This is where the pretty pictures of a lovely Christmas at home are supposed to go, then a joke about how hard it is to update my blog when I'm typing on my new iPad (thank you so much, mom and dad!) and there's a beagle on my foot, but it's been a long couple of weeks. No, screw that, it's been a long couple of months.
Starting in August, I began working at the Busch Gardens costume shop, a local theme park. The job is more fun and less stressful than CW but those extra hours, combined with going home in September, continuing ghost storytelling tours and managing a Christmas program in December meant that I haven't worked less than 60 hours a week since then. The two weeks around Thanksgiving I worked so much that I doubled my paycheck from CW. The three remaining work days of the week afterwe got home from our Wisconsin Christmas I got six hours of sleep each night because I had to work at night.
Why am I saying these things? So all my loyal readers will understand exactly what I've been up against these past months and why I've neglected my blog. I know I'm supposed to feel grateful to have a job, much less three or four, depending on how you look at it, but I just can't do it any more. I twisted my shoulder in my sleep last month, and I'm convinced that overexertion due to my job contributed to it. I've gained 30 pounds in the past two years, but with limited time to eat right and exercise, my knees are starting to creak ominously. It's not that I am being whiny and saying I can't keep up this pace--clearly I can--but that I just can't physically or mentally do this anymore.
What the alternative is, I don't know. It seems like a good time to consider and calculate, since I have no evening jobs during the month of January. It's a new year, time to make a new start. I'd like to leave the dishes pile up because I'm busy writing, not because I'm working. I'd like to go see some movies, not just watch the trailers and miss the feature. And I really want to sit quietly by the window and read, with no other claims on my time. I've already made plans to go to Harry Potter world at Universal later this month...yay, a real vacation! Yet, I'm already living in dread of March, when hay making time comes again. I need to plan now to avoid that madness.
I hope everyone who reads this is happy and healthy and doing exactly what their hearts desire. I love you all and think about you all constantly, even if I don't call you and tell you enough. You are all so important to me...2012 is going to be good!
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Sunday, January 01, 2012
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Mom Says Post
Beautiful Fort Ticonderoga
I received an email from Mom today with the subject line "Goodbye Irene" which I think is a subtle hint that she's ready to see some different content on this page. So! Where to begin? As with all recent posts, it's not the lack of things to talk about, but the abundance.
About a week after the hurricane, Jeff and I took off with our reenacting group (the Queen's Own Loyal Virginia Regiment; look us up on Facebook!) to New York, to participate in an event at Fort Ticonderoga. If you're thinking "Nicki, you live in Tidewater Virginia, and Fort Ticonderoga is in upstate New York, located on a peninsula that sticks out into Lake George, near the Canadian border, that's an insane amount of driving!" you would be right. We left Thursday afternoon, picked up a few more unit members in Maryland, and arrived Friday morning at 5:30 am. We immediately put the cars in park and took a nap for about an hour, until the local diner opened up and we could have some eggs and bacon for breakfast. (For the record: driving overnight is the only way to do I-95)
The town of Ticonderoga is, in a word, beautiful. It is tucked into a little valley in the Adironack mountains, with pine trees and winding roads rising on either side of it. The road to Ticonderoga winds through several little towns, all with locally owned restaurants, shops and hotels--definitely a place I want to revisit when I'm not busy playing history. Since we arrived a day before the event started, the unit had plenty of time to build a camp and generally unwind and relax after a long drive. The Queen's Own is trying to be a very historically accurate group, and one of the things that is most accurate is the fact that there are no tents when you're a militia unit. So the lads took to the woods, chopping down saplings and gathering brushwood until they had fashioned a lean-to. After scattering a couple bales of straw underneath, we had our shelter for the weekend. Voila.
Camp with a couple of gatecrashers on Friday night. The Queen's Own didn't mix it up too long Friday night, prompting a few comments "wow, those guys are really hardcore..." "No, they just drove through the night, didn't you know that?" Yes, and we can hear you from under our blankets.
I should note that ultimately we want to be able to cary everything into camp on our backs...we were only thwarted in this attempt this time by the addition of a fourteen pound salted Virginia ham. All the food we had was non-perishable, and it was either eaten (ham) or burned (bones). It's amazing how little refuse you leave behind.
The lads receive their orders Saturday morning...we try to run things in a military fashion, apart from the floggings. And even then you can be sentenced to fetch wood and water if you're not prompt.
Overlooking the Fort's guns. There are not any super-awesome pictures of me from this event, this is probably the best one. Also the best because, well, cannons.
Saturday we had visitors (and by visitors I mean "non-costumed civilians") so I was busy cooking for t'lads and answering questions. We were sharing our camp with a group that ate vegan, so it was almost like dueling kettles for awhile. One of our boys volunteered to be tried as a deserter...and he was duly dragged into the "court" by his fellow militiamen, tried and found guilty of desertion. Then the lads went off to the battle (we won), and after supper we went up to the Fort to share some libations with the American rebels.
A deserter in our midst! Get 'em, boys!
The lads advance during the battle...
Fort Ticonderoga was built in the 1750s by the French...the British took it away from them, then the Americans took it away from the British, and then the British got it back until the end of the Revolution. It was manned again during the war of 1812, and even during WWII it served as a radio base. Today it is a living history museum, with costumed interpreters, an EXCELLENT museum, a nifty giftshop and cafe. During the 19th century it was restored by a wealthy family who also built a small hotel down by the waters of Lake George, near the King's Garden. This is near where we were camping...the Americans got to sleep in the Fort. But really, after seeing the hardpacked earth and stone floors of the fort versus our comfy grass and straw beds, I think we Loyalists got the better end of the deal. Fort Ticonderoga was also recently featured in an episode of "Ghost Hunters"...and yes, Nicki is glad she only learned about the ghosts after we went there.
The Fort at night
Discussing the day's tactics with the serjeant.
Sunday I watched the battle, repeated for that day's guests. It was fun to mix in with the civilians, shouting encouragement to "our brave boys in red" and getting the stink-eye for it. Many guests thought I was a history teacher, but I had to correct them and say "no, this is just wicked interesting, that is all." It's hard to describe what a re-enactment battle is like. Most battles try to recreate an actual event, but there are some sites that will just make up battles to demonstrate what eighteenth century tactics looked like. This event was one such. Basically the scenario involved the Americans attempting to hold the fort, and the British rolling them back like blankets. During the Revolution, there was a garrison of Americans here, but they were so few in number that when the British showed up, it was not worth the lives for a pitched battle. The Americans had already removed the cannons, so the garrison surrendered. Both Saturday and Sunday the British forces began near the base of the hill on which Fort Ti is located, then advanced upward. The militia (including the Queen's Own) acted as light infantry, pushing through bracken, muddy water and trees to get the advantage and cover the regular infantry. Also there were cannons and horses. It was a pretty intense battle, lasting from early skirmishing to a final bayonet charge and surrender, all told around three hours of "fighting." Even though no one was actually hurt by a weapon, one of the guys in our unit did sprain his ankle on Saturday. And I've been to other events where there have been powder burns and even a broken collarbone. Reenacting is intense, and it does leave you drained. (Unfortunately, it's hard to take good photos and even videos of reenactments...trying to catch the excitement from afar is difficult, and if you have cameras in your midst you're liable to irritate reenactors.)
So by Sunday evening we were pretty wiped....we had permission to leave around 4pm, and we did so. Packing up involved rolling up blankets, tearing down our brush arbor and putting out the fire, and then we were on our way. Jeff and I arrived back in Virginia at around 4:30 in the morning on Monday. It was probably the best reenactment I had been to...but I was really glad I had taken Monday off.
This is what Jeff looks like...he is going to be mad that I put this on here, but it's my favourite picture of him so far ever.
It's hard to believe that was five weeks ago now! It's been a lot of fun putting up pictures and reliving that trip. I had a great time, even with all the driving, and I definitely want to go back again.
**All photos of Fort Ticonderoga were taken by Kelsey Freeman...she is a professional photographer with our unit who brought her camera along.
After working Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday of that week, I took off again, this time for Green Bay. As I mentioned previously, Dad took a fall down the stairs at home. Now he was coming home from the hospital, and I went to try to help Mom get him settled. And by support I mean reinforcing some of the new rules, "Dad, when mom says 'eat' she means it!" Dad was pretty weak from being in the hospital for two weeks, but he perked up (and started eating), as soon as he got home...and from what I hear now, a month later, it's only been uphill. Also, bonus, I got to meet my new niece:
I was thrilled. Nora, less so.
And since returning home three weeks ago, it's been work, work, work. As usual. I signed on to work part time at Busch Gardens Williamsburg in their costume shop. As you can imagine, it's quite a bit different from CW's shop. Also, bonus, I get into the park for free and have discounts on food and souvenirs, which came in handy last weekend when Jeff and I had a couple friends come down for Howl O Scream. Then there was also Prelude to Victory, the rebel answer to Under the Redcoats...I had to go around all day pretending to be a patriot supporter of Mr. Washington, but secretly I was a British spy, gathering information. ("Infantry: 62. Cannon: 1") Then just yesterday Jeff and I were back at an old favourite spot of ours, Smith's Fort Plantation, which is a local history museum. They are having their Christmas Craft Show this weekend, so Jeff and I went in our historical costume and talked a bit about the house. Nothing like being able to drive home after an event in thirty minutes or less!
And that's the update...I hope this will not be the last one for another six weeks!
Monday, September 05, 2011
Good-bye, Irene
We survived!!! I was woken up last Saturday by the sound of wind whistling around the house. It gradually increased until it was an unrelenting howl until around noon which lasted until about six PM. The wind didn't go down completely until after one AM. I spent most of the day on the sofa. In the morning I was surfing the internet, waiting for the power to go out--and let me tell you, THAT'S a weird feeling, knowing that the power is going to go out and just waiting for your big exit from civilization. I managed to get a hot meal around 12:30 and then *blink* *blink* power gone. For six days. After the power went out, the biggest problem was leakage. The wind was beating so hard against the door upstairs that it was actually forcing water through the door knob, through the frame, and then down into the ductwork below. Downstairs I had a bucket brigade going. There wasn't a lot of rain (as compared to, say, Vermont), but the wind was unreal. After awhile, I sort of got used to it, and spent the afternoon sewing, listening to a book on my computer.
Some videos I took during the storm:
Jeff came home about six, during the lull of what had been the eye--and about thirty minutes before VDOT closed the James River Bridge due to high winds. We had some cold bean soup for supper (wind was too high to even attempt a fire outside) and some other non-perishable rations, like cookies, and then I finally dragged Kizzy outside for the first time all day. Jeff and I watched our neighbor's dock get torn up. The James was at high tide around this time, and the waves were approximately five feet above high tide. They completely lifted away the decking on the dock next door to us, and slammed some of the planks into the dock on our property. (Our dock is really just steps down to the beach, with nothing sticking out into the water) We stood on our dock, watching waves pound the cliff and feeling the shuddering motion as planks and rafts of decking slammed into our piers, and then I decided it was time to retreat back to the safe cave of our living room.
However, as far as damage went, we did pretty well. Mostly it was tree limbs and pine cones (and by "pine cones" I mean every pine come in a three-county radius is lying in our yard) but we did have a few major branches come down. One was neatly resting on a power line. The willow tree out front is completely shattered. Apparently this is the survival mechanism for willow trees, for Jeff assures me that the same thing happened during Isabel, and the tree came back. Cleaning up later that week, we found willow leaves wrapped around the bushes by the mailbox. Further down the road the power lines were completely broken, like guitar strings. Right at the end of our street, a tree had completely fallen across the road, taken out a power line pole, broken all the lines, and sent a transistor scattering into a corn field. Honestly, the biggest shock was that the power came back on as soon as it did!
Sunday we spent cleaning up and practising our outdoor cooking, a skill with which we happily have a lot of experience. Monday I got a surprise when I went into work and found that Williamsburg had no power. I got to spend time with the military guys on Monday, and Tuesday I just came home and cleaned up. We have a brush pile in our front yard that's taller than me now, and after working one afternoon with his uncle, Jeff wants a chainsaw. Luckily the weather has been a dream. High 70s, 60s at night, so leaving the house open to the elements has not been a problem, nor has sleeping. The biggest challenge was finding ice for our perishables--and even that was solved on Monday when I stopped at Harris Teeter. They were giving ice away! I will definitely shop there in future!
In a way, it was nice, the way power outages always are. We were prepared, mentally, the weather cooperated, the food didn't spoil and we ate up most of the stuff in our freezer without a problem. (Strawberries picked in 2010 that moved with me in July last year didn't make it, however) Jeff and I spent our evenings cooking, walking the dog, and going to bed early, since it's hard to read by paraffin-lamp light. We talked a lot, just hung out with each other. When I finally went back to work on Wednesday I missed him like the dickens, and swore that we were going to turn off TV and internet after eight o'clock in future. Even the mosquitos disappeared for a few days.
But now, the power's back on, work is back in full swing, and we're getting ready for a big reenactment this weekend. So, without further ado, a few post-storm pics:
The other neighbor's dock. His deck was about two feet higher than the one that was washed away, but, as you can see, ended up being covered in driftwood and decking material.
My tomato plants. They were nearly blown over, and after receiving a healthy dose of salty James River spray, I think they may be done for the season. But you never know. They are hearty plants all right.
The tree what came down on our power line. Previously, I'd called the power company about having a line resting on this branch, but they refused to do anything about it because the tree was on "private property." Guess what? They cut the branch down (and more!) on Thursday.
Our stove. The bricks are eighteenth-century bricks, leftovers from houses washed into the James by Isabel. We pick out a half-dozen or so whenever we go down to the waterside. Jeff build a little oven and we cooked chicken Sunday night after the storm. Better eating than anything we'd had in awhile!
After the storm...all I could think about was the line from Secret Garden: "Strangely quiet, but now the storm simply rests to strike again...."
***
One more thing...
I also want to let my loyal readers know that Dad took a fall last Friday. He fell down the stairs at home, due to a lack of coordination because of recent health concerns. He is okay, but spent a few days in ICU and is now in a regular hospital room. I know when he finds out I'm writing about him on here he'll be as embarrassed as the dickens, but this is my space, and that's what's happening in my life. And maybe he'll start listening to his doctors and take his pills now. Email me if you'd like more information--mom is asking for no visitors yet--and keep us all in your prayers.
Some videos I took during the storm:
Jeff came home about six, during the lull of what had been the eye--and about thirty minutes before VDOT closed the James River Bridge due to high winds. We had some cold bean soup for supper (wind was too high to even attempt a fire outside) and some other non-perishable rations, like cookies, and then I finally dragged Kizzy outside for the first time all day. Jeff and I watched our neighbor's dock get torn up. The James was at high tide around this time, and the waves were approximately five feet above high tide. They completely lifted away the decking on the dock next door to us, and slammed some of the planks into the dock on our property. (Our dock is really just steps down to the beach, with nothing sticking out into the water) We stood on our dock, watching waves pound the cliff and feeling the shuddering motion as planks and rafts of decking slammed into our piers, and then I decided it was time to retreat back to the safe cave of our living room.
However, as far as damage went, we did pretty well. Mostly it was tree limbs and pine cones (and by "pine cones" I mean every pine come in a three-county radius is lying in our yard) but we did have a few major branches come down. One was neatly resting on a power line. The willow tree out front is completely shattered. Apparently this is the survival mechanism for willow trees, for Jeff assures me that the same thing happened during Isabel, and the tree came back. Cleaning up later that week, we found willow leaves wrapped around the bushes by the mailbox. Further down the road the power lines were completely broken, like guitar strings. Right at the end of our street, a tree had completely fallen across the road, taken out a power line pole, broken all the lines, and sent a transistor scattering into a corn field. Honestly, the biggest shock was that the power came back on as soon as it did!
Sunday we spent cleaning up and practising our outdoor cooking, a skill with which we happily have a lot of experience. Monday I got a surprise when I went into work and found that Williamsburg had no power. I got to spend time with the military guys on Monday, and Tuesday I just came home and cleaned up. We have a brush pile in our front yard that's taller than me now, and after working one afternoon with his uncle, Jeff wants a chainsaw. Luckily the weather has been a dream. High 70s, 60s at night, so leaving the house open to the elements has not been a problem, nor has sleeping. The biggest challenge was finding ice for our perishables--and even that was solved on Monday when I stopped at Harris Teeter. They were giving ice away! I will definitely shop there in future!
In a way, it was nice, the way power outages always are. We were prepared, mentally, the weather cooperated, the food didn't spoil and we ate up most of the stuff in our freezer without a problem. (Strawberries picked in 2010 that moved with me in July last year didn't make it, however) Jeff and I spent our evenings cooking, walking the dog, and going to bed early, since it's hard to read by paraffin-lamp light. We talked a lot, just hung out with each other. When I finally went back to work on Wednesday I missed him like the dickens, and swore that we were going to turn off TV and internet after eight o'clock in future. Even the mosquitos disappeared for a few days.
But now, the power's back on, work is back in full swing, and we're getting ready for a big reenactment this weekend. So, without further ado, a few post-storm pics:
The other neighbor's dock. His deck was about two feet higher than the one that was washed away, but, as you can see, ended up being covered in driftwood and decking material.
My tomato plants. They were nearly blown over, and after receiving a healthy dose of salty James River spray, I think they may be done for the season. But you never know. They are hearty plants all right.
The tree what came down on our power line. Previously, I'd called the power company about having a line resting on this branch, but they refused to do anything about it because the tree was on "private property." Guess what? They cut the branch down (and more!) on Thursday.
Our stove. The bricks are eighteenth-century bricks, leftovers from houses washed into the James by Isabel. We pick out a half-dozen or so whenever we go down to the waterside. Jeff build a little oven and we cooked chicken Sunday night after the storm. Better eating than anything we'd had in awhile!
After the storm...all I could think about was the line from Secret Garden: "Strangely quiet, but now the storm simply rests to strike again...."
***
One more thing...
I also want to let my loyal readers know that Dad took a fall last Friday. He fell down the stairs at home, due to a lack of coordination because of recent health concerns. He is okay, but spent a few days in ICU and is now in a regular hospital room. I know when he finds out I'm writing about him on here he'll be as embarrassed as the dickens, but this is my space, and that's what's happening in my life. And maybe he'll start listening to his doctors and take his pills now. Email me if you'd like more information--mom is asking for no visitors yet--and keep us all in your prayers.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Vacation in Pictures
Hello everyone...hard to believe a month has passed since I posted last! I honestly wanted to post a few more times while I was home, but, doggone it, I was enjoying sitting around doing nothing so much, I just kept on doing it. So here are a few snaps from that week:
One of my projects before I left: a little sundress for Lily. I was worried that it would be too small for her...turns out she will probably get another summer's use out of it! The fabric was bought at a second-hand sale, and the buttons were $3 at Hancock Fabrics, so it was quite inexpensive. I have yards left over, so I may have to make a skirt for myself.
Ostensibly the reason I went home in the first place: family reunion. Here's a photo of the brothers and sisters, along with their significant others. I'm not sure if I can name everyone, but Mom's in the front row, wearing her fabulous purple shirt!
And here is a picture of all the cousins--that is, first cousins. There are only five of us missing. I didn't realise it, but at 29 and seven-twelfths, I am the youngest granddaughter. Peter is the youngest grandson. For the longest time, I thought my second cousins were my first cousins, especially since most of them are also older than me!
Lily loves taking self-portraits...and I love posting them.
After four days in Green Bay I went down to Fort Atkinson to visit Laura. Somehow we ended up at UW Madison's Terrace, drinking Spotted Cow and discussing politics at the top of our lungs.
I went over the Peter and Brenda's house for some Fourth of July fireworks. Lily was adamant that I wear the red, white and blue headband doodly-boppers, and outline her foot with sidewalk chalk.
Me with Peter, Brenda and Lily.
Another project I had to finish before I left for Green Bay--a teddy bear dressed as a Fife & Drum Corps member. Couldn't resist bragging a bit.
I missed Nora Lynn's big entrance by about fourteen hours...I hope no one minds me posting this, but I think a new baby is a great way to end a photoblog!
Going to have an early night tonight, but I will try to write more soon.
One of my projects before I left: a little sundress for Lily. I was worried that it would be too small for her...turns out she will probably get another summer's use out of it! The fabric was bought at a second-hand sale, and the buttons were $3 at Hancock Fabrics, so it was quite inexpensive. I have yards left over, so I may have to make a skirt for myself.
Ostensibly the reason I went home in the first place: family reunion. Here's a photo of the brothers and sisters, along with their significant others. I'm not sure if I can name everyone, but Mom's in the front row, wearing her fabulous purple shirt!
And here is a picture of all the cousins--that is, first cousins. There are only five of us missing. I didn't realise it, but at 29 and seven-twelfths, I am the youngest granddaughter. Peter is the youngest grandson. For the longest time, I thought my second cousins were my first cousins, especially since most of them are also older than me!
Lily loves taking self-portraits...and I love posting them.
After four days in Green Bay I went down to Fort Atkinson to visit Laura. Somehow we ended up at UW Madison's Terrace, drinking Spotted Cow and discussing politics at the top of our lungs.
I went over the Peter and Brenda's house for some Fourth of July fireworks. Lily was adamant that I wear the red, white and blue headband doodly-boppers, and outline her foot with sidewalk chalk.
Me with Peter, Brenda and Lily.
Another project I had to finish before I left for Green Bay--a teddy bear dressed as a Fife & Drum Corps member. Couldn't resist bragging a bit.
I missed Nora Lynn's big entrance by about fourteen hours...I hope no one minds me posting this, but I think a new baby is a great way to end a photoblog!
Going to have an early night tonight, but I will try to write more soon.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Reunion
It's Monday, June 27th...I've been home in Green Bay for three days now. I should say--I've been based out of GB for three days now, since I spent Saturday and Sunday roadtripping to Cashton, WI to go to a Ruetten family reunion. I haven't seen most of that side of the family since Grandma Ruetten passed away seven years ago. Seems like everyone my age has got babies running around...yet it was nice to catch up with the cousins. Since we last met, I've "grown up," no longer treated like the little kid. Although there was a conversation about "after you graduate, get a job, marry, have kids...what else is there to update people about? Still living, still working, raising a family." What people do: live, grow, love. I also got a chance to learn a little about Grandpa Ruetten's ancestors, the ones who came over from Germany in 1881. Since living in Virginia, where everyone is a hobbit when it comes to geneology, I've gotten interested in tracing my family roots back. It's startling to see people with familar names, faintly traced in a few quick sentences and a picture. Leaving we descendents to fill in the blanks.
Another quest when I came home was to clean out the closet in my old bedroom. It's become a hole for memorabilia from high school, college, early trips abroad. And there's not really anyone but me who can decide what to save and what to throw. I've been working at it today with a descendent's mentality: both of my grandmothers left closets full of pictures and souveniers that mean little or nothing to their children and grandchildren, and I don't want to do that. I'm being ruthless. Haven't gone quite so far as to throw out the baby album, but I know there will come a day when I pare it down to a half-dozen pictures. For now I've been editing my high school experiences, tossing three yearbooks and only saving my senior edition, and making sure I don't have TOO many copies of the London Tube map. After all, it will be completely different when I go back.
Still, there are a lot of things I'd like to hold on to. Silly things, like scarves, that will come in handy next fall, and potential housewarmers, like a silk embroidered shawl. Then there are the absolute treasures, like the tape of an interview I made with Grandma Lemery. And the pictures...oh the pictures. I am hoping that in a hundred years there will be more than one photo of me left, but I'm trying to get rid of the ones that include people whose names I can't remember.
I may be the only organizer to have four piles: donate, save, trash/recycle and burn. There is something so cleansing about burning old things. I don't want strangers in recycling plants fingering my photos, I don't want people who were once very near and dear to me to think that I don't value that time in our lives together...but too many photos and a desire to move forward sends them into the flames. Tomorrow we'll take a load to Goodwill and then start on the other half of the closet. In the meantime, I'm left to reflect on what is and isn't important to me.
Another quest when I came home was to clean out the closet in my old bedroom. It's become a hole for memorabilia from high school, college, early trips abroad. And there's not really anyone but me who can decide what to save and what to throw. I've been working at it today with a descendent's mentality: both of my grandmothers left closets full of pictures and souveniers that mean little or nothing to their children and grandchildren, and I don't want to do that. I'm being ruthless. Haven't gone quite so far as to throw out the baby album, but I know there will come a day when I pare it down to a half-dozen pictures. For now I've been editing my high school experiences, tossing three yearbooks and only saving my senior edition, and making sure I don't have TOO many copies of the London Tube map. After all, it will be completely different when I go back.
Still, there are a lot of things I'd like to hold on to. Silly things, like scarves, that will come in handy next fall, and potential housewarmers, like a silk embroidered shawl. Then there are the absolute treasures, like the tape of an interview I made with Grandma Lemery. And the pictures...oh the pictures. I am hoping that in a hundred years there will be more than one photo of me left, but I'm trying to get rid of the ones that include people whose names I can't remember.
I may be the only organizer to have four piles: donate, save, trash/recycle and burn. There is something so cleansing about burning old things. I don't want strangers in recycling plants fingering my photos, I don't want people who were once very near and dear to me to think that I don't value that time in our lives together...but too many photos and a desire to move forward sends them into the flames. Tomorrow we'll take a load to Goodwill and then start on the other half of the closet. In the meantime, I'm left to reflect on what is and isn't important to me.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Christmas makes you feel emotional...
It may bring parties or thoughts devotional...Whatever happens, whatever may be, here is what Christmastime means to me...
I guess I'm just going to have to deal with the fact that from now on, whatever happens, Christmas is going to be an emotionally fraught landmine field for me from now on. Between losing Grandma one year ago today and having to pack everyone's Christmas presents into boxes for shipping (including one that would have been used an excuse to steal Lily for a couple of hours instead of being described as "a present with some assembly required"), it's been kind of complicated. I'm sort of at sea here. We are not hosting Christmas this year, and as a childless couple, Jeff and I haven't really had to do any serious shopping or manuevering to deceive small people. Don't get me wrong I've been busy (I have a new respect for my parents, who managed to decorate, buy presents, deceive small people, enjoy holiday concerts, and still find time to bake sugar cookies for decorating) but the madness isn't nearly as great as it would be if I was at home, preparing for Christmas Day. This year Jeff valiantly volunteered to work so another employee could travel home to be with his family, and I'm staying too. I bought a tiny tree, which barely comes up to my shoulder, and we decorated it in stopgap plastic ornaments. I'm not used to having a tree that looks like it came out of a catalogue. We have candles in the window, which is a Southern thing, and Jeff's dad brought over his Christmas village for upstairs. My sole contribution to the decorating, apart from the tree, is a hollow snowman figurine that is being built by a little boy and girl. His hat comes off, and he holds red and green Hershey's kisses. Mom got it from her oldest sister. When I was younger, Mom would manage to fill up the snowman when I wasn't looking, as soon as I got it out of the box. I was so mystified by the fact that one minute I was unpacking the empty snowman and the next minute he was full of kisses that for a while I was fully convinced it was Christmas magic or possibly elves. This year I made sure to have the kisses on hand before he came out of the box.
One of the things I haven't been doing this year is going to church. I really enjoy the Advent season and the build up to Christmas Eve. But I haven't found a new church yet. Truth be told, I'm a little daunted and exhausted by the idea of finding a new church and a new congregation. When I stopped attending the church in Williamsburg, no one really noticed...and even after going there for two years, I still had people coming up to me saying "Welcome! We're glad to see you, are you new here?" So probably the next church is not going to have 2,000 members. It is very hard to find a congregation where I feel comfortable, being as liberal as I am. There are PLENTY of churches around here...unfortunately, most of them probably would prefer I was not living with my boyfriend.
Anyway. Sort of all to seek about what Christmas is this year. I'm trying to get into the spirit, but I sort of don't have the energy this year, you know? I'm looking forward to this afternoon, however, when Jeff and I are heading over to Busch Gardens to experience their Christmastown...even though this year has been oddly out of sync, there still is a small child in me who delights in lights, singing and drinking hot cocoa.
I guess I'm just going to have to deal with the fact that from now on, whatever happens, Christmas is going to be an emotionally fraught landmine field for me from now on. Between losing Grandma one year ago today and having to pack everyone's Christmas presents into boxes for shipping (including one that would have been used an excuse to steal Lily for a couple of hours instead of being described as "a present with some assembly required"), it's been kind of complicated. I'm sort of at sea here. We are not hosting Christmas this year, and as a childless couple, Jeff and I haven't really had to do any serious shopping or manuevering to deceive small people. Don't get me wrong I've been busy (I have a new respect for my parents, who managed to decorate, buy presents, deceive small people, enjoy holiday concerts, and still find time to bake sugar cookies for decorating) but the madness isn't nearly as great as it would be if I was at home, preparing for Christmas Day. This year Jeff valiantly volunteered to work so another employee could travel home to be with his family, and I'm staying too. I bought a tiny tree, which barely comes up to my shoulder, and we decorated it in stopgap plastic ornaments. I'm not used to having a tree that looks like it came out of a catalogue. We have candles in the window, which is a Southern thing, and Jeff's dad brought over his Christmas village for upstairs. My sole contribution to the decorating, apart from the tree, is a hollow snowman figurine that is being built by a little boy and girl. His hat comes off, and he holds red and green Hershey's kisses. Mom got it from her oldest sister. When I was younger, Mom would manage to fill up the snowman when I wasn't looking, as soon as I got it out of the box. I was so mystified by the fact that one minute I was unpacking the empty snowman and the next minute he was full of kisses that for a while I was fully convinced it was Christmas magic or possibly elves. This year I made sure to have the kisses on hand before he came out of the box.
One of the things I haven't been doing this year is going to church. I really enjoy the Advent season and the build up to Christmas Eve. But I haven't found a new church yet. Truth be told, I'm a little daunted and exhausted by the idea of finding a new church and a new congregation. When I stopped attending the church in Williamsburg, no one really noticed...and even after going there for two years, I still had people coming up to me saying "Welcome! We're glad to see you, are you new here?" So probably the next church is not going to have 2,000 members. It is very hard to find a congregation where I feel comfortable, being as liberal as I am. There are PLENTY of churches around here...unfortunately, most of them probably would prefer I was not living with my boyfriend.
Anyway. Sort of all to seek about what Christmas is this year. I'm trying to get into the spirit, but I sort of don't have the energy this year, you know? I'm looking forward to this afternoon, however, when Jeff and I are heading over to Busch Gardens to experience their Christmastown...even though this year has been oddly out of sync, there still is a small child in me who delights in lights, singing and drinking hot cocoa.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Weddings are Fun
I had a great time in Wisconsin. Everytime I go to a wedding, I always say "that was the best" or "I had the most fun at your wedding, EVAR" when, really, it's only because that particular wedding was the most recent. The other exciting part about the week was introducing Jeff to my parents. Everyone seemed to like one another...which was a relief...although I think he spent more time with my family than I did. Good thing he's a shutterbug, because now I have lots of pictures of Lilybet. She has CURLS, ya'll. And as soon as I can borrow Jeff's camera and plug it into my Mac I will show them to you.
Meanwhile, here are some photos I nicked off of Facebook...
We got into town on Wednesday, and after introducing Jeff to my parents and cheescurds, I abandoned him to go out with the ladies of the wedding party. We started at a pottery place, decorating mugs for Sara's kitchen...along for the ride was the daughter of the bride and the son of the other bridesmaid, who took advantage of the fact the paint was non-toxic.
After that we ditched the kiddies and headed over to Margarita's, where the bachelorette party got started in earnest...
...But we didn't stay out too late, since the moms had to get their little ones to bed, and there were still centerpieces to arrange and bouquets to tie.
The next day dawned grey and dreary. "If I hear one more person tell me it's good luck to have rain on your wedding day, I'm going to slap them," growled the bride, as she gaze out the hotel room window, her perfectly coiffed hair falling over her shoulder, looking like a Victorian poetess. We kept assuring her it was going to stop, but the thunderstorm that rolled through right before we left for the ceremony was not assuaging her fears. But by the time we got to Apple Creek Inn, it had slowed to a drizzle...then stopped...and then the sun gradually started coming out. By the time we were taking pictures, the sun had almost dried the grass, and by the time the ceremony started, Nicki was wishing she had remembered to bring sunscreen, and cursing the fact she was wearing her good shoes on spongy grass. (oh well. No one was looking at me. They were all looking at the flower girl.)
The wedding party...
And Mr. & Mrs. Clark.
Sara had overprepared for the reception, since there were about a thousand kids running around...that's just as well, since most of the adults also wanted a colouring book and a glowing necklace. I ended up wearing several chair decorations, made for me by Jeff. The best part of the reception had to be having someone to dance with. And when he wasn't up for it, there were thousands of kids running around....kids are always good for the dance floor.
Also, there was a chocolate fountain, which they brought out after most of the kids had left, so it was up to me to eat as much as possible and smear the rest over adults standing nearby.
That's right, ladies, he also dances.
Saturday I got to spend with mom, dad, Peter, LilyBug and Jeff. We took a ride up to Door County. Mother Nature, having granted Sara's prayers for nice weather for an outdoor wedding, was not about to listen to my pleas for the same so we could go boating. But we drove up through the Door, stopping for more cheese curds and Wilson's root beer, hiking to the top of Eagle Tower at Peninsula State Park. Jeff was dilligent about taking photos...I'll put them up here when I can steal them off his camera...Saturday night we had a traditional Wisconsin brat fry, with Mom's award-winning potato salad and a Point beer for me. It was so good and so relaxing to be back in Wisconsin, if only for a couple days. I can't wait to take Jeff there again...this time for some Up North time and a boatride...
Meanwhile, here are some photos I nicked off of Facebook...
We got into town on Wednesday, and after introducing Jeff to my parents and cheescurds, I abandoned him to go out with the ladies of the wedding party. We started at a pottery place, decorating mugs for Sara's kitchen...along for the ride was the daughter of the bride and the son of the other bridesmaid, who took advantage of the fact the paint was non-toxic.
After that we ditched the kiddies and headed over to Margarita's, where the bachelorette party got started in earnest...
...But we didn't stay out too late, since the moms had to get their little ones to bed, and there were still centerpieces to arrange and bouquets to tie.
The next day dawned grey and dreary. "If I hear one more person tell me it's good luck to have rain on your wedding day, I'm going to slap them," growled the bride, as she gaze out the hotel room window, her perfectly coiffed hair falling over her shoulder, looking like a Victorian poetess. We kept assuring her it was going to stop, but the thunderstorm that rolled through right before we left for the ceremony was not assuaging her fears. But by the time we got to Apple Creek Inn, it had slowed to a drizzle...then stopped...and then the sun gradually started coming out. By the time we were taking pictures, the sun had almost dried the grass, and by the time the ceremony started, Nicki was wishing she had remembered to bring sunscreen, and cursing the fact she was wearing her good shoes on spongy grass. (oh well. No one was looking at me. They were all looking at the flower girl.)
The wedding party...
And Mr. & Mrs. Clark.
Sara had overprepared for the reception, since there were about a thousand kids running around...that's just as well, since most of the adults also wanted a colouring book and a glowing necklace. I ended up wearing several chair decorations, made for me by Jeff. The best part of the reception had to be having someone to dance with. And when he wasn't up for it, there were thousands of kids running around....kids are always good for the dance floor.
Also, there was a chocolate fountain, which they brought out after most of the kids had left, so it was up to me to eat as much as possible and smear the rest over adults standing nearby.
That's right, ladies, he also dances.
Saturday I got to spend with mom, dad, Peter, LilyBug and Jeff. We took a ride up to Door County. Mother Nature, having granted Sara's prayers for nice weather for an outdoor wedding, was not about to listen to my pleas for the same so we could go boating. But we drove up through the Door, stopping for more cheese curds and Wilson's root beer, hiking to the top of Eagle Tower at Peninsula State Park. Jeff was dilligent about taking photos...I'll put them up here when I can steal them off his camera...Saturday night we had a traditional Wisconsin brat fry, with Mom's award-winning potato salad and a Point beer for me. It was so good and so relaxing to be back in Wisconsin, if only for a couple days. I can't wait to take Jeff there again...this time for some Up North time and a boatride...
Monday, June 07, 2010
Here I go again...
Last Friday I wore my bronze, t-strap high heels, to try to get the hang of them again. Upon finding out that I was "practising" for a wedding last week, most of the women at work were eager to compare my life to the movie "27 Dresses," with Katherine Heigel. I have not seen this movie. I don't have to.
This will be the third wedding I've stood up for in the last year and a half. I am happy to do it, and have had no problems with any of the brides or any of their choices regarding the wedding party, locations, colours, etc etc etc. No, what I am getting snippy with is the wedding mega-machine that dictates people must do These Things on their Special Day or they will Regret it FOREVERRRRR. Most of this modern "etiquette" is actually made up bullpoopies that the wedding magazine mega-industry has to keep pumping out so they have something to cram in between the pages of hideously expensive ads for wedding dresses. It's enough to keep a girl single forever.
The latest target of my ire is David's Bridal, who completely feeds off of this notion that all brides want their wedding party to be co-ordinated to within an inch of its life. Not only can you now get dresses and tuxes at David's Bridal, but they can also help you co-ordinate the invitations, plan your honeymoon, send out gift registrations, arrange hair and makeup the Day Of, and help your guests work together so no one shows up in the same gown (the horror). They will also sell you dresses for prom, which is a whole other rant. The problem with David's Bridal is that it is expensive. It takes advantage of people who do not understand that perfectly lovely gowns and bridesmaid ensembles can be found just about anywhere. Photos on the walls show bridal parties of six or more maids, plus groomsmen and assorted children. I know they're advertising. But seriously, who has six bridesmaids these days?
For this wedding, I was asked to go to David's Bridal, and I must admit I was fairly happy with the selection. I was ignored for the first twenty minutes I was in the store, allowing me to shop unmolested--I studied the poster with all their current fashions--picked out the dress I wanted, tried it on and was out the store fifteen minutes later. The shop associates seems staggered that I knew what I wanted. There were other people in the store--one young bride with her mom and grandma, all sniffling everytime she came out of the dressing room with a different dress on, another group of girls trying to find something they "all could wear" (not hard when your entire wedding party is a size zero). They were so cute when I mentioned this is my third wedding in a year...you're all twenty-two ladies, just you wait. But I'm not here to have the Bridal Store Experience. I want to look nice and support the bride and groom at the beginning of their married life together. That's all. I don't even feel comfortable shopping with other people when I'm just buying regular clothes!
When I went back to get my dress (no off the rack for David's Bridal--everything is special ordered), the women were astonished that I didn't want to try it on. "Suppose it needs...alterations?!" they twittered. I was not game for their brand of sales up-manship. "...I work as a tailor for Colonial Williamsburg," I said through gritted teeth. "If there's anything wrong with it, I can fix it." "Oh," they said, looking disappointed as a fifty-dollar alteration fee disappeared into thin air.
The dress I tried on fit me like a glove, and so does this one. It has everything I like in a dress: a flowy hemline, not too clingy, neckline and armseyes high enough to wear a real bra, no need for expensive undergarments... Except for the fact that the v-neck in the back vees just a little too deeply, so that you can see the top of my bra strap. I fixed that problem today--well, two birds with one stone actually. This dress also has--had-pockets. Pockets! On a dress! Why! Oh yes, I am going to ruin the perfect lines of this dress by shoving my camera, cellphone and wallet in there. ARG. So I fixed that problem by cutting out the pockets and then fixed the neckline problem by making a little "v" from the pocket fabric and stitching it into the lining of the dress. I'm goooood.
So the dress is ready, and the bridesmaid will be packed as soon as she stops procrastinating by updating her blog. I'm looking forward to going home and seeing some old friends from high school. Our ten-year high school graduation reunion is at the end of the month...I would much rather catch up with people at a wedding reception. It's hard to believe it's been ten years, and that everyone is getting married and having babies. But then, as I reflect on the three dresses hanging in my closet, I guess it's not that hard to believe. I'm glad this will be the last wedding for awhile though. The next one I stand up in will be my own.
And I'm not wearing white, either.
This will be the third wedding I've stood up for in the last year and a half. I am happy to do it, and have had no problems with any of the brides or any of their choices regarding the wedding party, locations, colours, etc etc etc. No, what I am getting snippy with is the wedding mega-machine that dictates people must do These Things on their Special Day or they will Regret it FOREVERRRRR. Most of this modern "etiquette" is actually made up bullpoopies that the wedding magazine mega-industry has to keep pumping out so they have something to cram in between the pages of hideously expensive ads for wedding dresses. It's enough to keep a girl single forever.
The latest target of my ire is David's Bridal, who completely feeds off of this notion that all brides want their wedding party to be co-ordinated to within an inch of its life. Not only can you now get dresses and tuxes at David's Bridal, but they can also help you co-ordinate the invitations, plan your honeymoon, send out gift registrations, arrange hair and makeup the Day Of, and help your guests work together so no one shows up in the same gown (the horror). They will also sell you dresses for prom, which is a whole other rant. The problem with David's Bridal is that it is expensive. It takes advantage of people who do not understand that perfectly lovely gowns and bridesmaid ensembles can be found just about anywhere. Photos on the walls show bridal parties of six or more maids, plus groomsmen and assorted children. I know they're advertising. But seriously, who has six bridesmaids these days?
For this wedding, I was asked to go to David's Bridal, and I must admit I was fairly happy with the selection. I was ignored for the first twenty minutes I was in the store, allowing me to shop unmolested--I studied the poster with all their current fashions--picked out the dress I wanted, tried it on and was out the store fifteen minutes later. The shop associates seems staggered that I knew what I wanted. There were other people in the store--one young bride with her mom and grandma, all sniffling everytime she came out of the dressing room with a different dress on, another group of girls trying to find something they "all could wear" (not hard when your entire wedding party is a size zero). They were so cute when I mentioned this is my third wedding in a year...you're all twenty-two ladies, just you wait. But I'm not here to have the Bridal Store Experience. I want to look nice and support the bride and groom at the beginning of their married life together. That's all. I don't even feel comfortable shopping with other people when I'm just buying regular clothes!
When I went back to get my dress (no off the rack for David's Bridal--everything is special ordered), the women were astonished that I didn't want to try it on. "Suppose it needs...alterations?!" they twittered. I was not game for their brand of sales up-manship. "...I work as a tailor for Colonial Williamsburg," I said through gritted teeth. "If there's anything wrong with it, I can fix it." "Oh," they said, looking disappointed as a fifty-dollar alteration fee disappeared into thin air.
The dress I tried on fit me like a glove, and so does this one. It has everything I like in a dress: a flowy hemline, not too clingy, neckline and armseyes high enough to wear a real bra, no need for expensive undergarments... Except for the fact that the v-neck in the back vees just a little too deeply, so that you can see the top of my bra strap. I fixed that problem today--well, two birds with one stone actually. This dress also has--had-pockets. Pockets! On a dress! Why! Oh yes, I am going to ruin the perfect lines of this dress by shoving my camera, cellphone and wallet in there. ARG. So I fixed that problem by cutting out the pockets and then fixed the neckline problem by making a little "v" from the pocket fabric and stitching it into the lining of the dress. I'm goooood.
So the dress is ready, and the bridesmaid will be packed as soon as she stops procrastinating by updating her blog. I'm looking forward to going home and seeing some old friends from high school. Our ten-year high school graduation reunion is at the end of the month...I would much rather catch up with people at a wedding reception. It's hard to believe it's been ten years, and that everyone is getting married and having babies. But then, as I reflect on the three dresses hanging in my closet, I guess it's not that hard to believe. I'm glad this will be the last wedding for awhile though. The next one I stand up in will be my own.
And I'm not wearing white, either.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
ruminative cello solo
I find myself wondering how Grandma would have felt about this whole health care reform debacle...the final bill, the endless debating and finger-pointing, the violence that has suddenly, spontaneously erupted. I would have liked to talk to her about this, since she is the sanest conservative person I know, and the things she said didn't make me want to chew on people's computers, or make me go all snarly and squinty-eyed. She was smart...she'd be able to pick through the bill and come up with things that she didn't like, and then find reasons why they might appeal to people. And she wouldn't back down from a good debate.
Even though she always advised me not to discuss politics with boys. Maybe that was good advice, but now, after a two-day, knockdown fight with my boyfriend about the federal government in general spurred on by a comment made by a hater on Facebook, I have to wonder if I should have listened. If I shouldn't have made it clearer: Date 1, I am a Screaming Liberal. Right now I'm so tired of the whole thing I'm ready to just shut up and crawl into bed. I am an Optimist, a Joyful Soul and a Believer in the American Dream. He is somewhat older and more jaded.
I would also like to ask Grandma what to do about this. We never talked about how she and grandpa worked through their political differences, but I suspect they didn't really have any to speak of. Should have asked her about how she felt about the major reforms that were pushed through in her lifetime--the New Deal, the Civil Rights Act, Medicaid. Although, she voted for Roosevelt three times, she always liked to remind me, whenever I accused her of being a Republican.
There are so many things worth getting passionate for, worth losing friends and yes, even lovers for, but I'm not sure the current administration is one of them. I support President Obama (even when he sold me out and withdrew a moratorium on offshore drilling!) but then again, he's not going to be waiting for me with a home cooked meal when I come home from work. I can probably guess what Grandma's advice would be--this girl is intelligent, but she also loooooves to eat--but I...I just wish I could hear her say it.
Even though she always advised me not to discuss politics with boys. Maybe that was good advice, but now, after a two-day, knockdown fight with my boyfriend about the federal government in general spurred on by a comment made by a hater on Facebook, I have to wonder if I should have listened. If I shouldn't have made it clearer: Date 1, I am a Screaming Liberal. Right now I'm so tired of the whole thing I'm ready to just shut up and crawl into bed. I am an Optimist, a Joyful Soul and a Believer in the American Dream. He is somewhat older and more jaded.
I would also like to ask Grandma what to do about this. We never talked about how she and grandpa worked through their political differences, but I suspect they didn't really have any to speak of. Should have asked her about how she felt about the major reforms that were pushed through in her lifetime--the New Deal, the Civil Rights Act, Medicaid. Although, she voted for Roosevelt three times, she always liked to remind me, whenever I accused her of being a Republican.
There are so many things worth getting passionate for, worth losing friends and yes, even lovers for, but I'm not sure the current administration is one of them. I support President Obama (even when he sold me out and withdrew a moratorium on offshore drilling!) but then again, he's not going to be waiting for me with a home cooked meal when I come home from work. I can probably guess what Grandma's advice would be--this girl is intelligent, but she also loooooves to eat--but I...I just wish I could hear her say it.
Sunday, January 03, 2010
UNGH the soliloquy....
Mom and Dad bought me a new MacBook Pro with a seventeen inch monitor for Christmas. I was not expecting this: I had asked for a robe. And when mom prompted me with a "that's it?" I thought for a moment and went "oh, and slippers. Slippers would be nice." When I got home from the funeral, a box of Christmas presents was waiting for me...I unpacked it and set them all under the tree to await Christmas morning. I thought the funny thin heavy box with a handle on the top was maybe a toolkit...possibly for my car? And ironically that was the last box I opened. Jeff had moved on to discussing how we were going to handle food for our party that evening when the look of shock on my face cut him off...I couldn't believe it. Sitting here now, wearing my new robe and slippers, typing on keys as smooth as butter, I still can't believe this beautiful machine is mine. THANK YOU MOM AND DAD. So much potential opens up before me. I can actually take this laptop places, since it actually holds a charge. There's plenty of room for music, movies and writing. So far all I've done with it is surf the internet...next weekend I'm going to take it down to the Apple Store in Norfolk and have them give me some tutorials. It's like having a Mustang in your garage...you need someone to show you how to shift properly. LOVE IT SO MUCH.
I feel like I owe everyone a big ol' blog post to get you all up to date. Recently, a blog I follow didn't update for nearly a month and I panicked, thinking the writer had died in a horrible fiery car crash...turns out she was busy. I know the feeling. So where to begin? Let's not go back to the funeral, even though now that I'm here in Williamsburg I keep forgetting Grandma is gone. Keep thinking "oh, I have to tell her about this" or write her name down on my Christmas card list...then I catch myself. I guess this will continue to happen for a little while. But that's okay.
Christmas Day was spent with Jeff and his family. We went over to his godparent's house for Christmas dinner, Virginia-style, with turkey AND ham, collard greens, cornbread stuffing, cranberry relish, sweet potato casserole, mashed potatoes, dozens of other dishes I can't remember and three kinds of pie to finish. I was stuffed. We couldn't linger too long, however, because we were planning on hosting a little party of our own. Only seven adults here, but I had instructed my guests to come hungry and we had made enough food for a regiment. Jeff made his rum balls and salmon dip, I made mom's meatballs and whiskey weiners, and our guests brought over their Christmas specialties, padded out by chips, veggies, and a big ol' crockpot full of wassail. We finally had to kick them out around midnight. I had a bridesmaid dress to finish.
Boxing Day was a laaaazy day. Jeff and I worked our way through the six-disk set of Monty Python I had bought him for Christmas while I frantically tried to finish my 1930's bridesmaid dress and attach buttons to my coat. I also had to pack. It was luxurious, being able to throw as much stuff as I wanted into the car, including most of our Christmas leftovers. But alas!! Apparently Gladware isn't waterproof!!! Oh, how sad was I to get down to Florida and discover my whiskey weiners and meatballs were completely saturated with ice!!! The saddest day ever...
But I'm getting ahead of my story. December 27th, four-thirty AM, I jump in Chi-Chi and begin the drive down to Florida. I stop and pick up Erin and her husband Mike, who are also in the wedding, and we begin the trek. Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, all pass by in a blur as the sun comes up and begins to slide down. We are in holiday traffic, occasionally slowing and stopping. Then we hit our biggest slowdown yet--for two hours we are creeping until we finally pass by a horrific traffic accident. We are thankful for our safe journey and take it easy, arriving two hours late, but in one piece.
Nicole and Evan's wedding took place at the Beach Club Resort, which is one of the Disney hotel properties. It sits on a little lagoon with the Yacht Club on one side and the Boardwalk on the other. It is huge. Airy, blue with white trim, it really looks like a giant version of a nineteenth century seaside resort. We check in and are promptly whisked off to Disney Downtown (what used to be Paradise Island) and have a late, late supper. The next day I am awoken at seven-thirty and by nine-thirty I am on Big Thunder Railroad at the Magic Kingdom. I seem to recall Big Thunder Railroad being a lot more intense when I was ten years old, but I scream and throw up my hands anyway. Magic Kingdom is brilliant when you're an adult. We make fun of the animatronic animals on Splash Mountain, squeal like girls when the water from Pirates of the Caribbean splashes us and run to the Adventure River to catch Princess Tiana's Showboat Spectacular, knocking over several small children on the way. Magic Kingdom is hellaciously busy. After the eleven o'clock parade the park is suddenly overrun with parents pushing strollers and little kids wandering hither and yon. Little kids meaning kids under two years old who are never going to remember this, and are only going to exhaust their parents with their nap-deprived demands for toys and food. Disney has a new thing called Fastpass, which allows you to scan your ticket at certain rides and receive a time when you can skip the line and get straight on the ride. A one-thirty scan for Space Mountain spits out a Fastpass time of eleven-fifteen at night. We opt for dinner.
Dinner is at O'hana's, at the Polynesian, another Disney resort. It is a set menu: BBQ chicken and potstickers, salad, steamed broccoli and noodles, then skewers of steak, turkey, pork and shrimp, with pineapple bread pudding to finish. We all overeat and stagger back to the hotel at nine-thirty.
The next day the only one up and perky at seven is the bride. I manage to stay in bed until nine. Then we pop over to the gazebo to scout out where the ceremony will be held before Erin and I head over to the salon and get our hair done up for the wedding. A nineteen-thirties hairstyle that leaves me looking like Eva Peron's mom from the movie Evita takes two and a half hours. I hurry back and get into my dress and shoes. I have been worried about these heels for weeks, but anything less than two inches is not an option. Somehow I manage to stay upright for the walk over to the gazebo, the brief but beautiful ceremony (I cried), and the pictures afterward. Nicole arrived at the pavilion in a 1958 white Rolls Royce...Erin and I enjoy a brief ride down the boardwalk to the spot where we're taking more pictures, earning more than one double take as people notice the "Just Married" sticker in the window. We take a boat back to the Yacht Club and the shoes come off. Dinner is a small, intimate affair...with less than thirty people at the wedding, including the wedding party, it is easy to get to know everyone. Not much dancing (not that my legs would be in any sort of shape for dancing), and by nine-thirty we've sent the couple off to start their honeymoon. The wedding party changes and takes one last walk around the lagoon. A brief walk...never seen Florida so frosty.
Then home again. This time it's the traffic what cooperates and the road-trippers who are dallying. We turn off the main path and have lunch in Saint Augustine, which is a tiny little town, the oldest one in a America, full of cute little stores, cobblestone streets and farby pirates. And good pizza. The rest of the drive home is uneventful. I am in bed by two-forty five, so I get nearly four hours of sleep before I have to go to work.
But it's only one day and I have a three day weekend. Jeff comes up to Williamsburg, bearing a freshly-washed Kismet, and we watch movies until it's time for the ball to drop. I finally have someone to smooch on New Year's Eve, and it's wonderful. The next day I meet up with him down in Norfolk and we go see The Real Pirates exhibit at Nauticus in Norfolk. It is wonderful. There are chests overflowing with silver, guns, tools, pieces of clothing and even smells floating around. You can tell it was put on by National Geographic--it's done incredibly well. Some of Jeff's friends are there, guys who rent themselves out as pirates occasionally, and they add to the atmosphere by doing demonstrations and letting kids handle their reproduction guns. I have to correct a small child who attempts to cock a flintlock by making a modern "chk-chk" sound.
We go see Sherlock Holmes, which was pretty good. Not quite sure how I felt about the story, but the acting was good and London was pretty underneath all its dirt...the same could be said for Jude Law and Robert Downey Jr. of course.
Now it is noon. January 3rd, 2010. It is freezing: the temperature is probably in the teens with the windchill and the wind is howling. Kismet is bugging to go out, so we'll probably head to the dogpark this afternoon. (His chomping of a pork bone seems to have affected him not at all, little stinker) Life is good. I will put up some pictures of the wedding as soon as I get any...and I promise to post more liberally in the new year.
I feel like I owe everyone a big ol' blog post to get you all up to date. Recently, a blog I follow didn't update for nearly a month and I panicked, thinking the writer had died in a horrible fiery car crash...turns out she was busy. I know the feeling. So where to begin? Let's not go back to the funeral, even though now that I'm here in Williamsburg I keep forgetting Grandma is gone. Keep thinking "oh, I have to tell her about this" or write her name down on my Christmas card list...then I catch myself. I guess this will continue to happen for a little while. But that's okay.
Christmas Day was spent with Jeff and his family. We went over to his godparent's house for Christmas dinner, Virginia-style, with turkey AND ham, collard greens, cornbread stuffing, cranberry relish, sweet potato casserole, mashed potatoes, dozens of other dishes I can't remember and three kinds of pie to finish. I was stuffed. We couldn't linger too long, however, because we were planning on hosting a little party of our own. Only seven adults here, but I had instructed my guests to come hungry and we had made enough food for a regiment. Jeff made his rum balls and salmon dip, I made mom's meatballs and whiskey weiners, and our guests brought over their Christmas specialties, padded out by chips, veggies, and a big ol' crockpot full of wassail. We finally had to kick them out around midnight. I had a bridesmaid dress to finish.
Boxing Day was a laaaazy day. Jeff and I worked our way through the six-disk set of Monty Python I had bought him for Christmas while I frantically tried to finish my 1930's bridesmaid dress and attach buttons to my coat. I also had to pack. It was luxurious, being able to throw as much stuff as I wanted into the car, including most of our Christmas leftovers. But alas!! Apparently Gladware isn't waterproof!!! Oh, how sad was I to get down to Florida and discover my whiskey weiners and meatballs were completely saturated with ice!!! The saddest day ever...
But I'm getting ahead of my story. December 27th, four-thirty AM, I jump in Chi-Chi and begin the drive down to Florida. I stop and pick up Erin and her husband Mike, who are also in the wedding, and we begin the trek. Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, all pass by in a blur as the sun comes up and begins to slide down. We are in holiday traffic, occasionally slowing and stopping. Then we hit our biggest slowdown yet--for two hours we are creeping until we finally pass by a horrific traffic accident. We are thankful for our safe journey and take it easy, arriving two hours late, but in one piece.
Nicole and Evan's wedding took place at the Beach Club Resort, which is one of the Disney hotel properties. It sits on a little lagoon with the Yacht Club on one side and the Boardwalk on the other. It is huge. Airy, blue with white trim, it really looks like a giant version of a nineteenth century seaside resort. We check in and are promptly whisked off to Disney Downtown (what used to be Paradise Island) and have a late, late supper. The next day I am awoken at seven-thirty and by nine-thirty I am on Big Thunder Railroad at the Magic Kingdom. I seem to recall Big Thunder Railroad being a lot more intense when I was ten years old, but I scream and throw up my hands anyway. Magic Kingdom is brilliant when you're an adult. We make fun of the animatronic animals on Splash Mountain, squeal like girls when the water from Pirates of the Caribbean splashes us and run to the Adventure River to catch Princess Tiana's Showboat Spectacular, knocking over several small children on the way. Magic Kingdom is hellaciously busy. After the eleven o'clock parade the park is suddenly overrun with parents pushing strollers and little kids wandering hither and yon. Little kids meaning kids under two years old who are never going to remember this, and are only going to exhaust their parents with their nap-deprived demands for toys and food. Disney has a new thing called Fastpass, which allows you to scan your ticket at certain rides and receive a time when you can skip the line and get straight on the ride. A one-thirty scan for Space Mountain spits out a Fastpass time of eleven-fifteen at night. We opt for dinner.
Dinner is at O'hana's, at the Polynesian, another Disney resort. It is a set menu: BBQ chicken and potstickers, salad, steamed broccoli and noodles, then skewers of steak, turkey, pork and shrimp, with pineapple bread pudding to finish. We all overeat and stagger back to the hotel at nine-thirty.
The next day the only one up and perky at seven is the bride. I manage to stay in bed until nine. Then we pop over to the gazebo to scout out where the ceremony will be held before Erin and I head over to the salon and get our hair done up for the wedding. A nineteen-thirties hairstyle that leaves me looking like Eva Peron's mom from the movie Evita takes two and a half hours. I hurry back and get into my dress and shoes. I have been worried about these heels for weeks, but anything less than two inches is not an option. Somehow I manage to stay upright for the walk over to the gazebo, the brief but beautiful ceremony (I cried), and the pictures afterward. Nicole arrived at the pavilion in a 1958 white Rolls Royce...Erin and I enjoy a brief ride down the boardwalk to the spot where we're taking more pictures, earning more than one double take as people notice the "Just Married" sticker in the window. We take a boat back to the Yacht Club and the shoes come off. Dinner is a small, intimate affair...with less than thirty people at the wedding, including the wedding party, it is easy to get to know everyone. Not much dancing (not that my legs would be in any sort of shape for dancing), and by nine-thirty we've sent the couple off to start their honeymoon. The wedding party changes and takes one last walk around the lagoon. A brief walk...never seen Florida so frosty.
Then home again. This time it's the traffic what cooperates and the road-trippers who are dallying. We turn off the main path and have lunch in Saint Augustine, which is a tiny little town, the oldest one in a America, full of cute little stores, cobblestone streets and farby pirates. And good pizza. The rest of the drive home is uneventful. I am in bed by two-forty five, so I get nearly four hours of sleep before I have to go to work.
But it's only one day and I have a three day weekend. Jeff comes up to Williamsburg, bearing a freshly-washed Kismet, and we watch movies until it's time for the ball to drop. I finally have someone to smooch on New Year's Eve, and it's wonderful. The next day I meet up with him down in Norfolk and we go see The Real Pirates exhibit at Nauticus in Norfolk. It is wonderful. There are chests overflowing with silver, guns, tools, pieces of clothing and even smells floating around. You can tell it was put on by National Geographic--it's done incredibly well. Some of Jeff's friends are there, guys who rent themselves out as pirates occasionally, and they add to the atmosphere by doing demonstrations and letting kids handle their reproduction guns. I have to correct a small child who attempts to cock a flintlock by making a modern "chk-chk" sound.
We go see Sherlock Holmes, which was pretty good. Not quite sure how I felt about the story, but the acting was good and London was pretty underneath all its dirt...the same could be said for Jude Law and Robert Downey Jr. of course.
Now it is noon. January 3rd, 2010. It is freezing: the temperature is probably in the teens with the windchill and the wind is howling. Kismet is bugging to go out, so we'll probably head to the dogpark this afternoon. (His chomping of a pork bone seems to have affected him not at all, little stinker) Life is good. I will put up some pictures of the wedding as soon as I get any...and I promise to post more liberally in the new year.
Friday, January 01, 2010
Ringing in the new year
I wanted to write about the emotionalness of a funeral so close to Christmas...waking up to my first Christmas without my family nearby...celebrating with Jeff's family, the triumph of meatballs on my own (next year: not lean ground beef)...the shock of unwrapping a MacBook Pro with a seventeen inch-screen (THANK YOU MOM AND DAD) traveling thirty hours to attend a fairy-tale wedding in Florida, managing to stay upright in two and a half inch heels for nearly three hours...finally having someone to smooch on New Year's Eve...discovering a new Deutsche restaurant on the first day of a new year...
But, idiot Nicki saved the pork chop bone from dinner. Knowing that her beagle had a love of pork but also a killer chomp, she hung on to it while he chewed gingerly until WHAM--and she was holding a half a pork chop bone in her hand. A very sharp half. Which leads her to believe that the piece of bone now traveling through Kismet's digestive system is also very sharp.
And that is why this blog post, instead of being about the emotional crazy last two weeks, is about Nicki spending the evening of New Year's Day feeding her beagle some cotton balls (wrapped around leftover cheese curds) so that it will cushion the deadly splinter of bone in his stomach and cursing her momentary stupidity. ARG.
But, idiot Nicki saved the pork chop bone from dinner. Knowing that her beagle had a love of pork but also a killer chomp, she hung on to it while he chewed gingerly until WHAM--and she was holding a half a pork chop bone in her hand. A very sharp half. Which leads her to believe that the piece of bone now traveling through Kismet's digestive system is also very sharp.
And that is why this blog post, instead of being about the emotional crazy last two weeks, is about Nicki spending the evening of New Year's Day feeding her beagle some cotton balls (wrapped around leftover cheese curds) so that it will cushion the deadly splinter of bone in his stomach and cursing her momentary stupidity. ARG.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
with mirth and good liquor we'll lead merry lives
In the end I made a flying trip home to Green Bay for the funeral...which happened to be on my birthday. After cancelled flights, diverting into Chicago and renting a car I finally made it home about eleven fifteen on Sunday. No one was surprised to see me home. It felt right to be there, to be able to say goodbye and grieve with my family and the people who knew Grandma best. The funeral was simple...afterward we went over to Bethany United Methodist and had sandwiches...then we went back to my parents for more reminiscing and I worked like a fiend trying to get Lily's stocking done in time for Christmas. I only hope Santa was able to fill it since I wasn't. Tuesday I flew back to Virginia, which was much less of a headache.
A day and a half of work later and it was Christmas. My Christmas present to my friends was a party Christmas Day evening, so Jeff and I spent Christmas Eve cooking and getting ready. Today we are relaxing. I have a bridesmaid dress to finish, laundry to do and a car to clean out for my drive down to Florida tomorrow, but I'm not stressing.
It has been an interesting holiday season. I don't know if I care to repeat it, but never before has so much joy and sadness been mingled together. Thanks everyone for your prayers and thoughts...I'm doing okay, looking forward to some quiet time in 2010.
A day and a half of work later and it was Christmas. My Christmas present to my friends was a party Christmas Day evening, so Jeff and I spent Christmas Eve cooking and getting ready. Today we are relaxing. I have a bridesmaid dress to finish, laundry to do and a car to clean out for my drive down to Florida tomorrow, but I'm not stressing.
It has been an interesting holiday season. I don't know if I care to repeat it, but never before has so much joy and sadness been mingled together. Thanks everyone for your prayers and thoughts...I'm doing okay, looking forward to some quiet time in 2010.
Friday, December 18, 2009
a melancholy walk
Kismet must be walked, come rain or wind or sleet or snow...all of which we are getting tonight. So before it got too bad, I slung him into the car and we went down to the historical area. The snow surprised me when I walked out of the building. It was the fat white fluffy flakes, the kind that melt. Kizzy looked a little nervous at first, glancing up shocked at the stuff falling out of the sky. By the time we got downtown it had switched to the small, half melted sleety snow. Sticking to the grass and buildings, the first time I've seen Williamsburg sheathed in snow.
Today is my grandmother's ninety-fifth birthday. Her last. All day I've had a feeling, something jerking me from behind, something needing my attention. So when we got out of the car--familiar houses swathed in cold sticky snow--I called home. Aunt Bettie answered and told me the news. Platitudes about no more pain and being in a better place. I agreed. Could you ask my parents to call me when they got home from the hospital. Heaven. Walking without pain. Reunion. When I hung up the phone, I doubled over like I'd been disembowled. Screaming in tears would have wrecked the peaceful night, so I gasped for breath instead like I'd just been pulled out of the bottom of the ocean. My hood turned into a cowl sheltering my face, hiding it from people walking by (do they think I have a stitch in my side?) so that all I could see was marl, snow, and a happy beagle, tail wagging. He looks out at the historical area, nose twitching at the promise of sippets from Chowning's, treats from interpreters, fat, inattentive squirrels...
So we walked. Him, back and forth like always, me straight ahead, mechanical. Feet are two little iceblocks inside totally impractical shoes. Kismet loves the snow. I am getting a hold on myself. What now? What plans? What's next? I shouldn't be here walking Kismet, I should be-- But beagles must be walked. Hail, snow, sleet, death.
We come to Market Square. In the summer, I pretend to be in a militia here. Now it is a field of white, reflecting those snow-pink clouds, making it seem warmer than it is. Turning to go past the Randolph house a sudden snatch of song finds its way into my ear. "...Christ the Saviour is born...Christ the Saviour is born." A choir is singing "Silent Night." They repeat the first verse, faint across the green. Cressets are set up, blazing away, and a crowd is gathered. I don't wait for the path, but plunge across the virgin inch of snow to the courthouse, where a choir is singing from the steps. (imported from England. 1772. my brain reminds me) By the time I reach them, they have moved on to "I Saw Three Ships" and I am calmer. I am reminded that life goes on. My life goes on. I am not disembowled, I am freezing. I move closer to a cresset and feel warmth on my face.
The music follows us down the street. People stop me and fawn over my beagle like they always do. At Chowning's, Kizzy gets two treats to keep him warm. People are friendly. The music is hovering like a warm vapor rising from a cup of cider, keeping people content in the cold. I am very sad. But it is the sadness of acceptance, of laying down a burden too great for any person to bear. I suppose I prayed as I walked, although if I did there weren't any words. I stop to compliment the choir--they are from a Methodist church--and they invite me to service on Christmas Eve.
I wonder if there will ever be another Christmas that isn't tinged with melancholy. Some of the best secular songs have it--that dose of melancholy that evens out the unabated joy. "I'll be home for Christmas...if only in my dreams." "Through the years, we all will be together...if the Fates allow." If I'll ever join another family gathering without making a mental list of who is not with us. It hurts almost as much knowing that my children won't get to meet her, know her like I did. But that's me being selfish again. Maybe this is what growing up is. Now I am the adult, it is my turn to buy the presents and bake cookies. To leave the receiving and frosting to the kids. Now that I am the adult I have to walk the dog, no matter what.
Here's hoping everyone is staying warm.
Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright.
Round yon virgin, mother and child.
Holy infant, tender and mild.
Sleep in heavenly peace...sleep in heavenly peace.
Today is my grandmother's ninety-fifth birthday. Her last. All day I've had a feeling, something jerking me from behind, something needing my attention. So when we got out of the car--familiar houses swathed in cold sticky snow--I called home. Aunt Bettie answered and told me the news. Platitudes about no more pain and being in a better place. I agreed. Could you ask my parents to call me when they got home from the hospital. Heaven. Walking without pain. Reunion. When I hung up the phone, I doubled over like I'd been disembowled. Screaming in tears would have wrecked the peaceful night, so I gasped for breath instead like I'd just been pulled out of the bottom of the ocean. My hood turned into a cowl sheltering my face, hiding it from people walking by (do they think I have a stitch in my side?) so that all I could see was marl, snow, and a happy beagle, tail wagging. He looks out at the historical area, nose twitching at the promise of sippets from Chowning's, treats from interpreters, fat, inattentive squirrels...
So we walked. Him, back and forth like always, me straight ahead, mechanical. Feet are two little iceblocks inside totally impractical shoes. Kismet loves the snow. I am getting a hold on myself. What now? What plans? What's next? I shouldn't be here walking Kismet, I should be-- But beagles must be walked. Hail, snow, sleet, death.
We come to Market Square. In the summer, I pretend to be in a militia here. Now it is a field of white, reflecting those snow-pink clouds, making it seem warmer than it is. Turning to go past the Randolph house a sudden snatch of song finds its way into my ear. "...Christ the Saviour is born...Christ the Saviour is born." A choir is singing "Silent Night." They repeat the first verse, faint across the green. Cressets are set up, blazing away, and a crowd is gathered. I don't wait for the path, but plunge across the virgin inch of snow to the courthouse, where a choir is singing from the steps. (imported from England. 1772. my brain reminds me) By the time I reach them, they have moved on to "I Saw Three Ships" and I am calmer. I am reminded that life goes on. My life goes on. I am not disembowled, I am freezing. I move closer to a cresset and feel warmth on my face.
The music follows us down the street. People stop me and fawn over my beagle like they always do. At Chowning's, Kizzy gets two treats to keep him warm. People are friendly. The music is hovering like a warm vapor rising from a cup of cider, keeping people content in the cold. I am very sad. But it is the sadness of acceptance, of laying down a burden too great for any person to bear. I suppose I prayed as I walked, although if I did there weren't any words. I stop to compliment the choir--they are from a Methodist church--and they invite me to service on Christmas Eve.
I wonder if there will ever be another Christmas that isn't tinged with melancholy. Some of the best secular songs have it--that dose of melancholy that evens out the unabated joy. "I'll be home for Christmas...if only in my dreams." "Through the years, we all will be together...if the Fates allow." If I'll ever join another family gathering without making a mental list of who is not with us. It hurts almost as much knowing that my children won't get to meet her, know her like I did. But that's me being selfish again. Maybe this is what growing up is. Now I am the adult, it is my turn to buy the presents and bake cookies. To leave the receiving and frosting to the kids. Now that I am the adult I have to walk the dog, no matter what.
Here's hoping everyone is staying warm.
Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright.
Round yon virgin, mother and child.
Holy infant, tender and mild.
Sleep in heavenly peace...sleep in heavenly peace.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Happy Turkey Day
Well, turkey day is over here. I spent it with Jeff and his parents, at a local restaurant...this is the first time I've ever eaten out on Thanksgiving Day. The food was great, but I felt a little guilty about making people work on a holiday. And work really hard--although we went to a buffet, so the chefs were mostly concerned with making sure the tables were full--it was obvious that the waitstaff were running ragged, trying to keep up with drink orders and clearing plates.
The food was incredible though. Along with trying to learn more about eighteenth century cooking, I'm trying to learn more Southern-style cooking. This is mostly different foods (like collard greens and oyster stuffing), but there are a couple techniques involved we didn't learn in Wisconsin. Like frying. I fried up some chicken the other night, and it turned out beautifully. Fried with egg and flour in vegetable oil, mind you. But, I'm afraid it might not count, since it was chicken breast strips. Not a whole chicken, or even bones-in pieces. Baby steps though, I'm on my way. I even contemplated buying lard the other day so I could do biscuits properly. (yeah, yeah, I know--Sam's over there talking about making healthy Indian food from scratch, and I'm frying chicken and cooking with lard)
I also have to work tonight, which is another reason we went out. It's weird not cooking on turkey day, but it's also nice not having to deal with the dishes. Kizzy got left out though, he had to settle for some leftover spoonbread (another Southern delicacy) mixed in with his kibble. I am thankful for a good year--a new boyfriend, a beautifully behaved beagle--good friends, a steady job and now new opportunities. It's been a good year. Next year, though I'm cooking. And I'll definitely be incorporating all my new receipes.
The food was incredible though. Along with trying to learn more about eighteenth century cooking, I'm trying to learn more Southern-style cooking. This is mostly different foods (like collard greens and oyster stuffing), but there are a couple techniques involved we didn't learn in Wisconsin. Like frying. I fried up some chicken the other night, and it turned out beautifully. Fried with egg and flour in vegetable oil, mind you. But, I'm afraid it might not count, since it was chicken breast strips. Not a whole chicken, or even bones-in pieces. Baby steps though, I'm on my way. I even contemplated buying lard the other day so I could do biscuits properly. (yeah, yeah, I know--Sam's over there talking about making healthy Indian food from scratch, and I'm frying chicken and cooking with lard)
I also have to work tonight, which is another reason we went out. It's weird not cooking on turkey day, but it's also nice not having to deal with the dishes. Kizzy got left out though, he had to settle for some leftover spoonbread (another Southern delicacy) mixed in with his kibble. I am thankful for a good year--a new boyfriend, a beautifully behaved beagle--good friends, a steady job and now new opportunities. It's been a good year. Next year, though I'm cooking. And I'll definitely be incorporating all my new receipes.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Walking at night
Another friend mentioned how weird the time shift is...I find it hard as well to spend all my free time in the dark, while looking longingly at the sun through a window at work. (although the sun has been hiding quite a bit lately...and, having taken the beagle out between writing that last sentence and this one, I can tell you it is raining cats & dogs out there right now) If I hurry home from work, we get about a half hour of greyish twilight for our walk. Now that I'm working less evenings, I'm enjoying actually exercising my own dog again. An hour every evening, if I feel up to it. The darkness is annoying, but familiar. I like looking in to the windows of the houses I pass, catching glimpses of paint colors and paintings. Walking through New Town means a lot of similar condos and row houses, and it's incredible how different every owner makes their own property. I don't take my iPod when I'm walking--I rely too much on my sense of hearing for traffic and other people--and that keeps my head clear to think. Tonight I caught a whiff of London, that particular smell that is a mixture of bus fumes, unchanged fryer oil and concrete. One whiff to sense it, one whiff to recognise it, one whiff to savor it and then it was gone.
Home smells like wool and cigarette smoke. That's what I remember from mom coming to pick me up from daycare--the scent I picked up as I hugged her hello, burying my face in her heavy eighties wool power suits. Home smells open, it smells like a house that has routinely had new carpet and adequate windows, properly working central air, unlike our apartment, which has none of the above. Walking at night at home smelled like grass--green and seedy if it was spring, hay if it was fall. There is one spot on the highway here, turning on to 199 from 64, where there is a lack of streelights, and I am always surprised by the constellations suddenly leaping out at me. At home, they were more consistently bright.
I'm not going home for Christmas this year. I am standing up in a wedding, in Florida, four days after Christmas, which would make a trip home very short. It's not responsible to spend money on airfare when I'd only be home for two days, so I am saving that money for when I can come home for a proper visit. This will be the first time I haven't been home for Christmas, the first time I won't wake up in my purple bedroom, or help roll meatballs or re-arrange my nativity after Mom has set it up for me. My roommate and I decided on getting a real tree this year (the money goes to the Lion's Club), which I am glad about, since I'll be here to enjoy it on Christmas Day. I will sneak out early in the wee dawn hours of Christmas morning and put Kizzy's presents under there, then pretend Santa has come. Not because he's my surrogate baby, but because I want to get him pizzle sticks, and he will eat them, paper and all, if I try to put them down earlier. I think I know a place where I can get some kringle. I will go to church here Christmas Eve and cry when we sing "Silent Night" just like I do at home--and I daresay Jeff will come over and we'll cook a big Christmas feast, if I don't get kidnapped by his family. It will be weird waking up on Christmas morning by myself, but once every twenty-seven years isn't a bad ratio.
In the meantime, I have Christmas presents to finish sewing and a bridesmaid dress to put together at some point...so I guess I better get to bed. Good night everyone.
Home smells like wool and cigarette smoke. That's what I remember from mom coming to pick me up from daycare--the scent I picked up as I hugged her hello, burying my face in her heavy eighties wool power suits. Home smells open, it smells like a house that has routinely had new carpet and adequate windows, properly working central air, unlike our apartment, which has none of the above. Walking at night at home smelled like grass--green and seedy if it was spring, hay if it was fall. There is one spot on the highway here, turning on to 199 from 64, where there is a lack of streelights, and I am always surprised by the constellations suddenly leaping out at me. At home, they were more consistently bright.
I'm not going home for Christmas this year. I am standing up in a wedding, in Florida, four days after Christmas, which would make a trip home very short. It's not responsible to spend money on airfare when I'd only be home for two days, so I am saving that money for when I can come home for a proper visit. This will be the first time I haven't been home for Christmas, the first time I won't wake up in my purple bedroom, or help roll meatballs or re-arrange my nativity after Mom has set it up for me. My roommate and I decided on getting a real tree this year (the money goes to the Lion's Club), which I am glad about, since I'll be here to enjoy it on Christmas Day. I will sneak out early in the wee dawn hours of Christmas morning and put Kizzy's presents under there, then pretend Santa has come. Not because he's my surrogate baby, but because I want to get him pizzle sticks, and he will eat them, paper and all, if I try to put them down earlier. I think I know a place where I can get some kringle. I will go to church here Christmas Eve and cry when we sing "Silent Night" just like I do at home--and I daresay Jeff will come over and we'll cook a big Christmas feast, if I don't get kidnapped by his family. It will be weird waking up on Christmas morning by myself, but once every twenty-seven years isn't a bad ratio.
In the meantime, I have Christmas presents to finish sewing and a bridesmaid dress to put together at some point...so I guess I better get to bed. Good night everyone.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Back to Virginia
And I'm back. It was a whirlwind week, that was for sure. I'm not exactly clear where it all went, but I remember being home and seeing everyone, and I remember flying back, so clearly I had a vacation in there somewhere.
The flight home on Friday was uneventful. Both parents were at the airport to pick me up, and then we went over to see Grandma. Who was happy to see me and hear about Virginia and give me the third degree about the boyfriend. And then, of course, we went out for fish, meeting up with Mr & Mrs. Lemery and Lily, better known as the bug in some circles. She is the perfect baby. Charming, always ready to pose, crying only when she is hungry, sleepy or when Grandpa stands between her and a red cut glass candy-dish. At the restaurant she attempted to help herself to Grandpa's beer when he wasn't looking, only to have ever-vigilant mom take it away from her. "It's okay," I said consolingly, "When I take you to England we'll make up for it." I don't think her dad appreciated that.
Saturday my folks hosted a family picnic at their house. It was cooler than we would have liked, and occasionally drizzly, but the pool is heated, so I spent most of my time in there, playing with my younger cousins. It was wonderful to see everyone, and catch up with everyone, and I'm so glad that most of the family managed to make it--we had thirty four people all told, coming and going.
Sunday...I honestly can't remember what I did Sunday. Oh yes, dinner with the family again, only this time salmon and salad, and two very needy chocolate labs snotting up the window as we ate.
Monday I was thwarted by the EAA in my attempts to rent a car, so I left GB nearly three hours after I intended to. I drove down to Fort Atkinson, picked up Laura, and we met up with Sam in Madison. The first time the three harpies have been together in over three years...it was wonderful. Cackling away and swapping stories we've heard in the news and rumors about old classmates. Laura even commented on how "quiet" Sam's fiance is, and I had to gently point out this was probably due more to the fact that he couldn't get a word in edgewise. Sam had to go back to work on Tuesday, and Laura was working on the organic farm co-op, so I drove up to Wanaukee and caught up with yet another bride to be. (for those of you keeping score, this'll be my fourth stint down the aisle...as a bridesmaid) Laura and I caught up with Sam in Spring Green that night, by watching the American Players Theatre production of A Comedy of Errors. It was hysterical, even with the occasional rain. REAL Shakespeare geeks stand out in the rain, because we're HARDCORE INTO THE BARD.
Wednesday--Sam was working again, so Laura and I did Spring Green, where the theatre is located. Spring Green is small, but fascinating. Lots of cool little shops and galleries and organic stores. But, eventually, you've seen all the arty jewelery you care to see, so we headed over to that Wisconsin standby, the tavern. After being carded (more for being outsiders than looking underage) we proceeded to order Leinies and then rail loudly against guns and Republicans which, I'm guessing was probably not really appreciated in a small rural Wisconsin tavern. They did not, however, have cheese curds, so we went around the corner to the bar where the theatre people hung out, and proceeded to repeat the process of ordering beer and railing. This time with a huge basket of curds. "There ought to be a road movie," I said, "through Wisconsin, and the whole time one of the main characters just keeps saying 'Man, we gotta stop and get some CURDS, man.'"
Then we picked up Sam and whizzed back to Madison to see the sixth Harry Potter movie. Even though none of us confirmed it with the others, we all knew we'd be seeing it with each other. Oh, and Sam's fiance, of course. Oh I cried. I cried so hard. Even knowing was was going to happen, I cried so hard. Definitely a good movie--I don't know if I'd say it was the best movie, but definitely in the top three.
Thursday I had to say good-bye to the girls and come home. It took a lot longer than I had planned, but then again, I wasn't really looking forward to saying farewell either. Got home around six and was immediately taken out for more food at Pasquale's, despite my protests that I wasn't in the mood for more cheese. (Cheese curds for an afternoon snack, movie theatre popcorn, Burger King at midnight and cheese curds for breakfast do not a happy tummy make)
Friday was a shopping day: stopped at the bank, got a new cell phone and raided Lane Bryant for some new jeans and tops. Then I got to see the fabled Lenny's, the tavern where my dad will spend the odd hour watching sporting events. Dinner was fish again. 'Cuz its Wisconsin. And that's just what you do on a Friday night.
Saturday was supposed to be the boating day, but it was (you guessed it) drizzly and windy again. So we ended up going to the Outagamie County Fair, where we wandered amidst the prize calfs and hogs, admiring the skills of the local four-aitchers. And had some more cheese curds.
Packing up and leaving was incredibly sad. I miss my family a lot, especially right now. But getting home was wonderful--it was nice to step off the plane and see unadulterated sunshine for the first time in a week. And Kismet has been amazingly well behaved ever since I got home, probably because he's afraid I'll ditch him again. Not forgetting of course, coming home to boyfriend kisses. There's nothing I wanted to do that I didn't get to do. Except next time I come home, I wanna take a boat ride.
The flight home on Friday was uneventful. Both parents were at the airport to pick me up, and then we went over to see Grandma. Who was happy to see me and hear about Virginia and give me the third degree about the boyfriend. And then, of course, we went out for fish, meeting up with Mr & Mrs. Lemery and Lily, better known as the bug in some circles. She is the perfect baby. Charming, always ready to pose, crying only when she is hungry, sleepy or when Grandpa stands between her and a red cut glass candy-dish. At the restaurant she attempted to help herself to Grandpa's beer when he wasn't looking, only to have ever-vigilant mom take it away from her. "It's okay," I said consolingly, "When I take you to England we'll make up for it." I don't think her dad appreciated that.
Saturday my folks hosted a family picnic at their house. It was cooler than we would have liked, and occasionally drizzly, but the pool is heated, so I spent most of my time in there, playing with my younger cousins. It was wonderful to see everyone, and catch up with everyone, and I'm so glad that most of the family managed to make it--we had thirty four people all told, coming and going.
Sunday...I honestly can't remember what I did Sunday. Oh yes, dinner with the family again, only this time salmon and salad, and two very needy chocolate labs snotting up the window as we ate.
Monday I was thwarted by the EAA in my attempts to rent a car, so I left GB nearly three hours after I intended to. I drove down to Fort Atkinson, picked up Laura, and we met up with Sam in Madison. The first time the three harpies have been together in over three years...it was wonderful. Cackling away and swapping stories we've heard in the news and rumors about old classmates. Laura even commented on how "quiet" Sam's fiance is, and I had to gently point out this was probably due more to the fact that he couldn't get a word in edgewise. Sam had to go back to work on Tuesday, and Laura was working on the organic farm co-op, so I drove up to Wanaukee and caught up with yet another bride to be. (for those of you keeping score, this'll be my fourth stint down the aisle...as a bridesmaid) Laura and I caught up with Sam in Spring Green that night, by watching the American Players Theatre production of A Comedy of Errors. It was hysterical, even with the occasional rain. REAL Shakespeare geeks stand out in the rain, because we're HARDCORE INTO THE BARD.
Wednesday--Sam was working again, so Laura and I did Spring Green, where the theatre is located. Spring Green is small, but fascinating. Lots of cool little shops and galleries and organic stores. But, eventually, you've seen all the arty jewelery you care to see, so we headed over to that Wisconsin standby, the tavern. After being carded (more for being outsiders than looking underage) we proceeded to order Leinies and then rail loudly against guns and Republicans which, I'm guessing was probably not really appreciated in a small rural Wisconsin tavern. They did not, however, have cheese curds, so we went around the corner to the bar where the theatre people hung out, and proceeded to repeat the process of ordering beer and railing. This time with a huge basket of curds. "There ought to be a road movie," I said, "through Wisconsin, and the whole time one of the main characters just keeps saying 'Man, we gotta stop and get some CURDS, man.'"
Then we picked up Sam and whizzed back to Madison to see the sixth Harry Potter movie. Even though none of us confirmed it with the others, we all knew we'd be seeing it with each other. Oh, and Sam's fiance, of course. Oh I cried. I cried so hard. Even knowing was was going to happen, I cried so hard. Definitely a good movie--I don't know if I'd say it was the best movie, but definitely in the top three.
Thursday I had to say good-bye to the girls and come home. It took a lot longer than I had planned, but then again, I wasn't really looking forward to saying farewell either. Got home around six and was immediately taken out for more food at Pasquale's, despite my protests that I wasn't in the mood for more cheese. (Cheese curds for an afternoon snack, movie theatre popcorn, Burger King at midnight and cheese curds for breakfast do not a happy tummy make)
Friday was a shopping day: stopped at the bank, got a new cell phone and raided Lane Bryant for some new jeans and tops. Then I got to see the fabled Lenny's, the tavern where my dad will spend the odd hour watching sporting events. Dinner was fish again. 'Cuz its Wisconsin. And that's just what you do on a Friday night.
Saturday was supposed to be the boating day, but it was (you guessed it) drizzly and windy again. So we ended up going to the Outagamie County Fair, where we wandered amidst the prize calfs and hogs, admiring the skills of the local four-aitchers. And had some more cheese curds.
Packing up and leaving was incredibly sad. I miss my family a lot, especially right now. But getting home was wonderful--it was nice to step off the plane and see unadulterated sunshine for the first time in a week. And Kismet has been amazingly well behaved ever since I got home, probably because he's afraid I'll ditch him again. Not forgetting of course, coming home to boyfriend kisses. There's nothing I wanted to do that I didn't get to do. Except next time I come home, I wanna take a boat ride.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
brb
I was going to talk about how much I love being back in the Land of My People, the land of cheese-eatin', beer drinkin', Packer lovin' Wisconsonintes.
But mom just poked her head in the room and told me that Lily's about to take her first dip in the pool.
Talk to you later!!!!
But mom just poked her head in the room and told me that Lily's about to take her first dip in the pool.
Talk to you later!!!!
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Things We Share
The jacket that I was working on when I had my accident was sent to the laundry, because of a few drops of blood, and it came back today. So I had the chance to conquer my nervousness about the eyelet attachment, get back on that horse and finish the project. The only twitch came when I accidentally nudged the presser foot switch, making a small noise, causing me to jump some feet in the air. Without moving my hands, of course. The wound is surprisingly nondescript, healing well. The only indication that major trauma occured is the gouge in my nail...that'll take some time to grow out, and in the meantime I get a nice reminder to keep my hands clear of the needle everytime I look down.
Tomorrow I am flying home to Green Bay. Today I ate watermelon, which I love, and pondered on the things my family has passed down to me. Love of watermelon comes from my mom, who craved it when she was pregnant with me. Craved so much, that when she sent dad on a run two years later, the grocer asked "Liz pregnant again?" I also inherited my chin from her, a chin which has been neatly sculpted after a decades long assault by modern orthodontia into Greek statue like perfection. I'm incredibly vain about my chiseled jawline...also a little sad I don't look as much like my mother as I used to. I also found myself thinking about my mom the other day when I bought a bedskirt from the thrift store. We had a fight once about bedskirts: I was in the strictly anti-bedskirt camp, on the basis that they are dust-catchers and just get in the way of my favourite storage space. But then last week I found a lovely beige one, a flat-hanging bedskirt without all the dusty ruffles, only three dollars, so I brought it home, washed it, ironed it and put in on my bed. I can't quite get it to lie flat without pulling the mattress all the way off, so part of it is squashed underneath, but from the front, it looks lovely.
From my dad I get my ability to understand the complication that is modern American football, even being able to lecture people about the intricacies of punting vs. going for the endzone. I think of my dad when I listen to classical music, even if it's a piece he's not familiar with. I am pleased with myself that I genuinely enjoy classical music, as if I am joining a long list of people who have enjoyed this music century after century, and I have dad to thank for this, for dragging me out of bed to listen to the three tenors. Thanks to him too, for being able to tell them apart by just listening, and being able to smile stiffly when people gush about Andrea Boccelli being "just as good as Pavarotti!" We also share our love of kids, of being able to honestly enjoy the company of small people, of patience, of doing goofy things, but not realising they are goofy until the parents arrive and say slowly "what...are you doing?" Playing. It's fun. You should try it some time.
Now that I live here, away from my parents, they have much less influence over my life, although the lessons they passed on to me when I was younger are still very much engraved on my personality. Everytime I cuss I hear my dad's strict rejoinder. Everytime I eat cookies I see mom's raised eyebrow. I look forward to inflicting my own personality on a small person some day, hopefully passing along the best parts of what my family gave me.
All this meandering, however, hasn't helped me figure out how to say what I want to say. I am going home to visit my family, and, just as importantly, catch up with friends, some of whom I haven't seen in a very, very long time. And some of you, loyal readers, will no doubt be aware of something else that is going on at home. Grandma, rock of our family, is not doing well. I am very afraid to look at her and tell her how much I love her, knowing that it could be a lifetime before I get to say it again. There is so much joy and pain wrapped up in me now I don't know how to express it. It feels wrong to dissemble to you, my people out there in the dark, who have been with me for so many years, and yet I don't want you to think that I am going for drama (for once) I simply wanted you to see what this vacation will include. This is my life, my family, and I need to be home.
Tomorrow I am flying home to Green Bay. Today I ate watermelon, which I love, and pondered on the things my family has passed down to me. Love of watermelon comes from my mom, who craved it when she was pregnant with me. Craved so much, that when she sent dad on a run two years later, the grocer asked "Liz pregnant again?" I also inherited my chin from her, a chin which has been neatly sculpted after a decades long assault by modern orthodontia into Greek statue like perfection. I'm incredibly vain about my chiseled jawline...also a little sad I don't look as much like my mother as I used to. I also found myself thinking about my mom the other day when I bought a bedskirt from the thrift store. We had a fight once about bedskirts: I was in the strictly anti-bedskirt camp, on the basis that they are dust-catchers and just get in the way of my favourite storage space. But then last week I found a lovely beige one, a flat-hanging bedskirt without all the dusty ruffles, only three dollars, so I brought it home, washed it, ironed it and put in on my bed. I can't quite get it to lie flat without pulling the mattress all the way off, so part of it is squashed underneath, but from the front, it looks lovely.
From my dad I get my ability to understand the complication that is modern American football, even being able to lecture people about the intricacies of punting vs. going for the endzone. I think of my dad when I listen to classical music, even if it's a piece he's not familiar with. I am pleased with myself that I genuinely enjoy classical music, as if I am joining a long list of people who have enjoyed this music century after century, and I have dad to thank for this, for dragging me out of bed to listen to the three tenors. Thanks to him too, for being able to tell them apart by just listening, and being able to smile stiffly when people gush about Andrea Boccelli being "just as good as Pavarotti!" We also share our love of kids, of being able to honestly enjoy the company of small people, of patience, of doing goofy things, but not realising they are goofy until the parents arrive and say slowly "what...are you doing?" Playing. It's fun. You should try it some time.
Now that I live here, away from my parents, they have much less influence over my life, although the lessons they passed on to me when I was younger are still very much engraved on my personality. Everytime I cuss I hear my dad's strict rejoinder. Everytime I eat cookies I see mom's raised eyebrow. I look forward to inflicting my own personality on a small person some day, hopefully passing along the best parts of what my family gave me.
All this meandering, however, hasn't helped me figure out how to say what I want to say. I am going home to visit my family, and, just as importantly, catch up with friends, some of whom I haven't seen in a very, very long time. And some of you, loyal readers, will no doubt be aware of something else that is going on at home. Grandma, rock of our family, is not doing well. I am very afraid to look at her and tell her how much I love her, knowing that it could be a lifetime before I get to say it again. There is so much joy and pain wrapped up in me now I don't know how to express it. It feels wrong to dissemble to you, my people out there in the dark, who have been with me for so many years, and yet I don't want you to think that I am going for drama (for once) I simply wanted you to see what this vacation will include. This is my life, my family, and I need to be home.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
being american is rad as hell
The reason I don't post often is because I am working nights. Also, I spend a lot of time at my boyfriend's place, and he doesn't have the internets. Also, part two, I sit in front of a sewing machine all day instead of a computer, so I really, really don't get much time for checking emails and updating my blog.
This last Saturday I was back at CW, participating in the military programs for the Fourth. How far we've come in a year! Last year I could barely march and wasn't cleared on a musket, this year I was tossing a Brown Bess around with aplomb and muttering under my breath at people who couldn't stay in step.
Things are going well here. I'm tired, and I'm looking forward to going home in a week, to visit with my family. My grandma is not feeling her usual perky self, so I'm anxious to visit her--although she manages to mention everytime I call how adorable Lily is. I guess I have a little competition for favourite grandchild now...
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Thinking fiscally
All right. Time for a serious debate. As most of my loyal readers know, I am a huge Anglophile. I want to go back to London worse than anything. Various reasons have prevented me going, mostly, money and time.
Suddenly the stars are aligning. Last night I was working on my taxes, and if TurboTax is to be believed, I will be getting over a thousand dollars back. Thank you, stimulus package, also actually working full time for a year for a change. Flights to London are dropping in price--I could go for under $500, including taxes. I have just about enough vacation time to take a week off. And--I just heard from not one but two friends that they'll be in London at the end of May. Arg.
The tradeoff, of course, is that I would not be going home to Wisconsin to see my family until October. And I really ought to act responsibly, put that tax return into my bank account and save it for a rainy day. With that money I could fly home to see everyone, and still have some left over for a really nice massage. Also, my computer has been dying a slow death, so there's that to worry about.
I have until April 15th to hand in my vacation requests. I really want to go to London. I really, really want to go. For once, though, I'm actually thinking something through. Maybe I'm growing up. I don't want people to think I'm choosing London over them, but...I really want to go. And I honestly don't know what I should do. Thoughts?
Suddenly the stars are aligning. Last night I was working on my taxes, and if TurboTax is to be believed, I will be getting over a thousand dollars back. Thank you, stimulus package, also actually working full time for a year for a change. Flights to London are dropping in price--I could go for under $500, including taxes. I have just about enough vacation time to take a week off. And--I just heard from not one but two friends that they'll be in London at the end of May. Arg.
The tradeoff, of course, is that I would not be going home to Wisconsin to see my family until October. And I really ought to act responsibly, put that tax return into my bank account and save it for a rainy day. With that money I could fly home to see everyone, and still have some left over for a really nice massage. Also, my computer has been dying a slow death, so there's that to worry about.
I have until April 15th to hand in my vacation requests. I really want to go to London. I really, really want to go. For once, though, I'm actually thinking something through. Maybe I'm growing up. I don't want people to think I'm choosing London over them, but...I really want to go. And I honestly don't know what I should do. Thoughts?
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