So much for inspiration in Port St. Lucie—girls’ weekend was many things (hilarious, tipsy, friend-winning and, at at least one point, life-threatening), but industrious was not one of them. I ended up taking my most recent clutch project with me, and it sat on the table in the master bedroom for the full two days while we drank, danced, drank, battled ocean waves, ate, napped, drank, and drank. It’s probably a good thing; lord only knows what kind of screwy little purse would’ve come out of my rum-steady hands.
Inspiration did find me in other ways, though. My good friend Cassie got out her guitar and reminded me why I used to love Ani DiFranco so much. I discovered that I’m okay with singing in public as long as it’s in a “name that tune” sort of game, and that girlfriends are generally awesome. I had known that last one for a while, but last weekend was a nice reinforcement of that belief. I even discovered my inner Ocean Warrior, which is to say that an enormous wave picked me up, smashed me into the sand and spit me back out on the beach with bleeding scrapes and a ton of sea gunk in my hair. It was pretty much the most fun ever. New girlfriend Lisa got the same treatment. Check out our victory poses:
Monday and Tuesday served as an all-too-short reunion with my man, and today I’m writing from the Dominican Republic, where the kind folks at Casa de Campo have set up a seriously indulgent spa weekend for me to write about. When I’m not interviewing hotel managers or frustrating spa therapists with the incurable knots in my neck (they’ve survived at least six years and innumerable massages), I’ll be keeping busy with two library books, five magazines and one skein of powder blue Malabrigo, which I hope to turn into something other than a clutch. Suggestions?
