Started here
One to Two:
My parents finish building their house in Carlton Woods. The playroom is built over the garage and it has a little opening that over looks the kitchen. I'm standing on the mini-balcony and looking into the kitchen crying after my sister leaves me in the playroom. I do not enjoy being left alone.
Shortly after we move in, my dad is downstairs having just finished his shower. Mom has Julie and me in the bath (she was 5) and is in her robe. She doesn't know that Julie has been kind enough to share a peppermint with me before we got in the tub until I start choking. She reacts in her typical manner--yelling for my dad. She thinks, "we can't go to the hospital! No one is dressed." My dad eventually turns me upside down and shakes me until the peppermint comes out.
Later in the year, Julie pantomimes eating a leaf off a houseplant; I actually eat it and have some sort of allergic reaction resulting in a hospital visit. The act of her pantomiming and me actually carrying out the act became something of a theme in our lives.
Two to Three:
We move out of the Carlton Woods House into the Barbara Circle house. It's much smaller but backs up to a small lake. We continue to keep the house allergen free, but Mom has a horrible time in the mid-70's finding a babysitter for me. Everyone either has shag carpet or a pet. She finally goes in to resign and her principal insists on helping her find somebody to keep me instead. It's a continuing issue for the next several years.
In addition to the constant red, puffy eyes associated with allergies, my scalp refuses to grow hair. Julie could have been the model for the girl on the Sunbeam Bread product--beautiful blonde locks with gorgeous blue eyes. I am completely bald with red eyes and a red nose.
I also cry. A lot. When my parents can no longer stand it, they call my grandfather. He's a farmer and lives an hour away, and is one of the few people I will quit crying for. He takes me riding around the farm looking at cows until I fall asleep.
Three to Four:
Mom has finally worked out an arrangement that I seem to be satisfied with. I go to the church preschool 3 days a week and spend the mornings before and afternoons after with either Miss Jane or Miss Amanda. Both of these homes become second homes to me over the next two years--keeping me when I'm sick, when my parents are out of town and basically whenever else my mom needs them to.
One morning, I was wearing my new orange jumpsuit and fancy knee-high boots with a hidden zipper compartment and Bill took off running through the church without me. Never mind that I spend half my life at this church--in addition to school three days a week, my dad is the choir director--I totally freak out. The very nice janitor, James, escorts me to my classroom and I am forever grateful.
The days I'm not in school, I stay at with Miss Betty and her grandson, Bucky. Miss Betty never remembers to pull the tongue on my shoes out before she ties them. I'm too scared to tell her.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
I could never really get very excited about this presidential election. Even though the Republican nominee's typically moderate platform appeals to me more than the far right wing of our party, he's never been my favorite. It may or may not be because his staffers used to act like total jerks when I worked in the Senate, but I try to think I was able to get over it. My apathy about our nominee has spared me from the bitter disappointment of loss today. I find our president-elect to be an incredibly charismatic individual and I'm not sure our country's collective psyche could have survived a Republican victory last night.
Just don't get me started on Biden.
BUT, my point here is that while everyone else in the country is celebrating or mourning today, I still feel like I'm in a holding pattern. My former boss may be in a runoff. Georgia requires a candidate to receive 50% + 1 vote in order to be victorious. With 96% of the precincts reporting, he's at 49.9%. So, while he may still be able to transcend that 50% requirement with the outstanding 4% of precincts, he can't afford to wait to find out. So, the campaign is still running right now. His poor staff is exhausted. He is exhausted. His family is exhausted. The electorate is exhausted and definitely not wanting to endure 4 more weeks of stupid ads. So, keep your fingers crossed that those 4% of precincts will get us that vital last .1% of the vote.
To all the Obama supporters: Congratulations.
Just don't get me started on Biden.
BUT, my point here is that while everyone else in the country is celebrating or mourning today, I still feel like I'm in a holding pattern. My former boss may be in a runoff. Georgia requires a candidate to receive 50% + 1 vote in order to be victorious. With 96% of the precincts reporting, he's at 49.9%. So, while he may still be able to transcend that 50% requirement with the outstanding 4% of precincts, he can't afford to wait to find out. So, the campaign is still running right now. His poor staff is exhausted. He is exhausted. His family is exhausted. The electorate is exhausted and definitely not wanting to endure 4 more weeks of stupid ads. So, keep your fingers crossed that those 4% of precincts will get us that vital last .1% of the vote.
To all the Obama supporters: Congratulations.
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Proud
Thirteen years ago, a small town lawyer from Hometown got elected to the United States Congress. I was lucky enough to intern for him his first summer on the Hill and go back 3 years later and become his scheduler. 6 years ago, he pulled off a stunning defeat and became a United States Senator. It still blows my mind a little.
He was in Georgia the first day of my internship back in 1995, but he came in on that second day and told me to come with him. While his wife had been my 5th grade teacher and I considered both his daughter and son friends and he lived just down the street, I didn't know him very well. He took the time we were walking over to the Capitol to be sure my living arrangements were acceptable and I had everything I needed. We saw Steve Largent (a congressman at the time) and when I swallowed my tongue in awe, he teased me mercilessly. When another Georgia congressman was wondering around near us, he made sure to grab both the congressman and a photographer so that I could have my picture taken with them both. He took me down on the floor with him and told me which button to push and where to look on the board to see that vote reflected.
Of course, he's a lot busier now with a much larger staff, but when he walked in the Silver Skillet tonight following a tough debate with both of his opponents, he first made sure his wife was standing by his side and he then profusely thanked his staff.
I still remember how I felt the night he won this seat. I still have a hard time believing that he pulled it off. I'm so proud of the work he's done and I sure do hope he gets to continue. Because I believe in his politics? Absolutely. But mainly because I believe in the man.
He was in Georgia the first day of my internship back in 1995, but he came in on that second day and told me to come with him. While his wife had been my 5th grade teacher and I considered both his daughter and son friends and he lived just down the street, I didn't know him very well. He took the time we were walking over to the Capitol to be sure my living arrangements were acceptable and I had everything I needed. We saw Steve Largent (a congressman at the time) and when I swallowed my tongue in awe, he teased me mercilessly. When another Georgia congressman was wondering around near us, he made sure to grab both the congressman and a photographer so that I could have my picture taken with them both. He took me down on the floor with him and told me which button to push and where to look on the board to see that vote reflected.
Of course, he's a lot busier now with a much larger staff, but when he walked in the Silver Skillet tonight following a tough debate with both of his opponents, he first made sure his wife was standing by his side and he then profusely thanked his staff.
I still remember how I felt the night he won this seat. I still have a hard time believing that he pulled it off. I'm so proud of the work he's done and I sure do hope he gets to continue. Because I believe in his politics? Absolutely. But mainly because I believe in the man.
Saturday, November 01, 2008
Timeline: Zero-One
1975: I am born in Hometown--a small, largely agricultural town in South Georgia to two teachers. I have a fearless, four year old sister who has hardly been sick a day in her life. My mom's parents live about an hour away and they still talk about loading my grandfather and his broken leg in the back of their big sedan to hurriedly make the drive. When they arrive, my dad tells them that he and Mom have decided on a name--Billie Belle after my grandmothers. Thankfully, he was teasing.
My entrance in to the world was foreshadowing for how I've lived my life. Because my sister was born in 45 minutes, my mom hurried to the hospital with me as well. I ended up deciding to turn around mid stream and we ended up with a long delivery. My mom's doc (who would later become my beloved pediatrician) ended up closing the office and everybody waited me out. When I got close enough, they pulled out the forceps and told me they would wait no more.
The nurses finally disclosed the particulars to the radio station so that my dad's high school students would quit calling. My dad chose my name while my mom was sleeping. 8 years later, we received his alumni newsletter and discovered that his ex-fiance has a daughter with the exact same name. My mom said we were heading to the courthouse.
By all accounts, I was a pain in the ass. Once my mom quit breast feeding, I became very sick. Allergy tests at 8 months revealed multiple allergens and resulted in twice weekly allergy shots for the first 5 years of my life. The only thing that comforted me was my mother. She fell asleep on the floor next to my crib every night holding my hand through the slats. A floor that was covered in linoleum after they had to rip the carpet up because of my allergies. I try to remember this when she is making me crazy today.
My entrance in to the world was foreshadowing for how I've lived my life. Because my sister was born in 45 minutes, my mom hurried to the hospital with me as well. I ended up deciding to turn around mid stream and we ended up with a long delivery. My mom's doc (who would later become my beloved pediatrician) ended up closing the office and everybody waited me out. When I got close enough, they pulled out the forceps and told me they would wait no more.
The nurses finally disclosed the particulars to the radio station so that my dad's high school students would quit calling. My dad chose my name while my mom was sleeping. 8 years later, we received his alumni newsletter and discovered that his ex-fiance has a daughter with the exact same name. My mom said we were heading to the courthouse.
By all accounts, I was a pain in the ass. Once my mom quit breast feeding, I became very sick. Allergy tests at 8 months revealed multiple allergens and resulted in twice weekly allergy shots for the first 5 years of my life. The only thing that comforted me was my mother. She fell asleep on the floor next to my crib every night holding my hand through the slats. A floor that was covered in linoleum after they had to rip the carpet up because of my allergies. I try to remember this when she is making me crazy today.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Sunday, September 14, 2008
The Teeth
I'm having a root canal on Tuesday. It will be my third or fourth (I've lost count) in the past nine years. All of this is triggered by being completely asinine on December 31, 1998.
I had been in DC for nearly a year and 1/2 at that point, so I'm not sure why I was so convinced that I was going to get lost in Chicago. But, I was. Terrified. My sister and I went to visit her friend from nursing school, Connie--my first visit to the Windy City.
I was always the responsible one, so everyone decided at the beginning of the night that I should be the keeper of the keys, cash, id and lipstick. I put the coat check tickets in my pocket and we headed into what looked like a high school gym decorated for the prom. There were about 5 stairs, a landing, and then 5 more stairs. My sister fell down the first set and Connie fell down the second set--both of them giggling the whole time. I knew I was in for it at that point.
If you can't beat em, join em, right? So, little Miss Responsible decided to just loosen up. However, the fear was apparently still present because I remember trying to keep up with Connie's feathered coat after standing up and spitting out my teeth. It would seem that I hit a patch of ice on the sidewalk after Connie and I abandoned my sister at the prom. I don't remember the impact, just standing up and spitting my teeth out. It being New Year's and all, I didn't want to impede anyone's good time, so I popped right back up. I remember looking at the top of my left wrist and noticing it was "scratched," so I pulled my coat down over it and dashed to keep up with Connie.
I caught her as she was walking into the bar. I pulled my ID out of my pocket and handed it to the bouncer.
Ya'll, I had just spit my teeth out and I HANDED THE BOUNCER MY ID LIKE IT WAS A TUESDAY NIGHT AT CAP LOUNGE. Can you imagine what he thought? I often crack up wondering about the people who MUST have seen me hit the pavement. Don't you know they are still telling the stories of that girl who bit it on New Year's that time?
At any rate, Connie turned around to ask if I wanted a "bee-OH MY GOD! What happened?" she hadn't even noticed that I fell. I must have convinced her to just head home, because my next real memory is sitting in her den while she called the doc on call for her practice (she's OB GYN) to ask if losing a tooth is like loosing a finger, "Do we need to go back and get it?"
I finally convinced her that I didn't need to go to the OR and headed to bed.
When I woke up the next morning, my first thought was, "Oh, God. Please let that have been a nightmare," but the washcloth on my hand gave it away. A quick run of my tongue over where my teeth used to be confirmed that I was remembering things correctly. And I just cracked up. I mean, what are you going to do at that point?
So, I called my dad and asked him to call the dentist I had just met a few days before and I rearranged our flights and we headed to the airport. My sister had to sit down in the middle of O'Hare a couple of times, she was laughing so hard, and I had to inform a crazy lady that her "kind" solicitation of moving seats was not going to happen considering I felt worse than I looked (capped off with a big smile), but all in all, the flight was uneventful. Ends up, my arm was broken, too, so that was our first stop once we got back to Mayberry. The orthopedic surgeon who lived down the street said he wasn't worried about my arm; it was my mouth that was troubling (his wife burst into tears at the sight of me).
We met the dentist at his office, and fours hour later, I had some front teeth again. I had to come back on Monday (I think this was a Friday or Saturday) for a root canal and some finish work, and returned the following April for another root canal.
I'm pretty sure I had another root canal a year or two ago, so they are pretty much old hat at this point. But when I started having pain in my right front tooth last week and googled "tooth pain in a tooth that's already had a root canal," I panicked a little. I tried to hedge my bets at the dentist on Friday, but it became crystal clear that the nerve in my right front tooth is dead as a door nail. I just knew it was going to have to be pulled, but ends up, old righty had been spared a root canal up to this point. So, because of one too many awful cosmos at a grown up prom nearly 10 years ago, I get to have my fourth root canal on Tuesday.
And that's the story of how I lost my teeth.
I had been in DC for nearly a year and 1/2 at that point, so I'm not sure why I was so convinced that I was going to get lost in Chicago. But, I was. Terrified. My sister and I went to visit her friend from nursing school, Connie--my first visit to the Windy City.
I was always the responsible one, so everyone decided at the beginning of the night that I should be the keeper of the keys, cash, id and lipstick. I put the coat check tickets in my pocket and we headed into what looked like a high school gym decorated for the prom. There were about 5 stairs, a landing, and then 5 more stairs. My sister fell down the first set and Connie fell down the second set--both of them giggling the whole time. I knew I was in for it at that point.
If you can't beat em, join em, right? So, little Miss Responsible decided to just loosen up. However, the fear was apparently still present because I remember trying to keep up with Connie's feathered coat after standing up and spitting out my teeth. It would seem that I hit a patch of ice on the sidewalk after Connie and I abandoned my sister at the prom. I don't remember the impact, just standing up and spitting my teeth out. It being New Year's and all, I didn't want to impede anyone's good time, so I popped right back up. I remember looking at the top of my left wrist and noticing it was "scratched," so I pulled my coat down over it and dashed to keep up with Connie.
I caught her as she was walking into the bar. I pulled my ID out of my pocket and handed it to the bouncer.
Ya'll, I had just spit my teeth out and I HANDED THE BOUNCER MY ID LIKE IT WAS A TUESDAY NIGHT AT CAP LOUNGE. Can you imagine what he thought? I often crack up wondering about the people who MUST have seen me hit the pavement. Don't you know they are still telling the stories of that girl who bit it on New Year's that time?
At any rate, Connie turned around to ask if I wanted a "bee-OH MY GOD! What happened?" she hadn't even noticed that I fell. I must have convinced her to just head home, because my next real memory is sitting in her den while she called the doc on call for her practice (she's OB GYN) to ask if losing a tooth is like loosing a finger, "Do we need to go back and get it?"
I finally convinced her that I didn't need to go to the OR and headed to bed.
When I woke up the next morning, my first thought was, "Oh, God. Please let that have been a nightmare," but the washcloth on my hand gave it away. A quick run of my tongue over where my teeth used to be confirmed that I was remembering things correctly. And I just cracked up. I mean, what are you going to do at that point?
So, I called my dad and asked him to call the dentist I had just met a few days before and I rearranged our flights and we headed to the airport. My sister had to sit down in the middle of O'Hare a couple of times, she was laughing so hard, and I had to inform a crazy lady that her "kind" solicitation of moving seats was not going to happen considering I felt worse than I looked (capped off with a big smile), but all in all, the flight was uneventful. Ends up, my arm was broken, too, so that was our first stop once we got back to Mayberry. The orthopedic surgeon who lived down the street said he wasn't worried about my arm; it was my mouth that was troubling (his wife burst into tears at the sight of me).
We met the dentist at his office, and fours hour later, I had some front teeth again. I had to come back on Monday (I think this was a Friday or Saturday) for a root canal and some finish work, and returned the following April for another root canal.
I'm pretty sure I had another root canal a year or two ago, so they are pretty much old hat at this point. But when I started having pain in my right front tooth last week and googled "tooth pain in a tooth that's already had a root canal," I panicked a little. I tried to hedge my bets at the dentist on Friday, but it became crystal clear that the nerve in my right front tooth is dead as a door nail. I just knew it was going to have to be pulled, but ends up, old righty had been spared a root canal up to this point. So, because of one too many awful cosmos at a grown up prom nearly 10 years ago, I get to have my fourth root canal on Tuesday.
And that's the story of how I lost my teeth.
Friday, September 12, 2008
When Will took the field for his first soccer game last weekend, I couldn't stop laughing. And crying. And I thought, "oh my god, what is wrong with me? I am crying over a 3 year old soccer game." About that time, my sister piped up from her position on the grass, "I can't stop laughing!" But I knew she was covering up because she was feeling the exact same way that I was.
Then, I read this post. She says it better than I could ever hope.
Then, I read this post. She says it better than I could ever hope.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Questions
As I've mentioned, I didn't get the chance to marinate in the post 9-11 coverage--or really, the present 9-11 coverage like I would have wanted. I took the year after off and stayed home from class and watched TV all day. I've never been able to repeat that, but I do tend to watch everything I can.
I was reminded tonight that I kept wondering where the plane went. I know it hit the building, but it's got to be a lot bigger than that building, right? Even if it wasn't bigger, it seemed to me that it should have come out of the other side. I couldn't comprehend that the buildings just swallowed the plane whole.
Would you have jumped? I don't think I would have had the guts. I've never had the guts to jump off a high dive; I can't imagine jumping from those towers. As a general rule, I'm not very good in a physical crisis anyway. I think I probably would have followed the instructions to remain in the building--that's me. The rule follower.
I don't think I ever really comprehended the extent of the heroism of the people on Flight 93 until this year. Those people saved the Capitol--a building I love.
Do you remember the feeling of dread wondering what was going to happen next? I didn't feel like a target in the middle of Georgia, but I still braced myself for weeks everytime a plane flew over head. Except in DC--where the sound of the circling F-14's lulled me to sleep during my visit.
Have you heard about these guys?
What do you remember?
I was reminded tonight that I kept wondering where the plane went. I know it hit the building, but it's got to be a lot bigger than that building, right? Even if it wasn't bigger, it seemed to me that it should have come out of the other side. I couldn't comprehend that the buildings just swallowed the plane whole.
Would you have jumped? I don't think I would have had the guts. I've never had the guts to jump off a high dive; I can't imagine jumping from those towers. As a general rule, I'm not very good in a physical crisis anyway. I think I probably would have followed the instructions to remain in the building--that's me. The rule follower.
I don't think I ever really comprehended the extent of the heroism of the people on Flight 93 until this year. Those people saved the Capitol--a building I love.
Do you remember the feeling of dread wondering what was going to happen next? I didn't feel like a target in the middle of Georgia, but I still braced myself for weeks everytime a plane flew over head. Except in DC--where the sound of the circling F-14's lulled me to sleep during my visit.
Have you heard about these guys?
What do you remember?
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Three Years Ago
Lots of people have been remembering where they were three years ago--in the aftermath of Katrina. In spite of my penchant for marinating in news coverage of national crises, I didn't watch much of the Katrina coverage. You see, my sister was scheduled for a C-Section the Wednesday after Labor Day and we were busy purging her lovely garage apartment of every piece of licensed character paraphernalia she had received at her showers. Not because she is some hipster parent who is against licensed characters (just ask Thomas), but because she was a very pregnant woman with a vicious hatred for Winnie the Pooh.
There are a ton of great memories from that week, but every single one is bittersweet. You see, my sister had not followed the path I had always dreamed of for her. I had always dreamed that she would marry one of her beautiful athlete friends and make beautiful, athletic, smart children with him. Pat was my first choice, by the way.
Instead, she had made the choice, at 34, to have a baby she knew was loved and wanted and who would be unwaveringly supported--even if it was only from his maternal side of the family. Unfortunately, the male contributor of DNA is so much less than anything I ever dreamed for my sister, and every single memory of that week is tinged with this knowledge.
I've got two or three different drafts of this post saved. I hesitate to publish anything (I am an attorney. There's a reason my first stop upon them wheeling my sister to the OR that morning was the nurses station for some paper. Present recollection recorded--hearsay exception?) about that time. Then, I decide to go for it and realize that the play by play doesn't matter. The bottom line is that he is an alcoholic and drug addict and unfortunately, having a baby didn't change him one bit.
I called my sister tonight to check in. She and my nephew were looking at pictures together. She said that he is especially enamored with the shots featuring her blood and guts (he is obviously his mother's child). He was very nonchalantly narrating everything for me when suddenly, his voice got very excited: That's YOU, Sissy!
That's right, buddy. I was right there for you from the beginning. I am honored to have spent that first night of your life with you. And, I can promise you that I will remain right there with you for the rest of my life. And in the end, that's all that matters. May you rest secured in the knowledge that you have an army of unwavering support behind you at all times. And may that be enough to make up for any inadequacies. I hope you learn that you never need to look back and check--we'll be right there.
Now, chop chop. You owe me a house in Provence. Let's get to work on that.
There are a ton of great memories from that week, but every single one is bittersweet. You see, my sister had not followed the path I had always dreamed of for her. I had always dreamed that she would marry one of her beautiful athlete friends and make beautiful, athletic, smart children with him. Pat was my first choice, by the way.
Instead, she had made the choice, at 34, to have a baby she knew was loved and wanted and who would be unwaveringly supported--even if it was only from his maternal side of the family. Unfortunately, the male contributor of DNA is so much less than anything I ever dreamed for my sister, and every single memory of that week is tinged with this knowledge.
I've got two or three different drafts of this post saved. I hesitate to publish anything (I am an attorney. There's a reason my first stop upon them wheeling my sister to the OR that morning was the nurses station for some paper. Present recollection recorded--hearsay exception?) about that time. Then, I decide to go for it and realize that the play by play doesn't matter. The bottom line is that he is an alcoholic and drug addict and unfortunately, having a baby didn't change him one bit.
I called my sister tonight to check in. She and my nephew were looking at pictures together. She said that he is especially enamored with the shots featuring her blood and guts (he is obviously his mother's child). He was very nonchalantly narrating everything for me when suddenly, his voice got very excited: That's YOU, Sissy!
That's right, buddy. I was right there for you from the beginning. I am honored to have spent that first night of your life with you. And, I can promise you that I will remain right there with you for the rest of my life. And in the end, that's all that matters. May you rest secured in the knowledge that you have an army of unwavering support behind you at all times. And may that be enough to make up for any inadequacies. I hope you learn that you never need to look back and check--we'll be right there.
Now, chop chop. You owe me a house in Provence. Let's get to work on that.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Even though I was in the shade, it was a lot hotter under the bleachers than sitting up in the sun. But, I was where I wanted to be. It was the end of the summer, and I had already sat through enough of my sister's swims to know exactly how embarrassing my mother would be. So, every time her heat came up, I crawled under the bleachers. I was 4.
Luckily, when my sister was at a gymnastics meet, my mother had to contain her enthusiasm. I don't really remember watching my sister perform at gymnastics meets like I do at swim meets--a testament to my mother's more appropriate behavior, I think.
Initially, I alleviated the need to sit with my mother at my sister's meets by joining the team myself. I'll never forget my first swim--one of the biggest revelations was that the swimmers couldn't hear a thing in the pool. All that carrying on was for nothing.
Once we moved back to Hometown, Sissy had to travel an hour and a half (one way) to get to a decent training facility. She was in the 8th grade and it was pretty clear that her swimming could pay her way to college. I was in the 4th grade and there was no way I was going to spend that much of my life in the car. So, it was back to finding hiding places while she swam.
These were no longer rec league meets; we were at Olympic caliber indoor pools--no hiding under the bleachers. Instead, I would entertain myself by marking my sister's splits and the other times in her heat. My mother still carried on--she once got a massive bruise on her arm after slamming it into a wall when my sister failed to meet a desired time. I think maybe the look on my face led her to contain herself when Sissy later reached her goal in a time trial.
The Olympics have been fun for me ever since watching Rowdy Gaines and company in 1984. Most of that is due to the education my sister gave me--in swimming, gymnastics and diving. Maybe London will have cooking and Tivo fast-forwarding and I can return the favor.
Luckily, when my sister was at a gymnastics meet, my mother had to contain her enthusiasm. I don't really remember watching my sister perform at gymnastics meets like I do at swim meets--a testament to my mother's more appropriate behavior, I think.
Initially, I alleviated the need to sit with my mother at my sister's meets by joining the team myself. I'll never forget my first swim--one of the biggest revelations was that the swimmers couldn't hear a thing in the pool. All that carrying on was for nothing.
Once we moved back to Hometown, Sissy had to travel an hour and a half (one way) to get to a decent training facility. She was in the 8th grade and it was pretty clear that her swimming could pay her way to college. I was in the 4th grade and there was no way I was going to spend that much of my life in the car. So, it was back to finding hiding places while she swam.
These were no longer rec league meets; we were at Olympic caliber indoor pools--no hiding under the bleachers. Instead, I would entertain myself by marking my sister's splits and the other times in her heat. My mother still carried on--she once got a massive bruise on her arm after slamming it into a wall when my sister failed to meet a desired time. I think maybe the look on my face led her to contain herself when Sissy later reached her goal in a time trial.
The Olympics have been fun for me ever since watching Rowdy Gaines and company in 1984. Most of that is due to the education my sister gave me--in swimming, gymnastics and diving. Maybe London will have cooking and Tivo fast-forwarding and I can return the favor.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
I don't really have a lot to say, so here's a meme about food
From Very Good Taste
A. List of 100 items
B. Bold items you’ve eaten
C. Cross out items you’d never consider eating
1. Venison
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos Rancheros
4. Steak tartare
5. Crocodile
6. Black pudding
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush
11. Calamari
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi
15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses
17. Black truffle
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras
24. Rice and beans
25. Brawn, or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
27. Dulce de leche
28. Oysters
29. Baklava
30. Bagna cauda
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. Salted lassi
34. Sauerkraut
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar
37. Clotted cream tea
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O
39. Gumbo
40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat
42. Whole insects
43. Phaal
44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
46. Fugu
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut ( prefer them hot--if they're not hot, then I'll have a chocolate glazed)
50. Sea urchin (it was at Minibar and it may have just been sea urchin foam)
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine
60. Carob chips
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin (I can't remember, but I feel sure that I have because it's a pretty big product in Georgia)
64. Currywurst
65. Durian
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette (in cornbread)
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
73. Louche absinthe
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant.
85. Kobe beef
86. Hare
87. Goulash
88. Flowers
89. Horse
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Snake
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Hell
As I was getting into my mom's car to make the hour long drive to Atlanta, I dissolved into a puddle of tears. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. Of course, my mom cried with me and my dad laughed. They had watched me over the past three weeks--ensconced in their house looking out over the North Georgia mountains. I had to round up pillows to sit on because my butt and back hurt from sitting in the same place for so long. I was on a mission to pass the Georgia Bar Exam.
Once you graduate from law school, you pretty much immediately launch into the bar review courses. You see, all you really learn in law school is how to think and write like a lawyer. You don't learn much of your state's substantive law, so you have to fork out another couple of thousand dollars post graduation so that you can learn that law and learn how to take the test. We graduated in early May, and as I recall, our first bar review class started three days later. I didn't really kick it into gear until after July 4th and I didn't kick it into overdrive until nearly a week after that. But, I had been in overdrive for a while at this point and the stress was getting to me.
So, once I got to a place where my cell phone worked, I called my best friend who was on her way to Tampa for the same sort of hell only in a different flavor. She was in the same state of mind, so I at least found that reassuring. I managed to calm down and all was well until I got to the hotel and realized I hadn't really packed any clothes. I mean, seriously.
A buddy and I decided to drive over to the (huge) building where we would be taking our test for the next two days and discovered that the Georgia Board of Bar Examiners was sharing a building with an African American Harley Davidson festival. So, as we're all pulling up stressed beyond belief, the bikers are all setting up their tents for the night and popping open their beer. Someone finally asked what we were doing and once we explained, they not only promised to keep everyone quiet, they promised to pray.
While I am a religious person, I tend to practice my religion in quiet, traditional ways. I go to church on Sunday and sing in the choir. I used to hate going on mission trips as a youth because I was never comfortable approaching people at McDonald's to ask if Jesus was their savior. But, I asked everybody I saw over the next two days to pray for me. Riding the elevator down the next morning--there were two men with name badges on riding with me. "Do you pray?" I asked them. "Yes. In fact, we're here at a convention of ministers." "HALLELUJAH! Will you ALL please pray for me--and everyone else--taking the bar exam today?" As I pulled into the parking lot and gave the attendant my money for parking all day, I asked the same question. "Yes, baby. And I'll be praying for all of ya'll in there today."
So, I'm here today on behalf of all the incredibly stressed law students who are in the homestretch of this trip to hell. A lot of states start the bar exam today, the multi-state exam is tomorrow, and some states finish up on Thursday. So, if you pray, lift a prayer on behalf of those poor souls stuck in a giant room some where trying to write down everything they know in 45 minute increments today.
Once you graduate from law school, you pretty much immediately launch into the bar review courses. You see, all you really learn in law school is how to think and write like a lawyer. You don't learn much of your state's substantive law, so you have to fork out another couple of thousand dollars post graduation so that you can learn that law and learn how to take the test. We graduated in early May, and as I recall, our first bar review class started three days later. I didn't really kick it into gear until after July 4th and I didn't kick it into overdrive until nearly a week after that. But, I had been in overdrive for a while at this point and the stress was getting to me.
So, once I got to a place where my cell phone worked, I called my best friend who was on her way to Tampa for the same sort of hell only in a different flavor. She was in the same state of mind, so I at least found that reassuring. I managed to calm down and all was well until I got to the hotel and realized I hadn't really packed any clothes. I mean, seriously.
A buddy and I decided to drive over to the (huge) building where we would be taking our test for the next two days and discovered that the Georgia Board of Bar Examiners was sharing a building with an African American Harley Davidson festival. So, as we're all pulling up stressed beyond belief, the bikers are all setting up their tents for the night and popping open their beer. Someone finally asked what we were doing and once we explained, they not only promised to keep everyone quiet, they promised to pray.
While I am a religious person, I tend to practice my religion in quiet, traditional ways. I go to church on Sunday and sing in the choir. I used to hate going on mission trips as a youth because I was never comfortable approaching people at McDonald's to ask if Jesus was their savior. But, I asked everybody I saw over the next two days to pray for me. Riding the elevator down the next morning--there were two men with name badges on riding with me. "Do you pray?" I asked them. "Yes. In fact, we're here at a convention of ministers." "HALLELUJAH! Will you ALL please pray for me--and everyone else--taking the bar exam today?" As I pulled into the parking lot and gave the attendant my money for parking all day, I asked the same question. "Yes, baby. And I'll be praying for all of ya'll in there today."
So, I'm here today on behalf of all the incredibly stressed law students who are in the homestretch of this trip to hell. A lot of states start the bar exam today, the multi-state exam is tomorrow, and some states finish up on Thursday. So, if you pray, lift a prayer on behalf of those poor souls stuck in a giant room some where trying to write down everything they know in 45 minute increments today.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Yum
This is my favorite time of year to eat. I've been doing Weight Watchers for the past month so I haven't indulged in several of my all time favorite summer treats--a BLT and peach cobbler--but I will eventually. Life's too short not to have peach cobbler.
Tonight, I made this recipe for the Pioneer Woman's Crash Potatoes, and since I was already heating up the oven, I decided to roast some of the zucchini I bought as well. Boy, was it good. I usually downsize most recipes since Etta is on a strictly dog food diet, but I went ahead and roasted both zucchini and plan on using the leftovers in several different things this week. I also "grilled" (using my grill pan) all three chicken breasts I had (marinated in juice of one lemon, one crushed garlic clove and a splash of soy sauce) for the same reason. Planning ahead is a key for me, and I usually try to cook more on the weekends so I have several options for lunch and for things to just grab and add throughout the week.
Mayberry has a local growers' market several times a week--everything sold there must be grown in the county. I always try to limit my cash so that I don't go overboard, and I showed up this morning with $12.00 and intentions of leaving with tomatoes, corn, squash, zucchini, basil (the damn squirrels ate mine) and maybe some beans or peas. Instead, I immediately fell victim to the cute kid selling tiny amounts of homemade granola for $3 right off the bad. Then, I refused to pay $5.00 ($5.00!!!) for a sandwich size bag of basil sold by a grumpy old man. So, I left with corn, tomatoes, granola and some peaches. The peaches aren't nearly as good as these, so they are destined for a cobbler. I'll probably make it tomorrow so I can take it in to work.
I did a closing this week for a mortgage broker who has a pretty big garden. However, unlike most southern gardeners, his wife is not a sharer. When I started teasing him about not sharing his bounty, he told me that his wife keeps a close eye on things. However, we reminisced for a while about shucking corn and shelling peas. Imagine my surprise and delight to find three tomatoes, one (small) bag of butter beans and one (small) bag of purple hull peas in the fridge the next morning.
So, the plan this week includes succotash, some sort of quinoa or couscous salad with zucchini and tomatoes, and a panzanella. In addition to the peach cobbler, of course.
Tonight, I made this recipe for the Pioneer Woman's Crash Potatoes, and since I was already heating up the oven, I decided to roast some of the zucchini I bought as well. Boy, was it good. I usually downsize most recipes since Etta is on a strictly dog food diet, but I went ahead and roasted both zucchini and plan on using the leftovers in several different things this week. I also "grilled" (using my grill pan) all three chicken breasts I had (marinated in juice of one lemon, one crushed garlic clove and a splash of soy sauce) for the same reason. Planning ahead is a key for me, and I usually try to cook more on the weekends so I have several options for lunch and for things to just grab and add throughout the week.
Mayberry has a local growers' market several times a week--everything sold there must be grown in the county. I always try to limit my cash so that I don't go overboard, and I showed up this morning with $12.00 and intentions of leaving with tomatoes, corn, squash, zucchini, basil (the damn squirrels ate mine) and maybe some beans or peas. Instead, I immediately fell victim to the cute kid selling tiny amounts of homemade granola for $3 right off the bad. Then, I refused to pay $5.00 ($5.00!!!) for a sandwich size bag of basil sold by a grumpy old man. So, I left with corn, tomatoes, granola and some peaches. The peaches aren't nearly as good as these, so they are destined for a cobbler. I'll probably make it tomorrow so I can take it in to work.
I did a closing this week for a mortgage broker who has a pretty big garden. However, unlike most southern gardeners, his wife is not a sharer. When I started teasing him about not sharing his bounty, he told me that his wife keeps a close eye on things. However, we reminisced for a while about shucking corn and shelling peas. Imagine my surprise and delight to find three tomatoes, one (small) bag of butter beans and one (small) bag of purple hull peas in the fridge the next morning.
So, the plan this week includes succotash, some sort of quinoa or couscous salad with zucchini and tomatoes, and a panzanella. In addition to the peach cobbler, of course.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Dining on the Emerald Coast
Have you ever had amberjack? If not, I highly recommend you drop everything and go get some right now. Preferably at Goatfeathers (two locations on 30A). About 5 or 10 minutes before you are ready to eat, squeeze some lime juice in a bowl with some olive oil. Lay the fish down in the bowl with a couple of sprigs of cilantro while you get the rest of the things you like with your fish tacos ready (I recommend guacamole, sour cream mixed with a little lime juice and cilantro, and fresh salsa).
Once everything else is ready, heat up your grill pan or a non-stick skillet over medium-high heat. Season the fish on both sides with salt (preferably a good sea salt) and pepper and grill it for 5 or so minutes on each side--until it flakes easily with a fork and is cooked all the way through. Squeeze some more fresh lime over it and sprinkle with more fresh cilantro. I also recommend you serve it to my sister so that it will be adequately appreciated.
If you are more interested in eating out after your day on the beach, head to Seaside to Bud & Alley's. They have a kid-friendly, white tablecloth restaurant downstairs (you might make a reservation if you're there during high season) that uses the freshest of everything and an outdoor bar upstairs where you can watch the sunset. If you are in the mood for fish tacos, they have recently opened up a taco bar as well. I haven't tried it, but my sister enjoyed it.
Another favorite is Red Bar in Grayton. It's sort of a local destination and there is usually a crowd. It's got a great, eclectic atmosphere with live music set up in a corner. Various album covers and other posters cover the ceiling and there is a disco ball in the center of the dining room. The menu is written on a chalk board and changes regularly. A lot of people like the crab cakes, but if you are from the mid-Atlantic region, don't even think about it. They also offer a kids menu (1/2 portion of some of the regular menu items, chicken fingers or pasta). The good news about the wait is that your food comes very quickly once you've ordered. Another plus of a small menu.
For breakfast, we like to ride our bikes to Seaside and have Mickey Mouse pancakes at the Great Southern Cafe. Also recommended? The French toast, the beignets and the grits. Or, for a closer ride, stop in Grayton at Another Broken Egg Cafe.
If it's your designated day to head to the outlets in Destin, stop at the Donut Hole on the way in. More than just donuts, but all of it is great.
These are our current favorites. More on the list for our next visit include Fish out of Water in Watercolor, Fire in Grayton and macaroons at a bakery in Watercolor. Wanna go now?
Once everything else is ready, heat up your grill pan or a non-stick skillet over medium-high heat. Season the fish on both sides with salt (preferably a good sea salt) and pepper and grill it for 5 or so minutes on each side--until it flakes easily with a fork and is cooked all the way through. Squeeze some more fresh lime over it and sprinkle with more fresh cilantro. I also recommend you serve it to my sister so that it will be adequately appreciated.
If you are more interested in eating out after your day on the beach, head to Seaside to Bud & Alley's. They have a kid-friendly, white tablecloth restaurant downstairs (you might make a reservation if you're there during high season) that uses the freshest of everything and an outdoor bar upstairs where you can watch the sunset. If you are in the mood for fish tacos, they have recently opened up a taco bar as well. I haven't tried it, but my sister enjoyed it.
Another favorite is Red Bar in Grayton. It's sort of a local destination and there is usually a crowd. It's got a great, eclectic atmosphere with live music set up in a corner. Various album covers and other posters cover the ceiling and there is a disco ball in the center of the dining room. The menu is written on a chalk board and changes regularly. A lot of people like the crab cakes, but if you are from the mid-Atlantic region, don't even think about it. They also offer a kids menu (1/2 portion of some of the regular menu items, chicken fingers or pasta). The good news about the wait is that your food comes very quickly once you've ordered. Another plus of a small menu.
For breakfast, we like to ride our bikes to Seaside and have Mickey Mouse pancakes at the Great Southern Cafe. Also recommended? The French toast, the beignets and the grits. Or, for a closer ride, stop in Grayton at Another Broken Egg Cafe.
If it's your designated day to head to the outlets in Destin, stop at the Donut Hole on the way in. More than just donuts, but all of it is great.
These are our current favorites. More on the list for our next visit include Fish out of Water in Watercolor, Fire in Grayton and macaroons at a bakery in Watercolor. Wanna go now?
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Random
My dog has been asking to go to bed for the last 30 minutes. It's only 10:00 p.m. How does she ask, you ask? She stands and stares at me. I've let her out, I've thrown her ball, I've given her fresh water (she will only drink the freshest of water). Nada. Zilch. Zilp. She is now lying down staring at me. Dude. . .
I watched that silly Best Dog in America (or whatever it is) tonight and was thrilled when the judges got on to the girl who dressed her dog in a dress. I also cried when the older guy's dog got hurt. And, alright, I tested Etta during the obedience tasks and she would have totally won. Just so you know. Never-you-mind that the large, distracting terrier wasn't in our physical presence; she and her mom were distracting enough on T.V.
Did you know that it is still just as hard to get the straw into a Capri-Sun? They have made absolutely no improvement in the 26 years since I last drank a Capri-Sun.
Etta is now staring at me from the chair. I'm going to have to relent shortly. Uh-oh. Bottom licking in the house; I feel anal gland issues coming on.
So Aimee finally convinced me to make a real profile on Facebook today. [Etta off couch. Taking position at front door. Followed closely by placing her chin on my shoulder. What's a girl to do?] I've had a dummy profile for a while but have resisted having one more time suck in my life. However, I've already gotten two more friend requests in a few hours and found one of my buddies from study abroad. Plus, I talked to Aimee more today than I have in the past three months. Guess she was right and I was wrong. Did you hear that, Aimee?
I watched that silly Best Dog in America (or whatever it is) tonight and was thrilled when the judges got on to the girl who dressed her dog in a dress. I also cried when the older guy's dog got hurt. And, alright, I tested Etta during the obedience tasks and she would have totally won. Just so you know. Never-you-mind that the large, distracting terrier wasn't in our physical presence; she and her mom were distracting enough on T.V.
Did you know that it is still just as hard to get the straw into a Capri-Sun? They have made absolutely no improvement in the 26 years since I last drank a Capri-Sun.
Etta is now staring at me from the chair. I'm going to have to relent shortly. Uh-oh. Bottom licking in the house; I feel anal gland issues coming on.
So Aimee finally convinced me to make a real profile on Facebook today. [Etta off couch. Taking position at front door. Followed closely by placing her chin on my shoulder. What's a girl to do?] I've had a dummy profile for a while but have resisted having one more time suck in my life. However, I've already gotten two more friend requests in a few hours and found one of my buddies from study abroad. Plus, I talked to Aimee more today than I have in the past three months. Guess she was right and I was wrong. Did you hear that, Aimee?
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Home Again
If you would have told us in 1988 that I would willingly spend 10 days with my sister and enjoy it, we would have both laughed. But we did. And I didn't enjoy it just because she comes as a package deal with the cutest kid on earth or because I came home with only a handful of dirty clothes thanks to her OCD laundry tendencies. We honestly have fun together, and that's not necessarily something either of us would have counted on 20 (OMIGOD) years ago.
I drove to Nashville to be with my entire family for the 4th--my grandparents were there for a visit. I arrived just in time to witness the 3rd of July fireworks display by a local church. They were so close that Etta made several valiant attempts to catch them. More quality family time followed over the next 36 hours before my sister, nephew and I departed for the beach.
We arrived in time to make some sand angels and eat some crab legs.
I spent some time the next morning convincing my nephew that the ocean was fun, and slowly but surely convinced him to swim with me. He still prefers the "swimmin pool" and was almost completely water safe by the end of the week thanks to my sister. Add in a couple of long bike rides and you have an accurate picture of the rest of the week.
We've been going to this same beach for 3 years now, and it's amazing to use it as a frame of reference in my nephew's life. He's gone from that smiling, chubby 10 month old who loved the water to an adorable 2.5 year old who charms everyone he meets--including the group of 10 18 year old beauties waiting for dinner on Friday. Everyone we encountered commented on his manners and his excellent behavior and he is certainly a credit to my sister's hard work.
I also spent a large chunk of time wondering what I'm doing with my life. I always leave determined to find a way to settle down there. One of these days I might actually get off my butt and do something to make it happen.
I drove to Nashville to be with my entire family for the 4th--my grandparents were there for a visit. I arrived just in time to witness the 3rd of July fireworks display by a local church. They were so close that Etta made several valiant attempts to catch them. More quality family time followed over the next 36 hours before my sister, nephew and I departed for the beach.
We arrived in time to make some sand angels and eat some crab legs.
I spent some time the next morning convincing my nephew that the ocean was fun, and slowly but surely convinced him to swim with me. He still prefers the "swimmin pool" and was almost completely water safe by the end of the week thanks to my sister. Add in a couple of long bike rides and you have an accurate picture of the rest of the week.
We've been going to this same beach for 3 years now, and it's amazing to use it as a frame of reference in my nephew's life. He's gone from that smiling, chubby 10 month old who loved the water to an adorable 2.5 year old who charms everyone he meets--including the group of 10 18 year old beauties waiting for dinner on Friday. Everyone we encountered commented on his manners and his excellent behavior and he is certainly a credit to my sister's hard work.
I also spent a large chunk of time wondering what I'm doing with my life. I always leave determined to find a way to settle down there. One of these days I might actually get off my butt and do something to make it happen.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Flying
One week from yesterday, we'll be back down at the Gulf. This picture if from last July and it was the prettiest I've ever seen the water. Of course, the water was also full of sharks, so we didn't venture too far out. Ironically, I'm the bravest ocean-goer in my family, but was standing on the shore to take this shot. Shortly after I took it, I spotted several small sharks and ordered everyone out.
My sister picked up my buddy today. I called them to check in while they were on the way home. She put him on the phone: "Sissy? I yuv you! I went to the beach. I yuv you. You talk to her." He spent last week at the beach with his male biological donor and that side of the family, but I know he'll be excited to go back next week.
I was a little older than he was when I started going with a friend from Hometown to the beach every summer. My family was never much for family vacations--there was always a swim meet or a choir tour--but I was lucky to join with my friends' families. There is no place better than the beach. I hope we'll get to make this a family tradition for him. After all, I'm really hoping he'll be able to buy me a house at the beach when he hits it big. He better love it.
Monday, June 16, 2008
We pull up to the interstate McDonald's and I wonder how many other such exchanges are happening all over this country. We all put on our brave faces and my sister does her best to hide her fear and sorrow and worry behind her big sunglasses. My buddy does his absolute best to distract me from loading him into the car seat in his grandmother's car by requesting that we run in the grass instead. Only, once we get into the grassy area, there was no "red light/green light" game as we had played that morning. He just kept one arm wrapped around my leg.
He eventually consented to holding his grandmother's hand and was able to keep his brave face on right up until the moment his mama leaned down to give him a hug. There are not many things more sad than the crumpling face of a 2.5 year old who is trying to be stoic.
He eventually consented to holding his grandmother's hand and was able to keep his brave face on right up until the moment his mama leaned down to give him a hug. There are not many things more sad than the crumpling face of a 2.5 year old who is trying to be stoic.
Friday, June 06, 2008
If I Had David Sedaris's Talent, I'd Be a Gazillionaire
How do you explain summertime humidity in the South to someone who has never experienced it? I know greater writers than me have tried. It's like the air is so heavy you can feel it weighing down on you. We very often end up having late afternoon thunderstorms that feel completely inevitable. We're having one right now, and it feels like a fitting end to the last 48 hours.
My mom, dad and I headed to L.A. (Lower Alabama) on Wednesday afternoon in the middle of an early summer heat wave for Uncle Robert's services. Along with his mother and brothers (and technically a sister, but I try to marginalize her as much as possible), Uncle Robert left a wife, a grown son and a 16 year old daughter behind. My family is always high drama, but as one of my aunts observed tonight, funerals really bring out our best--drama that is.
If I were David Sedaris, I could tell you about how my 16 year old cousin with developmental delays chose to dress her father for burial and it would be funny. The story of my cousin who has been excommunicated from his mother's life (but not the rest of our lives) bringing his girlfriend who chewed gum and examined her belly button ring during the service would bring an out-loud chuckle. I could accurately describe my Southern Baptist cousin's face when she realized we were going to say the Hail Mary 50 times while praying the Rosary. Or maybe I could explain why we all held our breath when the aforementioned marginalized, excommunicating aunt stood up to speak at the service and why I snorted when she said she was speaking for her brothers. If I had talent, I could do all of this while still portraying how incredibly sad the whole situation was.
But, in spite of my southern roots and our proud literary history, I just don't know how to accurately convey the unbearable sorrow of my cousin's primal cries at the graveside or how that sorrow was tempered by the levity of the two largest floral arrangements being University of Alabama tributes complete with a little bear declaring that God blessed the Crimson Tide. There's really no way to explain how incredibly sad it was to see my big teddy bears of uncles and Daddy trying to figure out how to walk away and leave their brother there in the ground or to explain their excitement at seeing their former Pony League coach--Tiny. I can't vividly describe my great-aunt Margie,the epitome of a Steel Magnolia,who at 77 sat on the floor and played with my three month old cousin and helped her big sister bury her son without shedding one tear--until we were processing out at which point she discreetly buried her head in her own daughter's shoulder only after my grandmother had passed her by.
We ended the day as all southerners do--surrounded by food prepared by a Sunday School class. Of course, this time it was served in a volunteer fire department--it was for my family. And when it comes to funerals, we really know how to bring it.
The rain lasted about 10 minutes. And like most summer rains, it didn't really bring any lasting relief from the heavy air. But, it did give us just a moment of balance.
My mom, dad and I headed to L.A. (Lower Alabama) on Wednesday afternoon in the middle of an early summer heat wave for Uncle Robert's services. Along with his mother and brothers (and technically a sister, but I try to marginalize her as much as possible), Uncle Robert left a wife, a grown son and a 16 year old daughter behind. My family is always high drama, but as one of my aunts observed tonight, funerals really bring out our best--drama that is.
If I were David Sedaris, I could tell you about how my 16 year old cousin with developmental delays chose to dress her father for burial and it would be funny. The story of my cousin who has been excommunicated from his mother's life (but not the rest of our lives) bringing his girlfriend who chewed gum and examined her belly button ring during the service would bring an out-loud chuckle. I could accurately describe my Southern Baptist cousin's face when she realized we were going to say the Hail Mary 50 times while praying the Rosary. Or maybe I could explain why we all held our breath when the aforementioned marginalized, excommunicating aunt stood up to speak at the service and why I snorted when she said she was speaking for her brothers. If I had talent, I could do all of this while still portraying how incredibly sad the whole situation was.
But, in spite of my southern roots and our proud literary history, I just don't know how to accurately convey the unbearable sorrow of my cousin's primal cries at the graveside or how that sorrow was tempered by the levity of the two largest floral arrangements being University of Alabama tributes complete with a little bear declaring that God blessed the Crimson Tide. There's really no way to explain how incredibly sad it was to see my big teddy bears of uncles and Daddy trying to figure out how to walk away and leave their brother there in the ground or to explain their excitement at seeing their former Pony League coach--Tiny. I can't vividly describe my great-aunt Margie,the epitome of a Steel Magnolia,who at 77 sat on the floor and played with my three month old cousin and helped her big sister bury her son without shedding one tear--until we were processing out at which point she discreetly buried her head in her own daughter's shoulder only after my grandmother had passed her by.
We ended the day as all southerners do--surrounded by food prepared by a Sunday School class. Of course, this time it was served in a volunteer fire department--it was for my family. And when it comes to funerals, we really know how to bring it.
The rain lasted about 10 minutes. And like most summer rains, it didn't really bring any lasting relief from the heavy air. But, it did give us just a moment of balance.
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Uncle Robert
When I think of my Uncle Robert, I hear him laughing.
My dad is the oldest of 5--4 boys (all within 8 years of each other) and 1 girl (16 years younger than my dad). Next was Robert, then James, then Steve. You can imagine the trouble four boys got into growing up in the 50's and 60's in LA--Lower Alabama. My grandfather was a no nonsense disciplinarian and when one of them failed to own up to any wrongdoing, he would line them all up and dole out punishment one by one until they caved. Uncle James caved by saying, "Wobbie did it!" This exclamation has become such a part of our family's lexicon that my dad doled it out to me yesterday when I was blaming my errand inefficiency on a store's closing. "Wobbie did it," he told me--right about the time Uncle Robert went out to mow his lawn 100's of miles away.
Unfortunately, mowing his lawn is the last thing Wobbie did. He collapsed and died yesterday, leaving a lot of life un-lived and a lot of people who loved him very much behind.
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