Boots on the Beach

 Boots on the beach? Barefoot on the beach seems like a more likely combination, especially for anyone (like me) who only has the opportunity to enjoy the ocean one week out of the year.

And yet, this time at the ocean was different. I had traded bare feet for boots, a bikini for a blanket and sunglasses for a scarf. While it did feel a bit bizarre at first, I did feel like I was able to fully appreciate Mother Nature's beauty just a little bit more than when hordes of bikini-wearers and swim trunk-bearers infiltrate the beach.

Looking left, looking right, looking straight ahead, not a human soul, although the sea gulls were a different story. The whole atmosphere had taken on a different aura, transitioning from a place of socializing to a place of solitude.

And this was Long Island--Southampton to be exact. This was a place where all the celebs are supposed to lavishly love out their summers, shopping at Dolce and J. Crew to escape the "harsh" demands of the NYC summer life. A place where people swarm in the warm summer months.

But somehow the salty air tasted just a little bit sweeter; the unwavering breeze smelled a little bit fresher; and being alone on the beach didn't seem quite so lonely.

Beautifully Chaotic; Chaotically Beautiful

My senses were inundated. I couldn't seem to take it all in fast enough. The scene--the one at the Yellow Springs Street Fair--is one that will last in my memory bank for a very long time.

Indeed a sight for the eyes--muted grays and charcoals of drawings gave way to the blend of turquoise, royal purple and sea-foam green of crocheted berets, which bled into the crimson-y red and blood-orange of the delicate, handmade leaf jewlery.

A musical cacophony for the ears--the sweet tinkling of the tambourines melded into the melodious timbre of the street performer's husky voice and his harmonious acoustic guitar; all of which was somehow united with the deep thud thud of the drums that pulsated along with the heart.

A tingling sensation for the nose--powdery funnel cake mingled with caramelized kettle corn, which was fused with the fragrance of strawberry-scented candles and the warm aroma of fresh-baked bread.

And the people--some clad in long prairie skirts and flowery hair pieces, others donned dreadlocks and "Legalize It!" buttons, and still others sported muted bandanas and faded blue jeans.

At first glance, it all appeared to be a mess, but somehow it all fit together. Piece by Piece.

All at once it was beautifully chaotic and chaotically beautiful.

A Sad Sight

A young couple, still damp from the Boston evening's torrential downpour duck into a local tavern in Allston (a neighborhood in Boston). Cheeks rosy, eyes glinting, faces glowing from--enthrallment in one another's company? Exhilaration of having escaped the surprise rainstorm? Nope, rather from the artificial light, eerily gleaming from their phones. To me, this is one of the saddest sights in modern-day America. And yet, its occurrence is becoming the norm. 

For at least fifteen minutes, the couple did not speak two words to one another as they continued to absently stare at the glowing boxes in their palms. Only when the gooping-hot nacho cheese appetizer had lost its goopy did the couple finally take a break from the 'priorities in life'--Facebook, Instagram, ScoreCenter.

Now, before I sound like a crotchety old curmudgeon (and maybe, I already do), let me say that I do believe that technologies like smart phones do have their perks. Such devices have allowed us to get information faster and easier casting us forward years; however, devices such as these have also inhibited our human interaction skills jolting us backward centuries.

I try to imagine a much different dinner scene of the young couple:

The woman smiles shyly as she glances at the smattering of freckles on the man's hairline instead of at the glowing screen with the hairline crack in the corner.

The man inwardly sighs at the sassy gleam in her emerald eyes instead of at the glint of light emanating from his device.

A shiver of electric anticipation runs up the woman's spine as the man reaches across the table with his calloused hands, instead of an artificial buzz that sends tremors through the woman's fingertips from the rough surface of the keyboard.

In all of this, they could've reveled in their shared experience, their shared adventure in the city, a shared secret perhaps--instead they basked in a shared emptiness.

On the Scene: Regatta on the Charles

Photo of Rowers on the Charles River in Boston from the BU Bridge.

Currently on the scene: Hundreds of rowers in boats currently cutting through the surface of the glassy, Saturday morning surface of the Charles River in Boston, MA.

The rowers--ranging from Boston University alumni to Olympic class rowers--are all in town for the 51st annual Head of the Charles Regatta. Each crew is dressed in uniform, whether that be Breast-Cancer-Awareness pink, neon green, or solid black.

Flocks of people are gathered above the river on the BU Bridge, squinting in the Saturday morning sun at the rowers--each crew perfectly in sync--no matter if that crew is two people or eight. Bulging arms circling around and around, calf muscles straining back and forth, tight core muscles tightening and releasing--all in one fluid motion.

 They make it look so easy, as if only to mock the sedentary spectators above, as if only to say, what are you doing with your Saturday morning...?
 

For more info about what the Head of the Charles Regatta:
http://www.hocr.org/the-regatta/2014-regatta-news/


*This blog was written on the scene (Saturday morning), but I couldn't post until now because of a faulty phone connection.

Response to "Is the HPER doing too much?"

Is the HPER center doing too much in regard to all of the new rules and procedures? I think that yes, absolutely yes they are.

 In her blog, I believe that Ciara brought up a lot of good points. The main new procedure that I have an issue with is that all people need to present an ID upon entering the building. I do understand the thought process behind this new rule--safety and all that.

But, as a student athlete who regularly uses the HPER center (sometimes multiple times a day), I really do resent this new rule. A lot of times, coming back from a workout I do not have my ID on me and other times I have honestly just forgotten it (I'll be the first to admit that I tend to be absent minded on occasion). Because of my failure to present my ID I actually have been turned away on more than one occasion, by a person whom I know personally.

Additionally, I think that students (if there is no other work to be done, which from what it looks like in the HPER, there usually isn't) should be able to do some light reading or studying, instead of having to sit at a desk for mind-numbing hours at a time, twiddling their thumbs, wasting time.

Honestly, I don't think that there was much wrong with the procedures that were in place to begin with, and so to revert back to the old saying: "If it ain't broke, don't fix it."

Food Trucks: They're a Thing

Oozing hot ham and cheese on toast hot enough to warm chilled fingers, greasy fries smothered with melt-y cheese, crumbly biscuits with gravy that melt upon tongues first touch--all are probably a heart attack in tin foil, but at 2:20 AM on a brisk Saturday morning at the University of Dayton, that risk was one that I was willing to take.

Being from a small(er) town in the Cleveland area, I didn't even know that food trucks (and their greasy goods galore) were a thing (even though I am a self-proclaimed 'foodie').

I was first introduced to the concept at the Springfield food truck festival in early August when many Witt students were finding their ways back to campus. Absolutely in awe of the rows on rows on rows of essentially, mini kitchens on wheels, I had the hardest time choosing into what I wanted to sink my teeth.

Having forgotten mostly about the festival (it being just a blurb in the whirring first half of the semester), I found myself on the University of Dayton's campus this past Friday night visiting some high school friends. Having taken advantage of all the night had to offer and after trekking (what seemed) like miles  in the frigid sub-45 degree night, the soft glow and gentle whirring of that beautiful food truck was a godsend. So much so that it was even worth the 25 minute wait.

We--seven of us in all--scarfed down our savory finds before we even got back to the apartment, burning our tongues in the process. But again, it was so worth it.

That all being said, I wonder what having a food truck at Wittenberg would be like? If people were willing to wait in the unseasonably chilly night in Dayton, would students at Witt do the same?

The gooey ham and cheese still haunting my thoughts...these are the kinds of questions that keep me up at night....

To the Girl With the Black French Braid

To the girl with the black French braid: I don't know anything about you; I can't remember what school you are from; and quite frankly I didn't even catch your name. But I do want to say thank you. Because of you, I was able to finally break my cross country 6k PR and keep my sanity in the process.

OK, let me set the scene:

Mason, Ohio Kings Island [cross country] golf course: teams from all over the nation flocked to the gentle, rolling hills of the course that criss-crossed around fairways, tidy greens and splotches of trees--trees that were dripping fiery crimson and blood-orange so that it looked like someone had half dipped the fading green into paint buckets and forgotten about it. The pale blue sky was dotted with remnants of rain clouds, but the sun managed to filter through, allowing for the 'sunny and seventy-five' kind of day. All in all, a gorgeous day, especially for a race.

The plump Mr. starter raised his gun in the air, his beer belly protruding from underneath his shirt. And bang we were off. The first three k's passed by rather uneventfully; I let the momentum of the hundreds of girls pull me through. And then, panic set in. Straight panic.

Can't. Breathe. Where's coach. Need. Inhal-inhaler. Crap. Can't get. Air in. C'mon Sarah, calm down, dammit why can't. I get this. Then, a soft touch on my forearm.

"C'mon girl, you can do this. You have asthma?"

"Yuh" (I somehow managed to choke out)

"Me too; I know, I know. In through your nose."--a gentle tug on my forearm--"C'mon if I can do it, you can do it. Let's do this."

***

We did manage to do it. Both of us. Within two seconds of one another. And while I was overwhelmed to near tears at her act of kindness, I am more struck my the comradie that seems to accompany cross country.

While yes, we are all racing each other, we are all racing the same clock, all trying to do our very best, no matter how trying, how unbearable (at times) that may be.

And it is for that reason, and that reason alone why I can't envision myself on Saturday mornings not surrounded by 300 girls all racing that clock, all trying to break through the mental and physical barriers that embody cross country.

Embarrassed

Joyce Carol Oates--this slight-framed seventy six year old with the somewhat wild curls has done a lot in her lifetime. And I mean A LOT.

A novelist, playwright, poet, short story writer and professor--she has had dozens upon dozens of works published, including over 40 novels!

So why is it then, that when this world-renowned genius graces Wittenberg's campus with her presence, many Wittenberg students can't even muster up enough respect to glance away from their phones for more than thirty seconds at a time, and what's more, can't even exhibit enough respect and human decency to stay the extra fifteen minutes for the Q&A session?!

Now, before anyone takes up the defensive, I understand that the lecture/topic didn't appeal to everyone, I understand that some students have other commitments that require them to dip out early, and I understand that yes, it is hard to pay attention to someone--particularly someone with a quiet, lulling voice--read from a story for about a half an hour.

But, that being said I still think that it is a matter of basic human etiquette and therefore inexcusable for students resort to 'passing the time' on yik yak or Twitter before Oates had even gotten two minutes in to her reading. (And don't even get me started on some of the comments on yik yak--ranging from cruel and vulgar to just downright disgusting).

Wittenberg--the dear university that we call home--was able to snag such a prolific author to be a speaker at our event at our tiny campus, probably in hopes that she could pass some of her light and extensive knowledge onto us. And yet, many extinguished that potential passing of light by reverting instead to the artificial light emanating from their phone screens.

Greek Gives Back

 



 Currently happening in Benham Pence Student Center: Wittenberg Greek life students are hosting a Philanthropy Fair and Ice Cream Social for 2014 Greek Week--"Greek gives Back."

Dozens of students, many donning sweatshirts, hats and jackets--have flocked into the basement of the student center, many shedding their multiple layers as they step out of the sleety, sub-45 day and into the toasty warm building. 

Milling around the different tables, some students have opted to chat and enjoy their ice cream (somewhat ironic on this brisk October afternoon), while others are playing minute to win it games, taking pictures with the sleepy golden pup, Cricket, and playing a game that somewhat resembles a mini-corn hole match.

Students--Greek and non-Greek alike--are encouraged to check out the different philanthropy tables of each sorority/fraternity Greek Week pairing in order to learn about how each chapter gives back through service and philanthropies.