Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Coping mechanisms, Oh for pete's sake, Oversharing
There are parts of getting old(er) that I am not so fond of. Heartburn/reflux whenever eating something more interesting than a bowl of cornflakes (but there’s a pill for that!), aches and pains in assorted joints (Ditto!), the difficulty of bending over to reach my toes so I can paint the nails (no pill for that but there are people who will do it for me…for a fee, of course). Painted toes are important in the Summer, and it is the one medium I have for getting as funky as I want to.
Have you noticed that? We Women Of A Certain Age can express our inner girl-ness through the colors on our toes. Right now mine are a metameric purple-blue, like the paint on a hot rod. Last week they were glittery hot pink. I see my friends, all relatively conservatively dressed women similar to myself, with aqua blue, or dark navy-almost-black, or little white daisies on their toes.
Anyway, this aging thing. it’s not so bad. God has provided (what I consider to be) Consolation Prizes. For instance, along with the…ahem….”softness” of middle age (can be translated into “cannot be bothered to go to the gym but maybe will one day”) has come…well…er. bigger boobs. As a younger woman I yearned for them. When I had babies they went up a cup size, which was great fun, then they went away. Around the time I turned 45 or so…there they were! Well HELLO THAR! A professional fitting revealed that I had the ones I always wanted, finally! It is as if God was saying “Here, have this because of stretch marks.”
Then my hair got curly. I imagined Him saying “ok, yes, you’re getting grey, so I’m going to give you curly as well.” As a younger person, the hair was stick straight and wouldn’t hold a curl to save my life. even an expensive professionally done perm was only pretty for a couple of weeks, then turned into limp little sad frizzy things. EVEN with the expensive salon curl-revitalizing angel-spit hair serum. I flamin’ love the curls. A friend, who’s a hair professional person, FINALLY explained (no one else ever had!) that hormonal changes inherent in peri- and menopause can cause curliness. Is that another one of God’s Consolation Prizes? Like “Ok, hon, you’re having hot flashes, here, have those curls you always wanted.”
Oh sure, there’s things I could be complaining about, like how the men my age seem to have aged better than many of the women…I see a few of them on Facebook, and remember them as kind of gawky, all elbows and adam’s apples but now they’re…well..anyway. Terry was lean and all legs and arms when we married humptwenty years ago, and like all men seem to,has aged with grace and dignity and has those silver bits on his temples and crinkly things around his eyes and the occasional interesting scar-with-a-story-behind-it.
I say, don’t fight to stay young, Find the benefits of age and roll with them. If you’re still alive, you’re probably a better driver. You have more experience in most everything. You’ve learned to appreciate the simple pleasures of a cup of coffee and a pastry without fear of what it will do to the fit of your skinny jeans. You appreciate the comedy of the 1960′s and ’70′s.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Home and hearth, In the Southland, perspective, responsible adult
Gearing up for Summer is occurring. #2 is out of school for the semester (straight B’s across the board, y’all! SO proud!) and will soon be put to work de-landscaping the yard. The current tree-and-shrub situation is a solid 45 years old and just needs to be gone. As soon as the 54 pine trees (on 1/3 acre…no idea how that was managed) are gone, he’ll get cracking on the overgrown holly and yaupon, the ugly and weedy looking azaleas, and all those redtips along the back. When everything is gone, new shrubs, blooming things like camellias and sasanquas and hydrangeas and little blooming trees like dogwoods, redbuds, and Japanese magnolias will go in. And maybe fruit trees in the back. And the vegetable garden will be expanded and maybe even the back yard landscaped as well! That will happen in the Fall.
Not my elegant toes and I don’t drink red wine, but this kinda sums up the feeling.
I am ready for Summer. I am ready for the relaxed pace and the not having to get dressed by 7am and hot days with iced tea and ceiling fans on high, the evenings of peepers and frogs on the window screens and salads for supper. Come August, I’ll be ready for cooler temperatures and chili and blankets, but those will still be 2-3 months away. Come August, I’ll be complaining but for now, I am ready for the heat.
Things don’t hurt when it’s hot. Arthritis takes a vacation. I can sit in the hot sun and soak it up and aching hands and feet…just don’t ache. Headaches don’t happen as much, and sleep is easier.
I remember as a kid, sleeping with the windows open and the attic fan thrumming, sucking air through the house and making it positively windy. I remember a box fan in the window, blowing directly across the bed, and needing a light blanket. My favorite one was a flannel sheet Mom had bound in satin blanket binding. It was white with purple pansies on it, and exactly the right weight for the almost-but-not-quite cool North Georgia Summer nights.
We don’t have lightning bugs here. It’s too warm or the soil is too salty or something. I remember millions of them when I was little and lived in Illinois. There were some in North Georgia later on, but here in Deepest South Georgia, you only see one rarely. Green frogs on the window screen are more common. And blue tailed skinks. Anywhere that’s close to fresh water (which is basically everywhere, due to the abundance of creeks, ponds, and swamps here) loud peepers start screaming as soon as the sun starts to go down and the air cools (a little). Whippoorwills and Chuck-Will’s-Widows are soothing night noises, or maybe the hooHOO of a barn owl.
#4 goes off to grandparents’ for the Summer. He’ll stay with one set much of June, then go to Boy Scout Camp the last week of June, then to the other set much of July, and be back home around the first of August, then the whole school year thing starts all over. I intend to spend as much time as I can doing as little as possible. Maybe pick a tomato, or pull a weed.
I remember the first Summer after graduating high school and I was working. The sudden and appalling realization that Summer Vacation no longer existed was…appalling. Horrifying, even. No more late night kickball or spotlight tag. No more long days spent poolside or mornings that started at the crack of 10 (or even noon). Oh sure, work meant things like having a car and being able to buy clothes or even a quarter or two of college, but the Summers, those long, lazy, bone-idle Summers just weren’t happening anymore. Now that they kind of are, I want to be in bed as early as possible so I can get up as early as possible and take advantage of the cool of the morning for the outside stuff and somehow, even at 48, that seems wrong. Maybe I’ll try to recapture a bit of that this Summer, but probably not. It always seems to work better if someone else is doing the laundry and cooking, and there really isn’t anyone else to do that around here. I guess I’ve turned into my mother.
I guess this is the second part of the last post. Everyone has a coping mechanism whether it’s dealing with something head-on or ignoring it completely or something in between.
I like to laugh. When things get real tense or my head hurts from anxiety or whatever, I look for the funniest things I can find. Being a very visual sort, images that make me laugh are what’re usually in order.
And I like horses. They’re big, have pretty eyes, and a deep capacity for extreme goofiness. Have you ever noticed what their noses do when they show their teeth? Now I know that a horse showing it’s teeth is a sign of irritation or aggression or general pissedness, and they aren’t actually laughing or being funny, but it looks that way and I dearly love anthropomorphising creatures so when I see a photo of a horse doing that it’s like they’re laughing.
Totally not laughing…
Once a while back I was able to get up close and personal with the Budweiser Clydsedales, and there was this one right at the front of the team. I asked him (her? didn’t check) if I could take his (her) picture and he/she nodded. Yes. Nodded. Then I said “Say cheese!” and…he/she did.
Say cheese
Either that or he/she was annoyed, but was too polite to say so. Those Clydesdales were very, very polite.
I’m doing a lot of laughing horse-looking-at these days.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Christian Values, Coping mechanisms, Kids, Oversharing, perspective, responsible adult, solving personal problems
I’ve probably written about this before, but it’s on my mind so here it goes again.
Mother’s Day…I like it. However, it brings up so many mixed feelings. You know how parenting magazines are all about taking care of little ones and keeping them safe? I want one that talks about taking care of teenagers and young adults, and what you’re supposed to do when a situation comes up. When they get that age, emotion has to be set aside and logic used. What you emotionally want to do sometimes is directly opposite of the logic. What you did for them as little kids, the protection, the coddling and organic foods and careful tending…that doesn’t work when they’re teens and young adults, and you never hear that. You never…well I never did, anyway…see a Parents of People With Minds Of Their Own magazine.
They get to this point where…you have to let go. you don’t want to. You want to keep them safe and fed and content,but doing that does not help them. It stifles them. Even when they don’t see it that way. You don’t want them to hate you so you do whatever you can so they won’t hate you but that isn’t what they NEED. I hate that. It hurts. I don’t like hurting. It’s also not easy. I hate that too. I like easy. But easy isn’t best, or good for you or them.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my older sons. I don’t like calling them children or kids, because they aren’t. They are young men. Letting go is tough.
And where’s the rulebook? Where’s the guide that says “if this, then that?” How do you let your adult children be adults?
I think you just…let them be adults. Even when they don’t really want to. Give them the space to make decisions, good or bad. Put them out there,shove them out of the nest like a bird, and hope they fly? Boy that’s a tough one, but how would they ever figure out how to fly if you don’t?
Anyway…I am both amused and resentful that there’s no parenting support out there (that I can find…do you know of one) beyond the organic juice boxes and Dr. Seuss. It’s kind of like society says if you can keep them alive until they’re 10, you’re on your own. And frankly, I think parents of teens and young adults need MORE help than the ones of little kids. God know I did, and I didn’t have it beyond “Oh…you have teens? Make them memorize scripture and rebuke them when they’re bad.” Say what?
The best I can do is the best I have done, even though it hasn’t been that great. I love them,I feed them, and each morning is a new day where grudges and resentment are forgotten…sort of. There’s stress…oh my word there’s stress. I haven’t seen a magazine that tells you how to deal with that sort of stress that comes from your kid acting like he hates you one minute then needing you the next and you’re wondering when he’s going to hate you again. I have my own coping mechanisms that come in a big bottle of chilled white wine, a bit of talk therapy, and occasionally pharmaceuticals. Probably not the best way, but it’s how I roll. Do you know how hard it is to pray for someone when you’re so tense your ears are ringing? The only coherent prayer I can form is “God help me…”
I need a group. I need a group of women who’s children have broken their hearts and scared them and made them wonder what they did when the child was 4 that resulted in this. I want them to still be there, still wondering. And I want a couple or three women who’ve been there and survived,who can say it may or may not be ok, but it is possible to survive and not feel this tension and fear, to simply love them, those sons and daughters who have taken a path that I don’t understand.
I googled it, to see what’s said out there about mothers of adult children, and what I got was stuff about adults abusing their mothers, and about how to deal with a terrible mother when you’re an adult. Nothing about how to love your adult children, how to guide them when they don’t want your guidance, or how to show them you love them when they think you don’t.
I will always love them. Always. But I don’t always understand.
Lord,give me the wisdom to love my children the way You want me to, and the courage to do it.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: a weekend away, Being Southern, In the Southland, NASCAR, Talladega
I am trying to type this on the laptop, when the cat has decided SHE is the laptop and the laptop is the armchair armtop. Sure as taxes there is a back pain thing coming, but one does not argue with nor displace a Siamese lest one wants poo in one’s shoe.
Anyway, last weekend was RACE WEEKEND. Or rather DIG-A-SEWER-LINE-THEN-RACE WEEKEND. We went to Mom and Dad’s Friday night, spent Saturday digging and laying….ok Terry and CJ spent Saturday…ok Dad, Terry, and CJ spent Saturday….ok Dad was contrary and in the way and bossy while Terry and CJ spent Saturday digging a 30-ish foot long trench and laying pvc pipe to the septic tank for CJ’s new place while Terry tried to keep Dad occupied by sending him out on errands fetching this and that to keep him out of the way but that only goes so far. eventually the pipe got laid and CJ was might impressed at Terry’s ability to get it exactly where it needed to be right to the very inch (flexible joints help). I was impressed at the amount of mud, but then it WAS raining most of the time. Which made the hard clay easier to dig but wow…clay mud is messy and sticky stuff. However, I know the menfolk in this family well enough to know that if a little dirt is good a lot of mud is even better. Viva la oldboots.
Thanks to the productivity of Saturday (the entire job was done except for burying the pipe, and that needed to wait anyway), we were all able to go to THE RACE IN TALLADEGA with a clear conscience. WOOHOO!
Ok yeah. Way fun….with PIT PASSES. I am glad we got to go into the pit. I am not interested in doing it again, unless there’s drivers there because I want to see if they really are as short as everyone seems to think. The cars are pretty small so I guess you’d have to be. Except for Michael Waltrip whom I understand is rather tall, or maybe it’s because he’s always next to Mark Martin who isn’t tall at all. But the pit is cool and interesting and it’s easy to tell which racing team has the big sponsors and which ones don’t. I kind of like underdogs. Do you? also, how the tires are all laid out for the changes and how some of the tool boxes are so fancypants they had touch screens in them and others are just…tool boxes. big ones, but nothing fancy at all. The well-sponsored teams had many sets of tires and the not-so-well-sponsored teams just had maybe 6 or 8 tires.
I don’t even remember which team this is but fell in love with the sign on the toolbox.
The race started with all the obligatory prayers and National Anthems (why can’t they just SING the song without all the “Listen to what I can do and I’ll hold this note so long that the flyover comes too early!”) and introductions and such…and honorary this and honorary that and no one will remember who got to drive the pace car anyway except the person who drove the pace car and maybe his mother but that’s ok because I wouldn’t turn it down if they offered it to me….where was I?
Oh yeah the race…43 cars with a total of 39,000 horsepower goes screaming by with all the woohooing and beer cans possible…it’s kind of invigorating, really. The first lap is watched with no earplugs and that results in a couple of hours of bleeding ears but hey…everyone is doing it so it’s ok.
Occasionally there’s a crash and of course I never have the camera ready for those but I can get pictures of some aftermath.
Kyle (or Kurt, never can keep them straight) Busch wrecked and it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.
A little over 100 laps into the race it started to rain and we forgot the ponchoes, so packed up and headed home along with about half the other fans (some of whom forgot clothes entirely. Bless their hearts). Apparently after a 3 hour delay there was much excitement and the race was eventually won by someone who was not even noticed by the press until then- Front Row Motorsports. David Ragan and David Gilliland blew past the front runners who were bickering with each other over the first spot, and failed to notice them. Here’s to a young team and their first NASCAR Sprint cup win! First and Second place for 2 team members! We wouldn’t have seen it anyway, as all the excitement happened on the other side of the track.
As per usual, a NASCAR race is ripe for people-watching. There was the gorgeous young woman who kept wanting to do the Talladega thing and watch the race in her bikini, but the temperatures were fluctuating between 50 and 60 degrees (depending on the cloud cover) and she’d get cold and have to redress. There was the young man (who’s arm you can see in the photo above) who had no idea where his seat was and drifted all over the stands. There was the occasional whiff of ProbablyNotTobacco and the gravelly voices of 3-pack-a-day smokers cheering their drivers then coughing alarming, rattling lung-upbringing coughs. Stellar race-track hotdogs and hamburgers, beer, etc. The cool thing about a race as opposed to any other sport, is that there are 20 teams instead of 2 so there’s little (if any) animosity toward any other team. It would be logistically exhausting to boo 19 teams. Except for Kyle (Kurt?) Busch. Apparently no one likes him, and there were boos a-plenty and also rude hand gestures when his sadly crunched car was towed past.
CJ is irritated that I made him stand next to Carl Edward’s car for a photo. Almost next to, that is. As close as we could get anyway. Lookit that beard, ain’t he cute…
Thanks to the wisdom of parking way out at the far end of the field, we were able to get out fairly quickly. And thanks to the logistical smarts of the whoever-does-the-planning, traffic wasn’t horrendous. Apparently they’ve dealt with it before, and all 4 lanes are one way. Also, lots of tractor-pulled trams, because the track is quite large. I also got a hat. I am fond of the Waltrip Brothers because they’re funny, and also Mark Martin because even though he’s the oldest driver in the world (at 54) and likely to retire soon, he’s a gentleman and I like him. Thus, I am following the Aaron’s/Napa Michael Waltrip Racing Team and bought an appropriate hat. Each driver/team has a huge trailer selling paraphenalia stuff like t-shirts, hats, and autographed things.
We are discussing where to go next year (once a year is plenty). Maybe Bristol and it’s Gladiator Roman Colosseum-like experience, or maybe Charlotte, wouldn’t it be cool if they had drag racing the same weekend! That would be fun! Who knows…there’s time to figure it out.
Now, at a race I feel a little bit like a tulip in a turnip patch, as I possess no tattoos or bikini tops (that I am willing to wear in public), nor do I smoke or drink (heavily) (in public)but there is a definite thrill about it all and I come away from a race wanting very badly to drive one of those cars around a track, at 190 mph, just to say I did it.
I almost have Will and David talked into going to one with us.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: a weekend away, In the Southland, NASCAR, Talladega, Who does that
Agnes McCalvinox has been banished to the basement. Or attic. Or wherever it is you banish disapproving and judgmental inner voices.
Agnes disapproves.
I am preparing for some frivolous activities. For some non-productive relaxation of the sort many people think is dumb but only because they’ve never done it. Well, except that one young lady sitting next to Terry at the race in Atlanta who was so bored I thought her teeth were going to fall asleep. How do you read Kant while 43 cars roar past you at 190 miles per hour? I am sure she was faking it but I felt sorry for her boyfriend who wanted badly to enjoy himself but obviously feared her palpable disapproval. They were there with someone who appeared to be the young man’s father (looked just like him but 30 years older and 100 pounds heavier). I wondered if it was a test by the father, something to see what the young lady was made of (apparently starch and goats milk lentil loaf. She drank her Coors with distaste and more disapproval. Bless her heart.) I also hope that the young man allowed her to take him to a jazz club/poetry reading. Fair’s fair, after all.
Anyway, all I’ve got to say (well not ALL, obviously…but about this particular topic above) is “Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.” Oh sure, I know the arguments. “How exciting can watching 43 cars go in circles possibly be?” Well if that’s all it were I would agree. But it’s more than that and you have to kind of follow it.
There’s Plot Lines akin to pro-wrestling, with feuds and arguments and this guy helping that guy because the other guy pissed them both off. Occasionally Tony Stewart will throw his helmet at a car, or Jeff Gordon and Clint Bower will indulge in gentleman-like fisticuffs.
There’s strategy like a chess game, with teams and this team guy is close enough to the lead in points that the other team guy (who is nowhere near close enough) will do things to help the first guy out, like cutting drivers off or “accidentally* (it’s always accidental doncha know) bump someone from another team into the wall…unless it’s Joey Logano whom NO ONE likes because he caused Denny Hamlin (whom EVERYONE likes) to crash and suffer a broken vertebra thus possibly be out the rest of the season, so Mr Logano (who’s a young punk who needs to learn some manners anyway) keeps getting crashed…
See? There’s a lot more to it than driving in circles.
And it’s all about timing. When to pit for gas and a tire change…
/aside Speaking of tire changes….WHY can a pit crew change 4 tires in 15 seconds, and it takes 3 hours at Neville’s? If I wanted to, I’d open a tire store and staff it with former NASCAR pit crew people, and advertise 15 minute tire changes. (I know, I know…pit crews don’t have to deal with taking old tires off rims and putting new ones on the same rims…but I’ve seen that done and a good tire person can change out a tire on a rim in 3 minutes.) /end aside
Where was I…strategy. it’s there. Not only is it there, if you understand that it’s there and all happening at 190 miles per hour with 43 cars packed into a small space, and not just 190 mph but at about 130 decibles (to compare, a jet engine is about 120 db) (don’t believe me? check out the link from the CDC National Institute for Occupational Safety and Health), it’s quite a rush. We ALWAYS wear industrial ear protection.
But…but…what about the FANS?? All those uneducated sweaty-armpit beer swilling toothless rednecks?? Oh. You mean the ones who anonymously hand a beer over your shoulder when they hear you say “oh shoot the cooler’s empty.”? Or the ones who open a bag of peanuts and pass it down the row, even though they don’t know anyone? How about the ones who are wearing t-shirts that say “F**k YOU! I’m from Nebraska!” and invite you to their truck where they’re grilling burgers and have more than they need? All I got in the luxury box at the football game was ignored.
Here’s what a (former) Formula 1 afficianado, Richard Hammond from Top Gear, has to say about it all.
Also, the crashes are Quite Dramatic…The speed shown on the video is slowed down significantly. They are a LOT faster than this.
ok that’s enough for now. I will be back probably Tuesday or Wednesday with photos and more gushing about how wonderful it is.
Also? Oh y’all…PIT PASSES
I don’t talk about my spiritual life much. There’s a lot of things I don’t talk about much that maybe I should say more about. Anyway, there it is. The fact is, I love God, and while I am not as good about showing it as I could be, every now and the something comes along that makes me want to take out a billboard and announce it to the world because it says it SO MUCH BETTER than I ever could. This bit I’m putting up here is one of those things.
The back story: A while back I joined the newly established choir at our church. A music director had been hired and I loved singing so why not? Our new director had definite ideas about the type of music to be sung, that happened to be almost exactly the sort of stuff I LIKED to sing. It is not the “Jesus Is My Boyfriend” type of music, nor is it the “Hoppalong Jesus” 4 part harmony Gospel Where’s My Microphone stuff. It’s hymns. Old hymns, new hymns, rearranged hymns, and enough Purcell and Bach thrown in to please the classical music lovers in the congregation. Great stuff. Anyway, she has a fondness for this couple named Keith and Kristyn Getty- a husband and wife duo from Ireland (now in Nashville) who write this BEE-AH-YOOO-TI-FUL music with all the proper chord resolutions and Reformed Theology words and is simply wonderful. I put them on Pandora so I get to hear ALL THE STUFF. Also I’m a sucker for anything with Uillean pipes in it.
They wrote a song recently, upon the birth of their first child, called A Mother’s Prayer, and asked a bunch of us mothers with blogs to make a post about it. I listened to the song and even though it was written for their wee little daughter (who’s in the video just lookathoseweepigtailsIwantotsquishher!”) the words are just as true to me, with my grown sons. I pray the same things for them, every day. She sings it so much better than I could ever say it.
Also, these are Kristyn’s words about this song that they wrote, to their daughter.
Reflections on A Mother’s Prayer
Kristyn Getty
In the spring of 2008 I first prayed for a baby, and in the spring of 2011 God answered that prayer with the birth of our beautiful daughter. My joy was full but so were the fears I wrestled. In some ways I felt like a baby Christian again, caught in a whirlwind of emotions, learning and applying what I have known and trusted into a completely new life – I know I’m definitely not the first to feel that!
Friends of ours had given us a card when their first son was born; it was full of prayer requests for his little life, a prayer for every day of the month. My prayers were not quite as coherent as those, especially at first, but the urgency of the moment drove me to my knees. “Help her, help me” baby prayers at 3am; prayers as I heard the baby monitor light up in the morning; prayers when I thought of her safety, her soul, her future; prayers with my husband; prayers while Eliza listened in.
When people found out that I was pregnant one of the most frequent comments I received was how my creativity would discover a whole new vista of inspiration as I became a mother. So, when Eliza came I was anticipating a fresh flow of profound poetic thought, but instead I was swept up in the constant flow of changes and feedings and “Old MacDonald had a farm!” I was expecting full sentences, but I was blubbering looking at my beautiful girl! I actually wondered if I’d ever be able to write again. I just about tucked some thoughts away to ponder later when my brain would start to fit itself back together again (still nowhere near a completed process!). As I continued to learn the wonderful balancing act and privilege of mothering, homemaking, writing, traveling and singing, Keith and I began to write a song for Eliza choosing this theme of praying for her, and the end result was “A Mother’s Prayer.”
My parents have faithfully prayed for me my whole life, and I remember when I was younger my mum met with other mums to pray for all their children – a “Moms in Touch” group in Belfast. Even just the knowledge of that helped me, and I want Eliza to know we are praying for her and trying to guide her in this context that reaches to the call and purpose of her whole life and an understanding of the Lord’s grace and faithfulness. We’re now in the toddler stage and some of the prayer needs are shifting. We wanted the song to reflect the different seasons – ones we had discovered and then those still to come. We also wrote it to remind us of our promise to pray for her through all the years we’re given. We hope this song for her – and even more our praying for her – might catch her ear and help guide her heart as she grows up
I don’t often get emotional about stuff like this, but it rings very true to me, and has honestly touched me. I enjoy their music. It frequently requires me to stop what I’m doing and listen and think. This particular song touched a chord that needed touching. I hope you like it as much as I do.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: a weekend away, Disease and infirmity, In the Southland, NASCAR, Talladega
We have a Big Weekend coming up. The race is in Talladega, about an hour from my parent’s, and also on the same weekend as MY BIRTHDAY. AND we have TICKETS to the race and also PIT PASSES. Did I mention that IT’S MY BIRTHDAY. and we have PIT PASSES. Did I mention that? I did? Ok.
Anyway, this big weekend coming up (TALLADEGA! PIT PASSES!) and of course…I’m coming down with a cold. This Is Not Acceptable. Normally I’d be all “oh welll, it’s an excuse to not do the floors and to watch movies all weekend” but not this time. I am fighting this tooth, nail, gin, and Zicam and seem to be…if not winning…the cold isn’t winning either. Y’all, that’s the remedy. Gin and Zicam. As soon as that first weird tickle, drip and headache try to manifest (it helps that #4 has a cold we thought was allergies but ended up not being due to it’s apparent contagion) I start downing the Zicam,and sipping the gin. Gin is the only thing that the Zicam doesn’t make taste weird. Himself opines that gin already tastes like paint thinner so Zicam could only improve it. I suppose that is rational. My theory (supported by my father the veterinarian) is that if your blood alcohol is high enough, the virus gets fried out of your system entirely. It makes sense to me.
Now, I am not saying go get plastered irresponsibly and use disease as an excuse to do so. I am pretty sure any police officer or judge who queries your decision would not accept it as a reasonable excuse. I also want to clarify that this remedy is ONLY employed when there is another responsible adult in the house, because I do not believe is driving under the influence of alcohol under ANY circumstance. I have seen firsthand the results of driving while drunk, and anyone who does it deserves the most serious consequences possible.
When a person is driving drunk (or under the influence of any other sort of relaxing/mind altering substance), they are very, very relaxed. If/when they collide with another vehicle, they continue to be relaxed. Consequently, rather than tensing up and getting injured in the wreck, they tend to just flop around. This is why the injuries in a DUI accident happen to the people being hit, and not to the intoxicated person. It’s not fair, but there it is. Thus, driving drunk/high…is not just stupid and reckless, you are going to likely be fine, but seriously hurt or kill someone who is just going out for a pizza or coming home from work and wants to see their family and watch a movie. So don’t be an asshole and drive intoxicated.
I didn’t intend to go into a lecture, but it is something I feel strongly about.
Anyway…where was I? Did I mention that my birthday is this weekend and we have tickets to Talladega?? AND PIT PASSES? I did? ok, sorry. I’m a little excited about it. The pit passes were completely unexpected and the idea of being able to get up close and personal to a real genuine stock car is a little heady. I want my picture made with Mark Martin’s car, if possible.
An autograph on my hat would be an unexpected and pleasant but unnecessary bonus. Word is that Dale Jr and Brad Keslowski (that punk) will be available for the fans, and I am not interested. especially since Dale Jr is doing that Wrangler ad that essentially says he needs Wranglers because his Package is too big for Levi’s. what ev er! And Brad Keslowski is a punk. I’d get a Jeff Gordon autograph for #4′s friend, if I could. He’d fall over. And Jimmy Johnson, because he’s winning a lot these days and is a really nice guy. Also Kasey Kahne because his eyes are almost as purty as Himself’s. Anyway…whatever. Going to a NASCAR race allows me to put on the Redneck hat for a while. I can set aside the ladylike chicken-salad eating demeanor and drink beer and eat hotdogs and peanuts and all that…for an afternoon. It’s fun.
And…I am going to do EVERYTHING I can to kick this incipient cold in it’s tiny viral butt because its my BIRTHDAY (did I mention that?) and we have PIT PASSES (I think I mentioned that). and I am not going to let some creature that can only be seen by an electron microscope screw with my weekend!
Also? This is the best part. I get to go with Himself, AND 2 of the boys. Because the other 2 would rather have root canals than be seen at a NASCAR race. They don’t know what they’re missing.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Being Southern, Coping mechanisms, Home and hearth, In the Southland, Oh for pete's sake, responsible adult, Spouse
I woke up at 4 this morning. No particular reason but something said “get up” even as laying back down seemed like it should be inviting, but wasn’t. Fresh coffee is extra special at 4 am, especially when there’s a small curly dog snuggled next to you, and a cat who is pretty sure you exist to provide her with a lap.
Last night, Himself gave me a glare and said “May 1st, the air conditioner is coming on.” He was very stern and as I opened my mouth to protest he cut me off and said ‘MAY FIRST”. Am I the only one (barring Canadians and those nearby) who think May 1st is kind of ridiculous? I know, he’s hot. I see the sweat, hear the grumblings, and was on the receiving end of a lecture from #4 about Pride and Inflexibility Concerning Air Conditioning. I am accustomed to these arguments ’round about May 20, due to an ingrained belief that A/C before June 1 is Self Indulgent and Ridiculous.
O for an old house with high ceilings and an attic fan. O to live out in the country where there’s pecan trees shading the roof and breezes. O for a family who understands my inflexibility on such matters. O for some consideration for my husband, who earns the income and deserves to be comfortable in his own house. Sigh.
So ok fine. I will close the windows, cutting off the honeysuckle scented morning breeze, blocking out the evening song of peepers and martins, cloaking us all in the artificiality of climate control, and be considerate of Himself, who earns the income and deserves to be comfortable in his own home. He spends all day in the confines of a hot textile mill, or walking around in the South Georgia humidity outside. I will do it. yes I will.
But I won’t be very happy about it.
And I will be happy that I am doing what I can to make my husband comfortable in his own home. Because I love him and he bends over backward to make me happy. I can do this one thing that will make him very happy. And I will be happy about it.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Being Southern, cats, Coping mechanisms, Home and hearth, In the Southland, NASCAR, perspective, responsible adult
The past few days have been those incredible Southern Spring days that us folks in the Wiregrass Region like to fall back on during the scorching, gnat infested Summer months. It’s what we get smug about to our friends in Northern climes like North Dakota, because they’re in Mud Season and we don’t really have a Mud Season. They, however, don’t have 115 degrees with 80% humidity and tiny demons from hell gnats and no-see-ums. It’s a trade-off, I reckon.
This past week has been…idyllic. Scary so, in fact. The boys are all behaving. I’ve made no calls to a bail bondsperson nor had any calls or visits from a Sheriff’s deputy. #4 is passing all his classes and is, in fact, doing VERY well in a couple of them. AND is actually working on 2 projects due May 17, ACTUALLY WORKING ON THEM…instead of waiting until May 16 to remember he has them and bashing out something in a panic at 9 pm. I love the kid, but 13 yr old boys…well, my experience with the 4 of them is that forethought isn’t a characteristic that I’d credit them with having.
This idyllic Southern Spring, tho…it’s spilling over into everything and that has me worried. Because, according to the preacher’s wife, I have a disconcerting lack of faith when it comes to accepting the good as well as the bad. The bad, I can take it on the chin every time. I can handle calls from Sheriffs and trips to emergency rooms and dead cats in the road and midlife crises. I expect them, and am generally prepared for most anything.
Spring, tho, is so hopeful. It’s walking out on the patio and seeing a rose bush covered in buds, or having the 13 yr old greet me at school with a huge bag full of Spring onions he grew in the school garden, or seeing an older son make plans for the future- real plans.
It’s also taking a Friday,with the windows open and a movie from Netflix, and eating almost an entire bag of Doritoes and drinking fresh iced tea and doing absolutely nothing productive, because I do productive things all week long, but something about the breeze through the window and that weird noise the cat makes when the mockingbird is…you know….MOCKING her through the window. I honestly think that bird stuck it’s tongue out at the cat.
However tonight, because it’s Friday and we can, will involve adult beverages and a tasty sandwich that simply looks too good to pass up. because I am going to soak up this good feeling like a dog in a sunbeam, and take it as it comes, and not worry about what might happen in the future. Or try not to anyway.
