Adventure bags, patio dresses and the Texas Water Safari

Dear Reader,

I have a bag addiction. That’s not a typo. I don’t mean “bad” addiction but like satchels and totes and fanny packs and crossbodies, you understand? Bags. When it comes to cute, functional bags, I must admit, I’m addicted.

I believe that when I arrived in Portugal, all dewy-eyed and nervously embarking upon my PhD studies, it was with no fewer than nine *very needed* bags stuffed inside my four suitcases.

As a child, my mother pejoratively referred to me as “bag lady” because I would tote varieties of carriers, heaped across my back and hips, to schlep my books and belongings as I conducted the business of being a kid. Perhaps I reminded her of the old woman who appeared at the end of David Bowie’s “Labyrinth,” but I always fancied myself quite the utilitarian goddess, despite her fears that I may eventually affix my bags to a stick, toss them over my shoulder and start hitchhiking into the sunset.

I am also highly addicted to the river. My right arm dons a tattoo of those glorious 72-degree waters, and one year, my New Year’s Resolution included ensuring that my body made physical contact with the river every single day. I love the river.

At some point, I miraculously managed to paddle the San Marcos River —from source to sea — for 260+ miles in a canoe with my own little KStone arms. Twice. #brag I’ve earned this tattoo. And my safari patches.

Known as “The World’s Toughest Canoe Race,” the Texas Water Safari proved a far more painful experience than permanently imprinting beautiful art upon my dominant arm, by the talented artist, Andrea Elston.

I challenged myself to traverse the entirety of our beloved river, starting from the ancestral Sacred Springs gushing up to create the headwaters of the San Marcos River, flowing all the way down to the Gulf of Mexico. Completing this ultramarathon afforded me a lifelong connection to Seadrift, Texas — home to the TWS Finish Line and to Mama Hall.

I met her after the 2016 Texas River Marathon when I was included among a privileged group of racers invited to stay overnight in her Seadrift home where she raised her children. Her son, CJ, was born the very same year the TWS commenced, with the finish line erected right outside their front door.

When CJ and the safari turned 50 years old together, he completed it in just under 100 hours (99:34). Photos of his triumphant finish graced the entry to Mama Hall’s home, and she proudly relished sharing his safari story.

She wore what I knew to be called a “mumu” or “old lady house dress,” and my soul zinged as I met my cosmic sister. In this life, my goal is to break 80 years old, and I’ve been collecting housecoats, dressing for the job I want. I’d packed one in my weekend bag, so I tossed it on and approached her to share my excitement of our kindred silhouettes.

“Mama Hall, I don’t know what to call these mumus without sounding ageist,” and she smoothed out the floral cotton on her lap and offered, “Oh, I just love my patio dresses.”

PATIO DRESSES! How lovely!

That night, CJ revealed her two closets, filled up with patio dresses. A hanging crossbody satchel caught my eye, and I wondered if Mama Hall had purchased it while visiting Costa Rica or somewhere exotic.

When she passed, CJ bestowed me with her forgiving beachwear collection, and my brain lit up as I dug through the copiously large pyramid of pocketed printed frilly. Then, like a hit of dopamine, her adventure bag found me.

Now Mama Hall has joined me on book-touring adventures around the US, a ladies trip to Costa Rica and all around Portugal. This weekend, while rooting for the brave racers making their way down to Seadrift, I’ll be the bag lady, and she’ll be right by my side. IMHO, there are worse addictions.

See you at Seadrift.

Xoxo,