Poopin Party in the USA

Turns out you can eat too many nachos

One might think having a handsome man stick his finger in your bum at 3:30 in the morning would be exciting, but I’m here to tell you, it’s not.

Greetings from the Outer Banks of North Carolina, where James and I are vacationing during our month-long stint in the United States of America where we deposited our kid at university in Philadelphia last month and we’re hanging around the east coast, close, but not too close, while our kid gets acclimated.

I’ll get back to the butt stuff shortly, but first a quick update on what we’ve been up to.

You can’t imagine how excited I was to go to Trader Joe’s. I made James drive us there on the way from the airport to our Airbnb in Bryn Mawr and that’s where the trouble began. I get very excited about all my American foods. Nachos, for example. Yes, nachos are an American food. I’ve eaten so many goddamn nachos, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg. I lost my mind in the Wegman’s bakery section and bought everything so I had to sit in the parking lot of the King of Prussia Mall in our honking ass SUV Suburban rental car blasting the aircon so the cheesecake wouldn’t melt, listening to yacht rock while my huband and kid shopped for last minute school supplies. I have to say, it rocked.

Nacho party with my best girlfriends in Charlottesville

The party continued when we got to Charlottesville and I spent the week visiting with all my wonderful friends and also eating string cheese and Cheez Its and apple cider donuts and pickles and cheese enchiladas.

Ditto for Richmond, plus the lamb ragù.

By the time we got to the Outer Banks I was gestating a food baby of epic proportions, lovingly caressing my bloated belly, but the party ended with James taking me to the ER after I went to the bathroom and filled the toilet with blood. If that’s never happened to you, I will tell you it’s terrifying. I am okay. I won’t go into all the gory details, but it turns out I’ve got some GI issues and my interstate American foods party coupled with the havoc international travel wreaks on your digestive system culminated with a CT scan where the doctors, nurses, technicians and my husband marvelled at my “impressive” stomach.

I’ll be spending the rest of the week on a liquid diet until I return to the Netherlands. The party is indeed over. I went big and now it’s time to go home.

Very important unicorn party with my niece

Party animals in Northern Virginia, where I am thrilled to say I cast my early voting ballot for Kamala Harris and Tim Walz. Early voting rules and I hope everyone is making their voting plan. It’s raining in the OBX today and I’m spending the afternoon writing post cards with my mother in law to remind people to vote.

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Here’s a piece I wrote about the last time I was in the Outer Banks. I’ve been thinking about my Aunt Sue and the many years of family vacations we’ve had here. I’m glad I survived this trip and I won’t be joining my aunts in the Sound just yet. I do wish I could eat another jar of pickles before I return to Amsterdam though.

SCATTER MY ASHES AT THE OUTLET MALL

APRIL 13, 2023

A few weeks ago I traveled to the States to help my parents move out of their house of 39 years to an assisted living facility on the other side of the country. But before I can tell you that story, first I have to tell you this story. Reader, at any time during this journey you may choose to leave via the nearest exit. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.

I stood in my parents’ kitchen at 5:00 am opening cupboards looking for a cup with a handle, preferably pewter or silver but I settled on a bone china teacup. I wrapped a small kitchen knife in a dish towel and secured it with a thick blue rubber band. The teacup was to scoop my aunt’s ashes out of the box. The knife was in case we couldn’t get the box open. The plan was for me to drive my mother to the Outer Banks of North Carolina to take my aunt’s ashes to her final resting place, as per her wishes, but the night before my mom had gotten the idea it would be nice to take my aunt to all her favorite places and “leave some of her in each spot.” This was, of course, illegal but it seemed wholly appropriate as my aunt was a notoriously shady lady who knew how to keep a secret and I often referred to her as someone who knew where the bodies were buried.

My Aunt Sue loved Dress Barn, so it was a fitting vehicle in which to convey her to the Outer Banks, as per her wishes.

March is a good month to illegally dispose of a body in the Outer Banks as the tourists have not yet arrived, and most stores and restaurants are still closed for the season.

I wasn’t sure if we would actually go through with it, to be honest. I had a feeling we would simply drive to the same spot on the Sound side of the island where my Aunt Sherrie went to her final resting place many years before. The plan has always been for the three sisters to have their ashes spread in the same place, when the time came. My mom, however, would also like a part of her to get to Italy and has asked me to take her there, but if it’s too much trouble she’ll just find her own way there from the bay of North Carolina, she has informed me.

The day we arrived in the Outer Banks we checked into our hotel, went out to dinner at one of the few places open, and went to bed early. We’d take Sue the next day, after breakfast, or perhaps at sunset if that seemed better.

The next morning we headed out, not quite sure where the day would take us. Let’s go to our first house, my mom said, referring to the beach house our family had rented for more than a decade. It was special because it had a ramp that you could drive a car on so that you didn’t have to navigate the stairs, which was key as my Aunt Sherrie had Multiple sclerosis and was confined to a wheel chair. In those first years when we went to the OBX things were still pretty rustic — there weren’t many houses with elevators or handicap accessibility back then. In fact the very first year we all went, the house my family rented was not in fact handicap accessible as it had claimed to be and my dad and uncles hauled my Aunt Sherrie up the side of the three-story house with a bunch of ropes, my Aunt Sherrie screaming in terror the whole time, everyone else in my family yelling at her to pipe down for crying out loud. The next year we found the house with the ramp.

I haven’t been to the OBX in years, and not to the house with the ramp for even longer but once I got on the beach road I remembered exactly where it was without needing navigation. When I pulled onto the street we were the only signs of life. All the other houses looked vacant. We pulled into the driveway and I cut off the engine and we sat there in silence for a moment. It looks like the coast is clear? I said to my mom. Yes, she agreed.

We got out and I opened the back of the car and got to work. I’d packed a few things just in case. I got out the Parrot Bay Spiced Rum my Aunt Sue was partial to, as well as a bag of potato chips and some incense because this was a solemn occasion. I lit the incense and handed it to my mom while I poured her a shot of the rum then I got out the knife to pry open the box of my aunt’s ashes and used a plastic spoon to scoop her contents into the china teacup. This was not the first time I’d sat in a car and scooped human remains out of a box. My husband and I had done the same thing after his dad died when his dad’s girlfriend asked if she could have some of him and we sat there in the car in the funeral home parking lot while my husband used a credit card to scoop his father’s remains into a plastic sandwich baggie. Death is a strange and dusty business.

Once I had a sufficient amount of Sue in the teacup I grabbed the bag of potato chips and my mom — she holding the rum and incense — and together we walked up the driveway and spotted a nice tree. That looks like a good spot my mom said. Yep, I said. I poured my Aunt Sue’s ashes out in a tidy little pile at the base of the tree and my mom said a few words. Then she took a swig of the rum and poured the rest on Sue. I carefully placed a potato chip in the center of the pile of Sue and my mom stuck the incense in the adjacent dirt. My mom said a few more words and then we decided it was time to leave. I don’t think we can leave that incense burning here, I said. We could start a fire. The ground is wet my mom said. Still, let’s not risk it I said and I pulled the incense stick out of the ground and my mom carried it back to the car, still burning. We’d save it for the next destination, whatever that would be.

The altar we made in the back of the car for my Aunt Sue

Where to next? I asked as we headed back to the beach road. Sue loved Jeanette’s Pier my mom said as we were approaching Jeanette’s Pier. Jeanette’s Pier it is then I said and turned the car into the parking lot. Things were busier at Jeanette’s Pier. There were a couple of men fishing off the pier and a group of construction workers working construction. No matter, we walked around to the altar at the back of the car and I got out the teacup, the rum, and potato chip and did the needful, then we casually strolled up to the pier. We leaned on the wood railing as if we were gazing into the ocean and I leaned down and poured my Aunt Sue into the sand and topped her off with a potato chip. My mom took a large swig of rum and poured the rest for Sue and then waved the incense around while I drank my diet Dr. Pepper and my mom said a few words. That went well, I said and my mom nodded in agreement.

We felt pretty good about the situation at this point. We seemed to have a handle on things. Where next, I asked. Sue loved the Dunes my mom said, so I headed towards the Dunes Seafood Restaurant and we chose a nice spot in the parking lot by the service entrance for our ritual, then got back in the car in search of the next destination.

The Farmer’s Daughter my mom said just as we passed the Farmer’s Daughter. Really? I asked. Was Sue into The Farmer’s Daughter? I don’t remember her shopping there. She loved the Farmer’s Daughter my mom claimed, so I made a series of right turns to get us back to the Farmer’s Daughter and we left Sue at the entrance of the Farmer’s Daughter and we looked really suspicious this time because we were fast and weird it was a store that sold preppy items that was open for business. We did not tarry.

Sue did love to shop so the next logical place was the Outlet Mall. Try to get us close to Michael Kors, my mom said. Okay, I said, pulling up directly in front of Michael Kors. There were a lot of people at the Outlet Mall, so again, we did not mess around. This time we opened the rear passenger door and huddled in together and left the teacup of Sue, the potato chip, the wave of incense and the words of remembrance in the decorative flora and fauna next to the curb in front of Michael Kors. Sue would have loved that the best, my mom said, and I agreed.

We decided it was time to find Sue’s final resting place, the place where her sister Sherrie had gone before her. The problem was neither my mom nor I could remember where that was, exactly. It’s on the golf course near the yellow house we stayed in those last two years my mom said, so we drove to the golf course and tried to find the yellow house but there were a lot of yellow houses and it was a big community. While we were looking I spotted a turnoff that looked promising — it seemed to lead to the bay. Should we try it? I asked. Yes, my mom said. I drove down the small dirt road, not sure where it would lead and it turned out to be the most exquisite place. We’d gotten so lucky. The dirt road led to a private pier and the view was gorgeous. This is perfect my mom said, and I agreed. But this is where things got real. So far my mom had been doing pretty well. Her words of remembrance were sweet and funny and very in style with Sue’s personality. I could hear Sue laughing all along the way, she had the best laugh honed by a lifetime of smoking, low and throaty and raw. But now my mom was sad, and her sorrow washed over her and I had to take her hand and lead her across the pebbles to a bench facing the waters of the bay. My mom realized this was her final goodbye. She was going to say goodbye to her sister, her last sibling, and this was an ending she’d known was coming but had been delayed for so long she’d been numb to it. I don’t want to say goodbye my mom said. Let’s sit with her a while, I suggested, and we did.

When my mom was ready I opened the box that contained the remains of Sue’s remains and I released her into the waters of the Bay. My mom cried and said her last words of goodbye. We sat there for a long time, my mom saying goodbye to her sisters, promising to meet them there soon. I’m crying now as I write this. I know I’ll be going back to the Outer Banks again one day, and I hope that day does not come soon. But I made a promise. And I intend to keep it.

Rest well, Aunt Sue. You were loved. You will be missed.