Out here in Sonoma County we get a fair amount of fog. In fact all week it was overcast and gray until the sun broke through for a few hours in the late afternoons. Of course Saturday was gorgeous, but I was more interested in working on my random image blog plugin than actually getting outdoors.

Thankfully Mark and Monica scooped me up that night and took me to a cookout with their friends and family in Graton (a town smaller than Sebastopol and a bit further north). I had the loveliest time out by their homemade (I should say home-welded) firepit, eating, talking, and watching the stars. It’s worth noting that my marshmallow roasting technique is unstoppable. Or so I was told.

So this morning I was eager to get out before sunset, given that I was treated again to sun and blue sky through my bedroom window. Santa Rosa is about 40 minutes from Bodega Bay (the closest ocean access) and an hour or so from Tomales Bay (between the mainland and Point Reyes). I decided it was time to take advantage.

So I called up a kayaking company and got the lowdown (they only rent open face kayaks until you’ve taken their class), signed up for the class next weekend, and got Marcia on board for a kayaking adventure on Tomales Bay this afternoon. We got there about noon, they supplied the kayak and wetsuits, a few pointers, and we were off.

Kayaking is always harder and less comfortable than I remember, probably because I’m not used to locomoting with my arms. I’m pretty sure the last time I was out in a kayak was the Outward Bound trip I took in Maine four years ago. But after a while I got into a groove, and it seemed like the most natural thing. We spent about two hours on the water, did a little exploring of a coastal cliff area, and ate the excellent sandwiches we’d picked up at Perry’s Deli in Inverness Park.

Not wanting to limit our adverture to upper body exertion only, we took the drive out to the Point Reyes Lighthouse with hopes that we might get a good view with the sun still out. The lighthouse is perched low on a cliff (to get below the fog) which requires a 300 step (or 30 story) descent in order to reach. Though no longer operational, it’s really quite something to see.

Of course what comes down must go back up. All 302 steps up.

Monday morning I met up with Alice at the Weave, and we walked down to Ye Olde Waffle Shoppe, another one of my homey Chapel Hill favs. Especially the breakfast counter. We talked up a storm per usual. After breakfast we hiked around campus, checking out all the new buildings that have popped up in just the last 3 years (since I was an undergrad). We spent some nice time sitting across from the Undergraduate Library watching all the kids go by.

Afterwards, Jane and I went to lunch at Carrburritos, sharing our standard chicken nachos with guacamole (and a preemptive side of chips). We took the rest of the afternoon pretty easy, made some sangria for the evening, did some other chores and errands. After a full day of travel on Sunday we just wanted to take it easy.

Around 5 we met back up with folks in Carrboro for a labor day barbecue hosted by Patrick and Abe. Everyone that I’d seen previously through the haze of Hell showed up for some expertly grilled burgers, homemade mac and cheese, chips, and beer. Conversation was our typically funny, self-referential loop of inside jokes and quips. About what I really couldn’t say, though I seem to remember something about colostomy bags.

As it got late the crowd dwindled—most everyone had some form of work or classes in the morning. Eventually it was just the core of us, Jane, Christy, Patrick, Abe and myself. I’m not sure how it started, but we very quickly become embroiled in a rousing discussion about intelligent design and states rights. We helped clean up, and I barely made it through an episode of Sharpe’s Rifles that Patrick had put on. I was bushed.

Tuesday was a travel day, my flight left shortly after 3, Christy’s an hour later, which meant we really only had enough time to do some last minute chores and of course get some ice cream at Maple View Farms in Carrboro. The weather was just lovely, so we sat outside at Weaver Street, this time with Chloe who’d spent the weekend with friends. When it was time to go, Jane drove me to the airport. And I was off.

I imagine only waking up after an late wedding reception would be worse than the morning after a Hell dance party. Something about the combination of hungover dehydration and muscle fatigue makes for quite the array of otherworldly sensations. Mostly pain.

Nonetheless we (Jane, Patrick, Christy, and I) proceeded with our plans to visit the beach. It was a beautiful September day, and we drove down to Topsail Island, just north of Wilmington. The water was warm, the waves not too rough, and an occasional cloud kept the sun from constantly glaring down.

After a few hours we packed up and headed towards Wilson, NC for some barbecue. That meant country roads most of the way, and after some difficulty finding a place, we made it to Bill’s a half hour before closing. Not only did they have a full buffet of all the fixins and sides, but there was an actual pulled pig laid out, head and all. Which you might remember I’ve had some experience with.

We got back home pretty late, met up with Abe who’d returned that afternoon, and watched the Layer Cake on their kick ass projection screen home theater setup.

I got into RDU late on Friday night. The air was hot. Jane picked me up at the airport, it was the first time we’d seen each other in nearly 4 months.

We drove to Carrboro, to Patrick and Abe’s house where I’d be staying. Abe was away at a wedding with Kathleen. Patrick was Patrick. Christy was there, having flown in for the weekend from Seattle, her hometown before coming to Chapel Hill for school. We went out to OCSC, had a few beers, caught up, and went back home for bed.

Saturday morning we walked up to Weaver Street for brunch. It felt familiar, a place I’d lived only a block away from for two years. I could walk to Weaver Street whenever I wanted. I rode my bike by it at least twice a day. It’s a place I love like a person.

Afterwards we caught a matinee showing of the Constant Gardener which has some stunning footage of living conditions in parts of Kenya. Yet another reminder of the desire I have (or think I have) to live and work abroad.

That evening I met up with Phill and Susan. We talked about their trip to France, my work with O’Reilly, and our Measure colleagues from Tulane who have been displaced and disrupted by the hurricane. I went with them to a dinner party held by the owners of Julian’s where I got treated to a low country boil of shrimp, potatoes and corn on the cob. Later Jane came by to grab me and go to Hell, but ended up staying and enjoying some of the boil herself.

So we raced back to Carrboro to change (my third outfit of the day) and went straight to Hell, having missed the traditional preparty at Erik and Niamh’s. I quite enjoyed just showing up on the dance floor quite literally out of nowhere, much to everyones’ surprise. We danced and danced even though it was hot as hell. By the end (2am) my shirt was soaking wet.

Jane and I stopped by her place to make some post dance party vittles (eggs, bacon, and tater tots) before heading back to Carrboro to crash.

the only fireworks i recall playing with growing up were sparklers. and i only remember playing with sparklers in texas. when i was in high school. clearly i was deprived.

texas was the first place i remember booths set up at intersections for selling fireworks. usually buy 1 get 12 free. i’m not sure how it was that we never stopped at any booths or bought any fireworks. was it the prevailing sense of safety in our family coupled with a tendency for watt’s to lose fingers? was it the expense? $50 for a snack pack of fireworks that spit out sparks and flames for all of 15 minutes. but who among us would not have loved 15 minutes of sparks and flames in our driveway? maybe it was illegal to set off fireworks within the city limits.

i think the first time i bought my own fireworks was at a tent set up in new hope commons, the strip mall between chapel hill and durham. this was a big, inviting white tent. i couldn’t help myself. i had never stopped at or been to one of those booths before. i had to see what was in the tent. they had fireworks. many, many fireworks. so many i didn’t even know where to start. buy a box set? i’m sure i got a variety for $20 or 30 dollars. i remember setting them off on campus in the bricked in pavillion behind the psychology building.

tonight i went to joy and kyle’s 4th of july bbq in sebastopol, replete with drink monkeys and blended beverages. after some frisbee we walked over to the safeway for fireworks. and saw this guy’s wicked tat:

he was buying fireworks at the same time that we picked up the “nite thriller” (regularly priced at $63.42!!!), but for a limited time only, $39.99. i’m pretty sure conrad was playing air guitar with our fireworks. he was that psyched.

after getting back we put a whole lotta meat on the grill and with the help of a wireless meat thermometer, we knew when to sit down to eat. from left to right that’s dawn, conrad, marcia, joy, and kyle.

then we drank until the sun went down, and did this:

and this:

for 15 minutes. until we smelled of sulfur and had the garbage can set fire. it was loud, and smoky, but made for loverly night photos. finally the fireworks were spent and we were spent and it was time to clean up and head home.

update: joy’s photos (some of me in there, mostly making faces)