouts the hills were so steep. Yaya was right about the exquisite views, but there was a sense of sadness and mystery that I could feel. If the story that Yaya had told us was true, then the people of Anavatos had likely established a healthy sense of security at the top of the mountain, certain no harm would come to them, only to be accidentally betrayed by one of their own and susceptible to a hostile takeover.

I just kept wondering, as I do whenever I'm in a place that is full of history, "What really happened here?"

We took a lot of pictures at the top, of the view, of the sun that was starting to set, and of ourselves (some of which felt inappropriate considering the devestation that happened there. But I can't help myself, I cry and laugh at inappropriate times.) We concluded that we all dressed inappropriately, and could've suffered fatal consequences trying to explore the damaged buildings in sandals and sundresses. I'm not a huge fan of heights anyway, and paired with an outfit that was poorly planned for exploring made me feel uneasy.

When we came back down to meet Yaya, she hurried us into the car so that we could get to dinner before the sun was completely gone. She then instructed Yanni to do whatever it took to get us there. And he did.

I don't know if Yaya called ahead, or if she knew the right people, but when we arrived at the restaurant, we were seated immediately at one of the best tables, in the center of everything, on a covered porch without any windows. And we made it just in time to watch the sun set into the hazy horizon, a gorgeous picture that luckily will be burned into my brain for a long time, thanks to my camera's inability to successfuly capture a picture of it. I'm not super picture-taker by any means, but I will accept user error only up to a certain point. Thankfully, Jana's camera, and camera skills, are better than mine. And I have an excellent memory.

I remember glancing briefly at a menu while we were there, but Yaya took charge of the ordering, just as she had with everything else. And order she did, because soon after we sat down, there was a constant flow of food (including fried cheese) and wine for at least an hour. Par for the course in Greece, we ate and drank like we were going to prison the next day.

Much to Yaya's delight after being concerned about their whereabouts all day, Nico and Tatiana joined us towards the end of the meal, having returned to town after an expectedly racous time at the football/soccer match.

The meal was rich and loud with food and story-telling and the whole scene made me feel like I had temporarily staked a claim in this family who like mine, sometimes argues, often over-plans, and always over eats.

My stomach hurt, but the rest of me felt pretty damn good, even on the wind-blown trip back to Emporios.

Day 267: Conserving Nature, Kind Of

I woke up early and drove back to Wilmington to got back from the beach just in time to go straight back to work. Not much time to do something I'd never done before.

Feeling particularly nostalgic about the beach, I participated in the Save the Gulf Oil Spill Telethon on Larry King Live and donated money to the Nature Conservancy as Day 267's thing I've never done before.

I've said before that this blog has made me the most self-centered I've ever been in my life, always thinking about writing and doing new things. Simultaneously, though, it has also made me the most charitable than I've ever been. When the ideas are stagnant, donate money! I'm happy that I have had my eyes opened to new organizations who are working towards the greater good.

I am not happy with the fact that I am now on yet another mailing list and have since the time of my donation, been bombarded by an influx of emails and snail mail. Is it just me, or do weekly mailings from an organization called the "Nature Conservancy," seem a little inappropriate? I'm trying not to judge, but I fear my $50 donation may have already, and not to help the Gulf, but on postage for these mail-outs.

Day 266: Adult Swim

Like the Cooper River Bridge Run in Charleston every spring, the annual Gallman Beach trip to Oak Island, North Carolina (formerly Long Beach) is a part of who I am. My extended family has been coming to this beach for a week during the summer since 1982, when I wasn't even two-years old.

Not surprising, then, that Oak Island is the backdrop of so many of my childhood memories. Looking through my Aunt Margaret's photo albums is like looking through one big book of gross teeth, bad fashion decisions and terrible hair, but the pictures, good, bad, what the hell was I thinking, tell the story of my life.

To be at the beach and find something to do that I've never done before was going to be difficult. Not because there aren't always possibilities everywhere, but because I like this trip exactly the way that it is.

I mean, all we really ever do at Oak Island is sit on the beach, read books, and talk to each other. And then we take showers, go to dinner and go to bed. The next day we get up, and we do it all again. And in 28 years, that hasn't really changed. We've rented different houses, we've all reached the crucial age of 21 and exchanged sodas for beers, my cousins have added spouses and children, but overall, this beach trip remains the same.

And that is why I love it.

I also love it because it's usually the only time during the year that I ever see my aunts, uncles and cousins. Busy lives, hectic schedules, and geography prevent us from making visits during the other 51 weeks of the year. Luckily we're able to easily pick things up right where we left them the year before, regardless of what ups or downs the previous 365 might've given us. One summer I said goodbye to my newlywed cousin Andrea and the following summer, I said hello to her and her new baby girl. I never once saw her pregnant.

Because my stops at the beach lately have been brief, I often feel like the tornado of the group. I'm the wacky cousin from Atlanta who blows into town, tells a bunch of crazy stories about the last year of my life rapid-fire style, and then I leave. In 48 hours, I'll cover my job, any relationships, friends, successes, failures, hopes, dreams, throwing in random stories about funny things that happened to me (and as you know, there are a lot.) I don't know if they are just satisfying my affinity for story-telling, or if they truly enjoy my shenanigans, but they make me feel like a stand-up comedian.

That I, Stephanie, the youngest cousin, the baby who used to sleep in a crib at the beach and who used to follow them wherever they went is turning 30 this year might be even more of a trip for them than it is for me. Being the youngest has its advantages in that any milestones I reach aren't being held in comparison to anyone else. Of course I'll be the last to get married and have children and buy a house. I'm the baby! And even though I may be concerned that I haven't done any of those things, my family never makes me feel like I might not be living up to my full potential of a normal 30-year old. They take me just where I am, ridiculous stories and all.

There is always a little anxiety interacting with my cousins' kids, however. Not because they're not cool, sweet kids, but because they don't know me. And seeing each other once a year doesn't work for them the way it works for their parents and me. We don't have the history there, so there isn't the opportunity to simply pick things up where we left off the year before.

"Hey A.J., remember when we caught all of those minnows and put them in the bucket?," doesn't sound like distant relative trying to make conversation. It just sounds creepy.

So over the years I've been trying to manage these relationships a variety of ways. First, I tried to be their friend, meet them on their level, and talk about things that I thought kids liked. Maybe I came on to strong, because they were not impressed. I'm still not sure if I simply annoyed them, or actually scared them. Regardless, it was a rookie move and it didn't work.

One year I tried to take my dad's approach and simply do my own thing and ignore them. My dad is like the kid whisperer, though nobody really knows why because having no grandchildren of his own, he doesn't really know how to behave around little kids. So he just acts like he would if there weren't any kids around. And kids can't get enough of him. I tried this; I acted like I was too cool, and didn't really pay attention to what they were doing. The result: they ignored me right back.

This year, I wanted to strike a happy medium. Be nice, and be available, but play it cool, don't seem overeager to be their friend, and don't force conversation. Let it happen naturally. Recognize that not all of them are going to be interested in you. Just focus on the ones who are. Funny, I think I've been given that advice as it pertains to my dating life. I guess it works in a variety of different scenarios.

My Aunt Margaret suggested that I should act as the lifeguard for all 14 kids in the pool as Day 266's thing I've never done before. I immediately shot down the suggestion, explaining to her that I only put my own life in danger for this project, no one else's, especially children that I'm distantly related to.

Instead, I casually dipped into the pool where they were all playing and observed the insanity, finding myself exhausted almost immediately. They're all yelling, and splashing each other, squirting me and each other with water guns. Though I didn't particularly enjoy all of that, I want these kids to like me, and I enjoy laughing at the hilarious things that they say. I think the water gun fight was a step in the right direction, but I still wasn't sure that they really know who I am, or if they understood how I fit in to the whole group. Again, the whole tornado metaphor applies here. I blow in, I blow out, and they don't see me again for a year. And I imagine they're all left wondering, but are too afraid to ask, "Who is that weird red-headed girl?"

The oldest generation (my dad and his siblings) was watching the pool pandemonium from the chairs on the patio. No one wanted to come near the water with so many young kids throwing Nerf balls and squirting each other with toy guns. There was a lot going on in that pool. But it was hot outside, so in search of some refreshment, my dad took matters into his own hands. He stood at the edge of the pool and yelled, "ADULT SWIM!," signaling it was time for all of the kids to get out of the pool and let the adults have a turn.

I laughed at my dad's clever maneuver, and stayed put in the deep end, quite pleased that by being 29, I've managed to earn a permanent spot in this pool; still young enough to squirt the little ones with water guns, and old enough to qualify for "Adult Swim."

But as the little ones swam to the side of the pool, my cousin Bethanne's daughter Tara looked at me and said, "You know, you're really not an adult."

Wow, I thought. All this time I thought these kids didn't really know me, but with those five words, I discovered, as Day 266's thing I've never done before, that Tara knows me a lot better than I thought. Maybe the other kids do too. Their parents' baby cousin is really just an adult-sized big kid.

After a full long day on the beach, we split up as a big group to celebrate Father's Day with our dads (not because we didn't want to hang out with each other, but because taking 33 people to a restaurant is a disaster.) Father's Day for me involved several more things that I'd never done before: asking my dad to edit my blog (about the NFL draft), drinking a Manhattan cocktail with him (disgusting, huge mistake), and watching the biggest choke in golf I've ever seen by Dustin Johnson at the U.S. Open.

And then, just to prove that we are either the most boring, or perhaps the most awesome family ever, we capped off the evening with some brownies, ice cream and home movies. First was the slideshow I made for my brother's wedding (followed by a reenactment of the toast I gave at his rehearsal dinner, which lacked in inspiration and authenticity considering it was a year later and Jeff wasn't even there. They didn't care, they ate it right up), and then a corporate "explainer" video all about my cousin Jason's wife Mindy's company. Apparently she was tired of explaining what she does for a living, and she preferred to have us watch for ourselves. I was actually into it, especially getting a kick out of all the different characters/employees they chose to narrate the film.

And that was it. A lot of ground to cover in two short days, but like always, I came, I shared, and I left. And I can't wait to do it again next year.

Oak Island on Dwellable

Day 265: Vacation, Family Style

I arrived in Wilmington, North Carolina early on Day 265, having gotten very little sleep the night before. Thanks to not checking my luggage, I walked off the plane and directly to my rental car with several hours to kill before anyone else in my family was planning to arrive.

So I decided to tour Wilmington as the Day 265's thing I've never done before.

To be fair, I have been going to the beach near Wilmington since I was two-years old, so there is a good chance that I've toured the city before. But since I didn't remember, and my mom couldn't either, I'm counting it.

I drove into the downtown, which was every bit as quaint as I imagined the southern coastal town would be. On the way, I saw lots of old homes with big porches and big oak trees with branches that shade the streets. I parked my rental car and walked through the streets, down by the water and the weekend farmer’s market, snapping pictures of things that looked old and therefore significant.

Despite its quaintness and laid back feel, Wilmington had a touch of Nashville added in since becoming, over the years, a popular site for television producers and filmmakers. Shows like One Tree Hill and Dawson's Creek were filmed there. I kept looking around expecting to see someone famous walking down the street. And then I remembered that I don't watch shows on the WB, so even if they did I probably wouldn't recognize them anyway.

I wandered into a local diner, and popular breakfast spot, the Dixie Grill, sat at the bar and ordered a vegetable omelet and a coffee. My seat allowed me to split my time watching the World Cup and watching people coming and going.

After eating, I did some more walking around town, window shopping at some of the upscale boutiques. I was fading fast, though, and decided to leave Wilmington to start making my way to Oak Island, which was about half an hour away. I pulled over in a bank parking lot and took a nap for a little while, but after receiving clearance and directions from my mom, thought maybe it'd be better if I napped by the pool at the house we'd rented.

So I headed that way, and made Day 265's thing I've also never done before to change from regular clothes into a bathing suit in the front seat of a Dodge Neon.

I was sitting on the steps of the pool when a woman who worked for the Realtor arrived to make sure the house had been cleaned properly. She seemed surprised to see me. I explained to her that I had arrived early, and that my family was on their way in a couple of hours with the key and that I was just going to sit by the pool and wait for them to get there. Still looking skeptical, she took out her cell phone and began making a call.

I could only hear her side of the conversation. She repeated exactly what I had said to her. That my cousin Bethanne was bringing the key in a couple of hours and I was just going to hang out until she and the rest of my family arrived.

I wasn't sure if she is a stickler for the rules, or didn't believe me when I told her that all I wanted to do was to take a nap by the pool. Maybe I just look like I'm up to no good. But after she hung up the phone she said, "We're going to have to ask that you vacate the premises until your family gets here. It's just a liability that we can't take on."

"Vacate the premises?," I'm pretty sure in 29 years I'd never had anyone say that to me. And no one has ever accused me of being a liability right to my face. Apparently this woman, or her bosses back at the realty company, mistook me for 21-year old Stephanie. Couldn't they tell that I'm older now, almost 30, and responsible? I guess not.

I was annoyed that I was forced to leave the pool, but somewhat relieved that despite the fact that I'm almost 30, I still look young, stupid, and capable of doing serious damage to property or physical injury to myself. So much so in fact, that without the renter of the house there with me I simply couldn't be trusted to nap, which is all I wanted to do.

So since I couldn't stay at the pool, I decided I'd raise hell out on the beach. It was 11:30am, after all, and I'd slept at least two hours the night before. I didn't have a beach chair or a towel to lie on, so I took a walk on the beach and waited for my parents to arrive.

They did, signaling that it was safe and appropriate for me to return to the premises. Shortly after, the rest of the extended Gallman family arrived.

And then chaos ensued.

Not because of any one person, or any event, specifically. But because when 33 people who have been cooped up in cars all day arrive at the same place, at the same time, with a week's full of luggage, snacks, drinks, beach chairs, paper products, board games, and beach toys, to unload, chaos abounds.

Oh, and 14 of those 33 were under the age of 18.

I wished that the cleaning inspector woman had returned to see the insanity so I could look at her and say, "See, lady, who's the liability now?"

I escaped briefly to buy beer for everyone, my contribution to the week's vacation, but for the next few hours, we unloaded cars, stocked pantry shelves that looked like they were meant for a shelter, and geared up for vacation, Gallman Family style.

Wilmington on Dwellable