Growing Old Together In The Old South

Recently, Max and I celebrated our 25th anniversary in Savannah, Georgia.  Neither of us had been there previously, so it was a new chapter in our book of shared adventures.  In fact, we have never visited a place channeling the antebellum south before this trip to Savannah.  We both love history, but we have never been south of Williamsburg, Virginia. 

But wait, you may say… don’t you live in Florida?  Is there anyplace in the USA that is more south than Florida?  Before I lived in Florida, I would have had the same reaction.  In fact, it used to confuse me that the Miami Dolphins do not play in the AFC South division.  Again, how much more South can you get than Miami?  And every team that is in the AFC South division plays in a city north of Miami.   The Dolphins do play in the AFC East division, which I guess makes the same argument.  How much more East can you get than Miami? 

In reality, I think that the traditional South is a bit suspicious of Florida.  We Floridians are a different breed.  When you think “Florida,” I am not sure you think of sprawling, lazy plantations and oak trees dripping with Spanish moss.  I am okay with that.  I am not sure that the residents of Alabama, Georgia, Mississippi, or the Carolinas necessarily are.  Those of us who live in Florida must work harder to get a southern card. 

But I digress.  This blog is about our trip to Savannah, which is probably the most culturally southern city in the nation.  It is beautiful. Just being in Savannah was soul food.  Even though we did not invest substantial time on our trip visiting tourist attractions or engaging in outdoor recreational activities, we definitely vacated real life and lived in a different world for a few days.  The mood and atmosphere of Savannah is enriching.  The city just drips with culture and history like fresh biscuits drip with honey.  Walking around the squares and riding around on a sightseeing trolley is enough to allow that honey to stick Savannah to your fingers. 

It was different kind of trip for us.  Typically, when we vacation, we go to amusement parks, visit museums, see shows, and immerse ourselves in scheduled activities unique to our destination.  We have a great time, but we are definitely tourists.  I think we rarely experience much of our vacation destination’s real life.  I’m okay with that.  I like being a tourist. Max and I are not very adventurous, so it is comforting to fold ourselves into a planned and scheduled tourist culture when we travel rather than risk the trials and tribulations of real life.  We both also tend to be rather anxious people, concerned about making sure we do the “right” things and get the most out of a trip.  If we live as true tourists while we are in a strange city, we will probably manage to experience all the “important” famous sights.

On the other hand, sometimes it is better simply to be than to do.  In Savannah, we rented a beautiful old Victorian mansion from a private owner instead of going to a hotel.  We walked down the block several mornings to a popular local coffee shop for a beverage and pastry.  We went to a normal regional mall the day the weather torpedoed any kind of outdoor activity and compared the department store in Savannah to the same one in the mall in our town.  We strolled around Forsyth Park, petting neighborhood dogs and smiling at babies enjoying outings in jogging strollers.  One of my favorite stops on our travels around the city was a local jewelry store.  It was not famous.  It was not a traditional tourist attraction. I did not even buy anything except a Christmas tree decoration, as the store was too rich for my blood.  I still spent a very pleasant hour or so there- looking at pieces, trying them on, chatting with the friendly store manager.  In another situation, in another location, I might have felt awkward about the encounter as soon as I realized that I would not be purchasing any of the beautiful pieces the manager showed me. I am sure that the manager realized, after seeing my reaction to a few price tags, that I was not a serious buyer.  Still, she seemed to genuinely enjoy spending time with me, talking about our shared taste in jewelry, and examining the artistic, one-of-a-kind items.  She was more like a museum curator, passionate about sharing her collection with a visitor, than a salesperson.  I almost sent her a thank you note when I got home. 

Then there was the food.  Of course, we do enjoy dining out on every vacation.  Rarely, though, do I think of the food as a major factor in a vacation.  For one thing, I am a picky, unadventurous eater so unique regional food does not thrill me.  For another thing, we are usually so busy on vacations that we tend to eat around other planned activities rather than building our day around a restaurant.  In Savannah, food tended to be a marquis attraction each day.  From our coffee shop to the famous diner featured in the movie Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evil, we ate superbly satisfying food.  The diner, though famous and able to attract customers because of its movie association, still had a healthy local trade… because the food was absolutely delicious.  I never knew pancakes could taste so heavenly.  We had our anniversary dinner at The Old Pink House restaurant.  The whole place was gorgeous and sublime.  The service was remarkable.  The food absolutely pole-vaulted over any expectations I might have had.  The first thing I noticed about the food was that it was like I had died and gone to Bread Heaven.  They served three different kinds of bread fit for royalty.  I would have been over the moon if I had just eaten bread.  I did not just eat bread, however.  I ate way more yummy salad, fried chicken, and green beans than my capacity to consume calories could handle.  Then, just because, we had dessert.  It was some sort of unlikely concoction of praline candy woven into a basket, filled with ice cream, caramel, guava jelly, and berries.  It was a burst of joy in my mouth.  I would say we only ate about a quarter of what was put in front of us, despite how wonderful it was.  There was just that much food. 

All in all, it was a fantastic way to celebrate our twenty-five years together.  Our twenty-five years together has been special and satisfying and sweet and spectacular in many ways.  Part of what has made our time together so mutually rewarding and supportive is the comfort that our traditions and shared memories provide.  We fit together well because we do approach things, even vacations, in similar ways most of the time.  Because we do tend to be a bit anxiety-prone, we love that we can enjoy sameness together.  Going on vacations that are planned, scheduled, and familiar helps us keep anxiety at bay and allows us to enjoy ourselves without stress. 

On the other hand, after twenty-five years, it is good to shake things up a bit.  I don’t see us ever falling off our foundation, but it is good to know that we can survive and thrive while exploring new adventures in new ways.   As we celebrated a milestone anniversary, marking a quarter of a century of shared history with each other, in Savannah, I realized that our couplehood is more versatile and adaptable than I realized.  Growing old together in the old South showed me that sometimes you must ease the grip on old memories to make new ones. 

Do you tend to go to the same places on vacation or are you more apt to pick a new place each time? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternate, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Me standing outside waiting for the trolley in Savannah
fountain at Forsyth Park
gazebo in one of Savannah’s beautiful squares
St. John the Baptist cathedral
All I could afford at the beautiful jewelry store I visited

Have a bright shiny new day!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

Can You Still Call It A Vacation After You’re Retired?

A few months after I retired and we moved across the country, Max and I took a trip to Colonial Williamsburg. We were looking forward to exploring the Historic Triangle of Williamsburg, Jamestown, and Yorktown. We would see the remains of the first English settlement in what became the United States of America.  We would watch artisans make glass, silver products, and clothing as it was made in the 1600s.  We would take a carriage ride around the perimeter of the first capital of the Virginian colony and attend a re-enactment of a colonial officer’s treason trial.  We would eat gingerbread made as it was in the early 1700s.  We would stand at the site of the decisive battle of the American Revolution.  Our plans were packed with educational and culturally enriching opportunities.  And shopping.  Besides the numerous gift shops adjacent to the aforementioned educational and culturally enriching opportunities, there was a large outlet mall, a huge Yankee candle megastore, and at least four multi-level shops devoted to selling Christmas decorations.   Scenery, history, and shopping… what more could a girl ask for from a vacation?  Maybe an amusement park?  Oh, there’s a Busch Gardens in Williamsburg, too. 

As we awaited the day of our departure, something was still bothering me, however.  Before we left, Max kept a countdown on the number of days until our “vacation.”  Every time he used the term “vacation,” something just didn’t sit right with me.  I asked him if it was still called a “vacation” since we no longer had jobs and, thus, really, had nothing from which to vacate. 

We tried to think of something else to call this event, but were not successful.  We tried “pleasure trip,” but that seemed too cumbersome.  We tried “getaway,” but thought that didn’t seem completely accurate, as there was no one chasing us.  Besides, there were no criminal activities, machine guns, or speeding cars involved.  Finally, we gave up and stopped calling our impending trip anything at all.

This issue of what to call this trip begged a bigger question.  When we were working, this sort of trip was incredibly fun, partly because all the time spent in this riot of entertainment was time not spent working.  I was worried that the trip would not hold the same appeal and enjoyment as past “vacations” now that the guilty pleasure of playing hooky from our jobs was no longer a component.

On the Sunday we arrived in Virginia, it was drizzling.  We had planned to go to Busch Gardens for part of the day, since I had not realized until a few days before we left (and AFTER I had already purchased online admission tickets) that the amusement park was only open on Saturdays and Sundays at the time of the year we were going.   Something weird happened, though, and I made an uncharacteristically spontaneous decision.  I decided that, instead of braving the rain and racing around trying to get to Busch Gardens to use those prepaid admission tickets, we should just let it go.   Max and I have a tendency to overplan things.  I still refer to our first visit to Disney World as the “forced march across central Florida” because of my obsession with planning the heck out of stuff to avoid missing anything good.  This fateful decision to throw Busch Gardens to the winds ended up setting the tone for the whole trip.  Our pacing turned out to be just perfect.  As we pursued our fun, we did not run; we meandered.  Over the next five days, we saw all the sights we intended to see and more.  We walked aimlessly and endlessly through beautiful, tree-lined paths and reconstructed colonial towns. We absorbed the wonderful atmosphere with the very oxygen that we breathed.  We stopped at the College of William and Mary bookstore several times to browse, bask in the energy, and linger over a beverage.  I spent some time each day in the hotel’s indoor pool.  We ate well.  I managed to purchase goods from all four of the Christmas stores.  We both slept soundly and peacefully every night.   Although I was not aware I was feeling any stress before we left for Virginia, I became acutely aware of the complete absence of tension during this trip.  I was completely in the moment and enjoying everything as it happened. 

Maybe it was a vacation after all.

A few months later, we decided to take a trip to Las Vegas, which rekindled the whole debate.  This trip would not be the lazy, spontaneous type of trip Williamsburg had been.  We had tickets and dinner reservations and had a pretty strict schedule of touring.  As we bounded through the four days in Las Vegas, our steps were springy and our eyes were wide.  Everywhere we looked, there was something different to see and everywhere we went, there was something different to do.  It was like an unending buffet of activity- even when we started to get full; we gulped and savored one more bite.  Still, I found myself still wrestling with the question of whether or not it is still a vacation when you no longer work for a living.  I was able to resolve the dilemma by asking myself a few simple questions:

  •   Was I cooking, cleaning, or doing laundry?  No.
  •  Was I suffering through some new house-related disaster?  No.
  •  Was I hauling my mother to medical appointments or evaluating health insurance plans for her?  No.
  • Was I evicting less-than-cuddly wild animals from my garage?  No.
  • Was I on vacation?    YES!

So what are your thoughts?  What makes a “trip” a “vacation” for you?  Please share your perspective by leaving a comment.  In the alternative, you can send me an email at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a great day!

Terri 🙂