Movin' On Up

My mom grew up in a house her parents built when she was in elementary school. It was across the street from the house in which my grandfather grew up. My dad moved from Mississippi to Alabama when he was young, but can drive you by his childhood home with no problem.

That game you play where you take your pet's name and the name of the street on which you grew up? Yeah, that one is kind of hard. I usually use the name of the road we lived on for 7 years. That's the longest I've ever lived in one place.

Not that anybody cares, but to the best of my recollection, here's a rundown of where my parents have lived since they got married:

1. small town Georgia #1. I've never heard them talk about their living situation in the first town in which they lived. They got married 3 days before my mother's 19th birthday. All I've ever heard them discuss is how they visited my grandparents quite frequently--to eat!

2. They moved to Hometown the following year. I think the first home they owned was a mobile home. I know they brought my sister home to their trailer in the trailer park where the Piggly Wiggly now stands. I think this was after my mom backed into it and knocked it off its foundation one morning while my dad was still sleeping. She went on to work.

3. At some point before I was born, they bought a house--I believe it was on Azalea Drive. This was were they lived when I came home from the hospital and it backed up to my friend Allyson's parents' house. Unfortunately, we moved before we were old enough to take advantage of the situation.

4. We moved into the house in Carlton Woods that my parents built. One of my earliest memories involves being "stranded" in the playroom upstairs which had a mini balcony. I remember standing on the balcony crying while every else laughed at me. This would become a common occurrence in my childhood.

5. The mortgage payments got to be too much for my school teacher parents, so they moved into a smaller house on Barbara Circle. It backed up to a lake and we had a trampoline. My sister's room had green shag carpet. Mine had hard wood floors with no area rugs (allergies).

6. We moved to Missouri--flattest place on earth. I don't really remember much about this house--other than swinging on the swing set outside when my mom called us in for a surprise. She had asked the manager of the grocery store to order grits for us.

7. The day after school got out, we moved to Birmingham. We temporarily lived in an apartment while looking for a house. It had a community pool and my sister taught me to swim butterfly in that pool. Every box we had got infested with tiny roaches which came with us when we moved.

8. After getting out of the first contract they signed upon discovering a severely leaking roof, we moved into what felt like a GIGANTIC house. It was a split level ranch and had a special psychedelic orange and yellow room that I used just for my Barbies.

9. We moved back to Hometown after a 4 year absence--to a house with a POOL! After painting over the oreo paint scheme outside, we loved it. We were there for 3 years.

10. They built another house. My dad helped his dad and brothers tear down a house in Mississippi and all of the hardwood floors, the moldings, the doors, the wainscoting, and the mantel were all used in our new house. My dad took advantage of summer vacation and worked on that house every single day that summer. We moved in right around Thanksgiving to an unfinished house and somehow managed to never have toilet paper holders or towel bars. This was our home for 7 years and we were all flabbergasted when they took an unsolicited offer from a very annoying woman to buy it near the end of my freshman year of college.

11. They moved to a rental house temporarily because the sale was so fast. I came home from my freshman year and couldn't unload my car because the house was already full. I watched the OJ chase at that house.

12. Before the end of the summer, they bought a house in Cherokee. It was time for the sweet lady who lived there to be taken care of. She had raised her family in that house and it was well loved. We became fast friends with our next door neighbors and he acted as the general contractor on the garage to master suite conversion. The Grays are definitely the best thing to come out of that house. Followed closely by the amazing rug they negotiated as part of the purchase. This was the first closing I worked on from a legal standpoint (I was working part time with my boss's father who is also a lawyer).

13. Daddy retired and got hired at a college in Atlanta. They moved to Mayberry--an Atlanta suburb--with the help of our old family friend (and my now boss). After much looking and realizing how spoiled we are by the beautiful homes in Hometown, they found a great house that we enjoyed for their 4 years there. I was in DC during most of their time there and its proximity to the airport was great.

14. While I was in Europe doing study abroad, they decided to leave Mayberry and head for the hills. They bought a house in a mountain town they had looked at for years. By the end of my two months in Europe, I was so looking forward to being home only to be told via e-mail that I might rather head to Law School town upon my return. The house was small and my grandparents were visiting. Mom solved the problem by flipping her VW Bug down a 30 foot ravine on the way to the airport. They spent the night at the hospital while I borrowed some socks from my (now) boss and crawled into their guest bed.

15. After one Christmas, 6 people, and 2 dogs, they decided they needed something a little bigger. So, a bigger house around the bend was purchased. The first night there was also our first night with Etta. We spent it on the new sofa I had purchased for my apartment at the Pottery Barn outlet that afternoon. While there are many happy memories from that home, we were all a little relieved to be away from the place where my nephew's sperm donor dropped his 29 day old head on the hard wood floor and gave him a skull fracture and brain bleed. That and the unknown rodent who had moved into the walls.

16. The lure of the boy proved so strong that they bought a house right around the corner from my sister's house. They knew it was temporary which leads to today--

17. The start of (according to my calculations) my parents' 17th move in their 40 year marriage. Right around the corner proved a little too close for everyone. They are now 20 minutes away and Daddy's working on a train room for the boy. When my dad said they got an interest only loan, he noted that it can't change for 3 years--and they will surely have moved by then.

Randomness

I spend the majority of my days in my office by myself. I have meetings and I talk on the phone and to my coworkers, but I am not enclosed in a small space with a group of people for long periods of time.

Yesterday, I had to go to a continuing legal education class and was enclosed in a small room with about 30 people all day. I suddenly remember why people drive me crazy. And I never wished so hard for my friends to be on Twitter.

For the love, people. Don't come into the room an hour late and try to squeeze between two tables that Kate Bosworth couldn't squeeze thorough. Especially when you more closely resemble Kathy Bates. Because you're going to knock over everyone's coffee and the pitcher of water on the table. Way to sneak in late.

And THEN immediately attempt to open the handy dandy jar top when contained the chocolate mints. Once you've finally figured it out, by all means, don't dump a couple of mints out of the glass jar. No, continue to reach in the glass jar and rattle around before chomping down on the mints. You and the guy behind me should take your routine on the road. Rattlerattlerattle CRUNCH!

And while we're on the subject, as annoyed as I was by the guy who answered his freaking cell phone and proceeded to REMAIN IN THE ROOM while having a phone conversation, I wish he would have stayed on the damn phone. Because once he got off, he felt the need to offer personal commentary all damn day long. When you're in a class about something as dense and confusing as Medicaid, I'm all for people asking questions. But there is absolutely no need to pretend you're asking a question when what you really want to do is hear yourself talk. And stop asking these speakers why the legislature did what it did. I finally had to tell him to call his congressman.

Between he and chocolate mint lady, I felt like I back in law school having just walked into a new class to find my two least favorite classmates were in attendance. At least in that case I could have just walked to the registrar's office and dropped the damn class.

And in other news, my sister and nephew are at the beach. My sister has recently gotten back on the exercise train. My sister qualified for the Olympic trials back in her swimming heyday, so you can imagine that when she gets on the train it is running full steam ahead. She just called to tell me that she biked all the way to Seaside (7 miles) with my nephew on the back of the bike. When she rented it, the lady told Will that Sheryl Crowe's son Wyatt had been sitting in the same seat yesterday. OMIGOD. We are Sheryl Crowe freaks. I guarantee my sister will see her before the week is up. Hopefully she will wait until I get down there.

100 Things Worth Doing

Memories I hope pop up as my life flashes before my eyes--as inspired by Maggie

1-25

1. The way Will's endless newborn eyes opened to look at me the very first time I spoke to him.
2. Singing in Carnegie Hall with my dad directing
3. Driving the Pacific Coast Highway with my sister
4. My mom's face when she realized we were going to San Francisco
5. Driving around my grandparents' farm on their three wheeler
6. Standing at the top of the stairs as "Dolly"
7. Landing in DC by myself for my internship
8. Meeting Ethel Kennedy
9. Eating our picnic lunch in Provence with Sherri
10. Watching Etta running back towards me at full steam on the beach
11. Sunsets at Hotel Washington
12. Dave Matthews Band with Leslie
13. Dancing with my girlfriends at the Youth Center
14. Floating on blow up inner tubes all day with Aimee and Christina
15. Watching my mom ride the front of the raft at the end of our white water trip
16. Body surfing with my sister for the first time
17. The market at St. Remy
18. Doing the folk dance in Germany
19. Watching the skaters at Rockefeller Center with my nephew for the first time
20. Riding in the back of the Godwin's hatchback with Allyson after the Rick Springfield concert
21. Standing in the kitchen of some condo in Panama City eating oysters with Susie
22. Getting dressed for the Halloween party with Aimee and Autumn
23. Playing in the huge magnolia tree in Gracie's front yard
24. Cherry Blossoms in Macon and DC
25. The curtain opening on "Dreamgirls"--my first Broadway show

Because Balance in Important

You know what I hate? Mean old people. For example--

I just hung up the phone with a lady in the Midwest. We're handling the probate of her first cousin's will. The cousin's lineage worked out so that her first cousins are the people who would have inherited her estate had she not had a will. Therefore, they are all entitled to receive a copy of the petition to probate along with the will.

All I needed this lady to do was sign an acknowledgment that she received a copy of the will and petition. Her signature has to be notarized. She returned the first acknowledgment to me without a notary signature so I re-sent it to her. She just lit me up: I'm 86 years old and I live in the country and I would have to drive into town and pay a notary to sign this for me. Why are you asking an old lady to do that when I'm not going to get one thing from this estate? I don't care what happens!

I explained the reasoning behind the law but told her not to trouble herself. Instead, I told her that our alternative was to have the sheriff serve her with a copy of the petition. I told her we would do that and not to be alarmed if the sheriff appeared at her door. She then scolded me some more and lamented the stupidity of Georgia law. I told her I would be glad to let my congressman know that an 86 year old lady in Illinois thinks that Georgia law is stupid, but I was still charged with following it to the letter. She just continued to tell me she didn't care so I thanked her for her help and hung up.

[Our receptionist just came up to apologize for not being able to understand the lady when she told her her name. I told her I couldn't understand her either and our receptionist said, "Well, you were sweet to her." Glad to know I haven't crossed over the line yet.]

Last week, a friend of mine who works in admissions and fundraising for a divinity school was told by an octogenarian that she is a bad mother because is "riding the money train" instead of staying home with her nine-month old. Mind you, the octogenarian has no personal knowledge of my friend's situation. You think she would have said the same thing to my sister--the sole source of support for my nephew?

At what age do people lose the rudeness/judgmental/lack-of-common-human-courtesy filter? I mean, I'm the world's biggest smart-ass and it's well established that I don't suffer fools lightly, but I do generally try to treat people with some modicum of respect. At what age am I allowed to stop? I'm thinking 33.1 months is looking good.

My Love List

Inspired by She Loves Purple and SLynnRo here's my Love List.

The Beach--everything about the beach. Rolling down the window in the car to catch the first whiff of salt air once you've crossed whatever bridge puts you in official beach territory. First stepping foot in the sand. Curling up on a chair under an umbrella with a good book. Homemade watermelon mint daiquiris while you're lying under that umbrella. Watching dogs (especially my own or one I love) take off running with abandon. The weightlessness you feel when you catch the perfect wave while body surfing. Showering after a day in the sand and surf and all the crazy things you find in your suit. Buying fresh fish at a sea side market and cooking it up myself. The way your skin feels like it has shrunk after a day in the sun. Falling asleep with the windows open to the sound of the surf.

Homemade whipped cream. With strawberries. Or chocolate. A cold beer on the front porch after digging in the dirt all day. Zinnias blooming in front of a picket fence. Dahlias as big my head (well, maybe not my big ole head). Fresh basil. Coke in a bottle. Summer tomatoes and silver queen corn. A new good white wine. The smell of a steak on a charcoal grill. A great anti pasta plate. Warm bread.

Driving on a country two lane road. With the windows rolled down. And music blaring. Especially when the farmers have their irrigation systems running. Or right after they have picked peanuts. Roadside farmers' markets. Eating boiled peanuts purchased at a roadside farmers' market while driving on a back country road with the music blaring. Right after it's rained.

Driving over the 14th Street Bridge when the cherry trees along the tidal basin are in full bloom. Driving along the GW Parkway while listening to Dave Matthews sing about sitting on top of the world with our legs hanging free. Walking along the Mall at sunset. Sangria at Jaleo.

The exhausting feeling of finishing a long, productive choir rehearsal. Singing with people I love. A rich bass voice and pure tenor voice. Boy sopranos' voices. That one chord in "Island in Space." Any performance conducted by Robert Shaw. A Capella's performance of "Heavenly Light" at the 1988 ACDA Southeastern Division conference. Looking out into the audience and not being able to see anyone but knowing you've got them in the palm of your hand. The Moses Hogan Chorale singing "Elijah Rock."

Finishing a file, boxing it up and putting it away. Original hard wood floors and crown moldings. Gas ranges. Planning a trip. Friday nights with a house full of groceries and a full TIVO. Pulling the Netflix envelopes out of the mailbox. Drinking homemade lattes from my Washington, DC mug. High school football in South Georgia on Friday nights. High school marching bands. Live performances. Sitting down to a chef's tasting menu with someone who loves food as much as I do.

A feed reader full of entries.

Favorite Line of the Week

[Telephone conversation]

What are you doing, Buddy?

I runnin aroun nekkid, Sissy. Come on! Run aroun nekkid with me!

I love that kid

My sister just called to tell me that my nephew just told her he wants to go to Yew York and ride the train and go ni ni with his Sissy (that's me). I spent the weekend up there to celebrate my birthday, and we spent a lot of time snuggling. Every now and then he would look at me and say, "Oh, Sissy. I yuv you so much." He also told me he was very proud of Etta. As my dad would say, he is quite the kid.

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Super Bowl of yore

Five years ago (God, how did that happen?), I was in my third year of law school living in Melrose Place. We lived in a row of townhouses that were built for the staff of this place. There were two apartments in each building (one upstairs and one downstairs) and probably seven buildings total. We didn't know everyone that lived there, but we knew most people. Downstairs from me was a medical school student, on my right in the downstairs was our law school buddy K, on the left were Aimee in the upstairs and Teener in the downstairs. K and Teener were 1L's so they were a LOT busier than we were, so Aimee and I often tried to feed them.

I volunteered to cook fajitas for Super Bowl Sunday. Etta was about two days post op from getting spayed and seemed to be doing well in spite of some swelling in her belly. I mentioned it my sister (the nurse) when I called her and she got me worried about the cause of the swelling. I called her vet and they put me at ease so I just kept cooking.

The gang arrived for the feast about the time my sister called back. They had all gotten a head start on me with the drinking, and they were being plenty rowdy. My sister finally convinced me that Etta's belly could be swollen due to internal bleeding, so I sent everyone home and looked up the number for the emergency vet.

I called and discovered that it cost $150 to walk in the damn door. $150 is a lot of money in the life of a law student. My mom had gotten in on the game at that point and called me crying to tell me to use her AMEX to pay for it but to take Etta in immediately.

Aimee and I headed to the vet which is in the ghetto. We walked in and took a seat in the waiting room, but were quickly ushered back to a room. Only, the room had no back wall. It was completely open to the back of the clinic. There was nothing in our line of sight, but we could hear the howling of some poor animal as if he was in the room with us.

Drunk Aimee and I got the giggles, but Etta saw nothing funny about the situation. The hilarity only escalated upon the vet (who was Nigerian) beginning to bellow, "STAPLES! STAPLES!" Etta was unsuccessfully trying to find any possible place to hide.

Ends up, she was allergic to the internal sutures her vet used during surgery. I can't even remember how this guy came to that conclusion. He also gave her a diruetic and told me that she shouldn't be climbing stairs. Naturally, our apartments were built on a hill. This required us to climb about 15 steps to get to the sidewalk in front of the house, then there about 10 steps up to the front porch, and of course, I lived upstairs so that was another 35 or so steps. Etta was about 50 pounds at that point, so I made the executive decision to skip the diruetic since I didn't feel like hauling her up and down 100 steps all night.

She fully recovered and has only a saggy belly to show for it. Aimee and I, on the other hand. . .

I made Aimee's famous guacamole today, and as Etta stood at my feet waiting for me to drop something, I was thankful.

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Heartsick

I met the aforementioned L when we worked together on Capitol Hill. L eventually left for greener pastures, and a recent college grad was hired to replace her. Katie's brother had previously worked in our office and was a favorite in the tight-knit Hill community.

Within days of Katie's graduation (and her subsequent departure for D.C.), her mother apparently had a seizure early one morning while on the dock of their lake house where everyone had gathered to celebrate. She fell into the water where she was found dead shortly thereafter.

I heard the news of a horrific plane crash earlier today, but didn't hear the names of any of the victims until just now. Katie's father was one of the 6 victims. The article also says that both of her father's parents recently died--his mother after being hit by a car.

I have not kept up with Katie or her brother, but their father's obituary indicates that they are both married and her brother recently had a baby. I know they will treasure these happy times in which their father shared, but I'm sure they also wonder how much more they have to take.

Sadly, it's the most action I've seen in a while

"You know I had to walk 30 blocks to GET to the gym last night."

"I know. I KNOW I should walk to work. I know this."

But I don't. I live maybe half a mile from my office, but I still drive to work every day. L has moved to New York after nearly a decade in D.C. and has laughed at me since her first visit to Mayberry for not walking to work.

My battery was dead yesterday, so after hitching a ride to the office, I walked home to meet the guy that AAA sent to jump me off. Naturally, I texted L on the way home to let her know I was walking--even if it was only because I had a dead battery.

The wrecker service called when I was about a block and a half from home and said that driver was waiting for me. As I walked down my driveway, I saw a 60ish, white haired man waiting at the bottom. I'm 33 and no super model, but it would probably be clear to most people that we were not a match made in heaven.

Not so clear to ole Jimmy.

"I hate to see a beautiful woman like you walking."

Why? I thought. Instead I replied, "It's not a problem. I work downtown, so it wasn't far." I popped the hood for him and he starts looking for the battery.

What kind of work do you do?

I'm an attorney, but don't hold it against me.

Well, if I'm not being too forward, are you single?

Yes, I'm single.

I don't know where the battrey (sic) is in this thing. I swear. Some of these newfangled cars. . .Do you like country music?

Yes, I like some country music. My sister lives in Nashville so I'm kind of forced to like it. (Why I didn't just stick with a one word answer, I'll never know.)

Ever heard of the Bellamy brothers?

Yes.

Have you heard that song "If I said you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me?" That's what you reminded me of just now.

Now, I have decent hair. Sometimes, my eyes are OK. My fingernails have always been a big bonus. But my body? People, NEVER have I been accused of having a beautiful body and rightfully so.

Well, what do you like to do for fun?

I stall while thinking, what in the world do I tell him?

Travel.

Well, what do you like to do for fun around here?

Travel.

OK, I'll shut up.

And he still hasn't found the blasted battery. He asks to look in the trunk (I drive an SUV) so I opened the back for him. I tell him I'm pretty sure that the only thing back there is the spare tire and he asks for the owner's manual. I give it to him and then go inside to get my dog to let her out.

I have an 80 pound Weimaraner, and she was worth her weight in gold when she came down those steps barking to beat the band. She went right for him, but I managed to hold her back. He was sitting on the back of the car reading the manual, so we went into the back yard. She then refused to come back--I guess she wasn't feeling Jimmy's vibe either.

As he continues to search for the battery ("This ain't one of them hybrids is it?") he asks if I like racing. NO. I take Etta back inside and call my dad to fill him in while I'm in there.

Finally, upon my return, he thinks he has located the battery and proceeds to hook up his little tester. He thinks. He tells me to try to crank it to see if it will turn over at all. Blessedly, it cranks right up.

Old Jimmy goes in for the kill at this point. He tells me that he enjoys going to the dirt track races and singing karaoke at the VFW and if I should ever find myself wanting to go out and do something, I should call him.

He's pulling out his card and checking my AAA card at this point.

Have you ever heard of Alan Jackson?

Yes.

He's my cousin. Doug Stone, too. But I've got the most famous name of all.

He turns his card around to reveal his name handwritten on the back: Jimmy Hendrix.

As I pull out of the driveway to head to the auto parts store down the street, I leave L a message:

Let me just tell you what happens when you call AAA to jump you off in Mayberry. They send out a white haired Jimmy Hendrix who enjoys dirt track racing and singing karaoke at the VFW and who is so busy asking you out that he can't find the blasted battery in your car!

Of course the people downstairs in the embroidery/silkscreen shop couldn't set fire to their equipment during one of our frequent 70 degree days so that I could at least open my window. Nor could they do a good enough job on the fire to force us to evacuate the building. Instead, we're stuck with the stench of an electrical fire for the remainder of the afternoon. UGH.

Dance

My mom and my sister got me this apron for Christmas. Every time I put it on, my nephew would say, "Dance, Sissy." So we danced.

Year End Wrap Up

I spent December singing, traveling, taking antibiotics and cooking. I was supposed to start the month off with a visit to Orlando for the opening of Ginger. Instead, I spent the weekend on the sofa trying to fight off the snot of death.

The next weekend was the marathon church music weekend, and I spent all weekend singing. The next week is when the real fun began.

I flew out of Atlanta on Thursday to meet my sister and nephew in New York--or "Yew York City!" as Will would say. He was an absolute trooper, and I remain amazed at how well a 2 year old lasted in the city. Highlights included:

• Having him run up to me when I walked in the hotel. Made my 20 minute wait for a cab outside of Penn Station in the rain worth it.
• Seeing one of my sister's best friends growing up in the lobby of our hotel. Our hometown only has 30,000 residents and we ran into one of our favorite people in the lobby of the largest hotel in New York.
• The great service we had at dinner our first night--and the delicious tiramisu.
• Just taking a minute to absorb the fact that I was standing at Rockefeller Center watching the ice skaters with my nephew two weeks before Christmas and enjoying his excitement.
• Realizing how empathetic he is after we continued to ask me about the lady we saw fall all day long.
• Watching Will climb right up on Santa's lap and continue to ask him for a "twee."
• Having him ask me over and over again "Sissy, what happen to my nose?" It was so cold, his nose was numb.
• After I taught him how to hail a cab, he would periodically hold both bemittened hands up and say, "I need taxi car."
• All the crazy looks we got (even in New York) while transporting him in the backpack.
• Truffled Egg Toast
• Meeting the very nice lady on the Staten Island Ferry who then taught us how to take the bus instead of the subway.
• Babbo
• Having Will charm everyone on the elevator at Top of the Rock; hearing them all say, "aw" when he walked into the glass barrier once we got off the elevator--while I died laughing.
• Having him ask to go "ni-ni with my Sissy" every night we were there.
• After a long day of going, going, going asking him if he wanted to go night-night. "No." Do you want to go to a museum? "No." What do you want to do? "I wanna pway." So, we got out and "pwayed" in Central Park.

It was a great trip. I would post some pictures, but my sister won't e-mail them to me.

After that, I wrapped up at work and then headed to Nashville for the holiday. We were all together for 4 days, and my grandparents continue to be troopers. Especially my grandmother. She's a little frightened of escalators these days, but she still managed to recover after initiating a ride by doing the splits. She's pretty phenomenal.

"We" cooked breakfast for a shelter Christmas Eve morning. I ended up cooking two casseroles to simplify things. Once Will is a little older, this will be even more meaningful.

The first words out of his mouth Christmas morning were, "Thank you, Santa Claus." It doesn't get much better than that.

Unfortunately, in addition to my beautiful new luggage (the green one), I came home with strep throat. Just like the good ole days. Luckily, I haven't celebrated New Year's in several years, so the strep didn't really put a damper on my plans. I felt well enough to enjoy some champagne and sushi at home. I didn't really make any resolutions, just trying to be more mindful of lots of things in my life. And to turn off the TV and computer a little more.

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Thanksgiving

The first year I cooked Thanksgiving dinner was out of necessity. It was my second year of law school. We had the entire week off. My sister called the Thursday night before Thanksgiving to tell me her back was out and to ask me to please drive to Nashville to help her. A friend and I were living in a professor's house while he was on sabbatical that year. It had a very Frank Loyd Wrightish feel. I was in the oddly positioned "den" of the house when the phone rang Friday morning. I turned off the vacumn to answer it.

My mother was in tears on the other end and asked me to please stop at their apartment in Atlanta on the way to Nashville because she and my dad had something to tell me. She said something else about him leaving and driving to South Alabama. I couldn't really make everything out, but I kind of felt like I was starring in an afterschool special about children of divorced parents all of a sudden. I just remember staring out those full length windows at the spring over which the house was built and wondering how I got there.

I gave up on the cleaning and just got on the road. When I got to the apartment, they were both there and told me that after 33 years of marriage they were separating. I just went numb and tried not to look either one of them in the eye. They asked me to share this news with my sister. "It would be better for her to hear it in person."

By the time I got to Nashville, Sissy had been to the doctor and was scheduled for surgery on Tuesday. She was in so much pain it was barely being managed by the pain meds (nearly all of which cause her to throw up she began to discover that week) and she didn't really register what I was telling her about our parents. It's weird what I remember about that week. I don't really remember my conversation with her, but I do remember the trip her friend Susan and I took to the Green Hills Grille to get take out. Susan ordered tuna tatayki and it was the first taste I ever had of it. I also remember realizing that I was going to have to handle this by myself.

My parents announced that they would be arriving for her surgery as well. As usual, there was some rigamarole about logistics that was going to require that they ride together. When one or the other of them protested, I told them not to bother coming at all if they couldn't spend 3 hours in the car together.

The surgery went fine--it was outpatient and she was back home that night. We made a large pallet on the floor in the den so she wouldn't have to climb the stairs to her bedroom.

The key to our Thanksgiving meal is my grandmother's corn bread dressing. My mom and I made an effort to pick up a few other things on Wednesday, but I knew I would have to try to make Nanee's dressing. I called her and got the recipe. She lamented the fact that she had already thawed out the turkey in anticipation of us being there and I basically told her to stuff it.

The dressing that year was edible, but it was not what we were used to. The corn bread was too sweet. You see, having never bothered to help Nanee that much in the kitchen (other than mashed potatoes--those have been my specialty for years now) I had no idea that the Jiffy mix cornbread is entirely too sweet for dressing. We ate it, and in a back handed way we were all thankful to be together. In reality, my parents never really lived any more separately than they already were (they were already maintaining two households) after their big announcement the week before Thanksgiving that year. Instead, they made the choice to struggle through a very rough time together.

This year, we'll be back at Nanee and Pop-aw's. We'll mix the dressing up in the same big dish pan that we used to use to shell peas. We'll scrounge around for trivets at the last minute and Nanee will have a fit if we put that Elvis one out on the sideboard. Instead, we'll use those God awful wicker ones she is so fond of. Daddy will offer a prayer of Thanksgiving that will make all of us cry. We'll sit at the table in the dining room with the horrible blue carpet and dated wall paper and Nanee will scold us for laughing so loudly. Sissy will oo and ah over the sweet potato balls and Pop aw will say that he can't eat too much sweet stuff or it will upset his stomach. Sissy will once again lament the fact that we don't keep the tea pitcher on the table and get up to get everyone some more to drink. Pop-aw and Mom will only want about "this" much. Somebody will mention the time I got stuck in the pond and Pop aw will talk about taking me to McDonald's and putting ketchup on my french fries. When Nanee asks if anyone wants dessert, Daddy will rub his belly and say not right now. Pop aw will just want a little piece. Mom will ask who wants coffee and get it started. The dogs will get up Daddy will yell at them to lie back down. Etta will be very ashamed of herself because of this. Wiley will still want something to eat.

I don't know what Will will be doing. Last year, he really liked the sweet potatoes. He generally likes broccoli, so he'll probably enjoy the broccoli casserole. He'll be entertaining us, I can promise you that. I will be very thankful that he's there and that we had one last opportunity (I'm guessing) to sit around that table in that room where we've spent so many hours. Even though he probably won't remember it when he's older, we will. My grandparents will remember having him in their home. We'll have at least a few memories to share with him from that house that holds so much of our childhoods. I'll be thankful I've spent the last 5 years in the kitchen with Nanee, learning all her secrets to that famous dressing.

Happy Halloween

Penguin, originally uploaded by IThinkYouShould.

Trouble in River City

I live in Mayberry. Actually, I live in the little town where the television shows "October Road" and "I'll Fly Away" are/were filmed, but my friend Leslie calls it Mayberry.

Every Halloween the downtown merchants hand out candy during the day to trick or treaters. Well, most of the downtown merchants do that. We don't because we are a bunch of scrooges. In any case, downtown is crawling with little cows, penquins and skunks (it seems the black and white trend has carried over to Halloween costumes this year).

We have to deal with a lot of mentally unstable people in our office, and a gentleman left our office in a huff earlier promising to be back with his "protest signs" pursuant to his first amendment rights. We've been waiting for his return, but so far nothing has materialized.

Or so we thought. I just went to the bank next door and one of the tellers mentioned some crazy man being out there. Ends up he showed up with a sign proclaiming that our office only handed out tricks and she told him to leave.

I'm kind of disappointed that the trouble in river city was so easily resolved.

Scene: Publix in suburban Atlanta; 1:00pm on a Friday afternoon

Young(ish), professional(ish) looking woman (YPLW) orders her sandwich over in the deli area and heads over to check out after grabbing some sea salt and black pepper kettle chips because she read about them on some blog.

Three lines are open: (1) Express lane, (2) Aisle 6 and (3) Aisle 1. YPLW chooses the express lane after scoping out the competition and finding lots of people doing their weekly shopping. She remembers those days of having such a luxury and tries not to be jealous. Kinda like she tries not to be jealous of all the women she sees walking while she's driving to work every morning.

Taking her place in line behind the middle-aged African American woman, YPLW notices that the woman is singing aloud. To John Mayer. "I wanna run through the halls of my high school. . ." etc. Not only that, she's dancing--including adding a sassy little flip of the head every time the music reaches a certain point.

In front of the woman is the wannabe cowboy with faux cowboy boots, jeans with a permanent crease on the back leg complete with a Cloroxed stripe, a case of corona, a case of Sam Adams Boston Lager, a bag of potatoes, two packs of Camels and two packages of pork chops. He keeps looking at the woman like she's possessed, but she just keeps singing. And bopping.

Love Etta

Love Etta, originally uploaded by IThinkYouShould.

My sister had always called Etta "Ettatalia" or "Ettasmellia." She called me last night to tell me that while he was running through his "God Blesses," my nephew said, "God bless Ettazalia."

Thirteeeee

Thirteeeee, originally uploaded by IThinkYouShould.