Regan White's Ranting and Raving

Discarded stars

On my way to work this morning, I watched a gold cardboard cut-out star roll down the road. It was propelled by the rush of traffic passing over it. It tumbled a good 20 feet before coming to a stop again. I see things like that and wonder how the hell the cardboard star got on the road in the first place. Perhaps a science board or art project was in the back of a flatbed. Maybe a kid threw it out the window of a moving car.

My co-workers Michael and Debbie used to walk to get lunch quite a bit, even though the walk is along busy Monroe Road. (These walks took place before we bought their souls and required most every free moment of their time.) You wouldn't think you'd see much of interest along Monroe Road on the stretch of roadway they traverse, but there's quite a bit. They've started a collection of strange things they've found in the roadways - an arm of a deformed-looking superhero, a plastic frog ring, a dinosaur and - best of all - the metal star from a Disney paperweight that had been given to Debbie. She accidentally put it on the roof of her car after work while getting in. She forgot about it and drove away. Days later she discovered the metal star, separated from its base, and dinged up in passing traffic. She dodged cars to retrieve it.

It's arguably a better paperweight and even greater conversation starter these days with its deep gashes, dings and "when you wish upon a star" inscription.

I took a few anthropology classes in college, mainly because they satisfied a group of courses I needed to take and it was a hell of a lot more interesting than my other choices. A lot of time is spent discussing the study of a people's trash - and the fact that much of ancient culture is gleaned from what's left behind, not the rare cases of Pompeii and volcanic ash that preserves everyday life but the actual rubbish most people leave behind. It's an enchanting thought that we are not only what we use but also what we discard.

I think about what it says about us as a people that thousands of years from now some bubble-headed archaeologist of the future might dig through layers of detritus to unearth, of all things, a preserved dinged-up metal star in the roadway ... or a frog ring for that matter.

As the saying goes, when you wish upon a star your dreams come true. The song doesn't clarify that the star has to be in the sky - or even a real, honest to God star of fiery celestial gases.

Will cardboard do?

Happy belated Fourth of July!

Hi, all!

A belated Happy Fourth of July to all of you!

It's been a really good weekend. I had off on Friday and on a whim joined my friend Monika for a quick trip to Wrightsville Beach with a friend of hers. After talking with a friend about the improvements of spray-on sunscreen since I last used the first sprayers more than five years or so ago, I decided to give it a whirl. After my last turn at the beach I really tired of slapping on the lotion form. Plus, all I had to do was graze the sand with my leg and I'd be coated with a fine layer of sand that I wouldn't be able to remove from my leg. 

So I went with spray-on SPF 45 and was burned. Quite literally. Just like last time I used the spray-on stuff, this came out splotchy. I burned through it and got burned in weird places. It's nearly impossible because I diligently sprayed and rubbed in everywhere.

When I left the beach yesterday I felt the euphoria shared by pale people everywhere when they savor the sun but escape frying. Hours later I'd discover I hadn't done so well. My left foot, ankle and small part of my shin and calf were burnt to a crisp - but splotchy. I hadn't done as well on my chest as I'd imagined, and thanks to bobbing around in the surf for a while and then rubbing my eyes to rid them of salt, I fried my nose and cheeks - something I haven't done in quite some time.

All in all not bad, but still frustrating.

We spent all day on the beach on Friday and this morning we awoke early to enjoy the sand and surf until noon or so. I diligently stayed under my umbrella like a girl in a bubble all morning. It was a good thing, too. I was crispy afterward as it was.

From my umbrella-shaded spot I watched groups of gulls, gaggles of college girls and a father and daughter mere feet from me. The dad couldn't have been much older than me. He had dark curly hair and ruddy cheeks. His daughter looked disheveled with messy, dirty-blonde hair, a pink Disney princess bathing suit and matching pink plastic, star-shaped sunglasses.

She was adorable.

It was just the two of them, holding hands and staggering on to the beach. When they found the spot in front of me, the dad carefully pulled an oversize beach blanket from a World Market bag and gently laid it on the sand. It was turquoise blue and dotted with red strawberries. The girl quickly stripped off her dress and unstrapped her sandals, carefully tucking them on the edge of the blanket. Then her dad went about applying her sunscreen.

I don't know what it is, but there's something magnetically adorable and sexy about dudes tending to kids at the beach. I think it's part of female genetics. As if coded somewhere on our X chromosomes is a tendency to fall for whomever lathers up our offspring.

What I love most is how dad's most often treat their kids, particularly girls, gingerly - especially when applying sunscreen. He'd carefully squeeze some into his palms before applying it to his daughters back, shoulders, legs and arms. HIs motions were only slightly perceptibly awkward - delicately applying the lotion with hands that were clearly one or two sizes too big for the parts they were dealing with. He applied the sunscreen to her leg as if he were handling a foreign substance - equally awed and unfamiliar.

She danced around once her sunscreen was on and while she waited for her dad to apply his. They then ran to the water - her dad eventually jumping right in and she on shore, hopping from foot to foot. He never took his eyes off her, though, and always waved to her during the brief moments they were apart.

They returned to the blanket to share a snack of Goldfish crackers and grapes before heading back out. This time, Dad hoisted her onto his hip and brought her out with him. She grew apprehensive with each wave break, but her dad set her at ease until eventually her grip loosened around his neck and they appeared to be having a good time.

She filled her watering can on shore and made a bucketful-of-sand castle or two. They then sat by the water's edge, side by side.

I didn't want to be the creepy weirdo under the umbrella staring at these two, and yet I couldn't look away. The scene, and the father's relatively young age, had me thinking about the different places my life could be right now. I tossed around my mind the strangeness of getting married and having a child at 24, making any child of mine 4 years old right now. I thought how my beach bag could instead be full of kids' shovels and pails, small containers of bananas, apples, strawberries and other snacks, all nestled into a stroller.

I want kids someday, not today. However, watching the pair I realized how different things could be for me right now if various things had or hadn't turned out.

I also rolled over the pang I felt in my gut while watching this dad apply sunscreen to his daughter. I realized that longing tug came about because I so want to find a man to put sunscreen on my kids like that. Or sitting on the beach and talking to our kids that way - not that most men don't, I just think that the scene I witnessed this morning made me think about it differently, or at least how or why I like it.

Strange thoughts for the Fourth of July, I know.

We returned this afternoon and  headed to fireworks at the U.S. National Whitewater Center with my sister and a friend. We had a blast despite the fact that cars were being turned away at 8:20 p.m. No matter - we pulled down the street to Whitewater Center Academy, a CMS School, and watched the show from a blanket there. It proved even better when it came time to leave. It was amazing.

So is how quickly I'm falling asleep. I'll write more soon. xo