The Bright Spot in My Day

I don’t know about you but I’m over winter and am beyond ready for spring. The past few days of rainy, windy, dreary gloom have been almost more than I care to handle. I left the office today in a bit of a funk, wondering when we’d again see the proverbial platinum lining in the clouds. Yes, I know, it’s supposed to be “silver lining” but you know as well as I do that a sassy gal like me who wears hot pink zebra heels does not settle for silver. J

I drove home tonight and tried to mentally prepare myself for the task of cleaning the house so that I could spend my upcoming weekend doing something way more fun than vacuuming and dusting. That’s when I saw it. I felt like a little kid at Christmas. I spied with my little eye… a package on my front porch!

A package? I didn’t order anything. A package? I wasn’t expecting anything. My first thought was that someone delivered to the wrong end of the street again. Upon closer inspection, that package had my name on it! An out-of-the-blue, platinum-lined little bit of magic on my cloudy day. What could it be? Who was it from? Oh, the suspense was killing me!

Inside a mountain of fluffy tissue paper was another box, neatly tied with a ribbon and a tiny butterfly clip. How Fancy Nancy! The tag read “just because you’re awesome” and I won’t lie, it made me cry. In that moment, I was the most special person on the planet and doesn’t everyone deserve to feel that way every now and then?

This package had come from one of my most favorite people, someone who constantly encourages me, inspires me, and makes me laugh. She is my go-to gal for all things creative and crafty; she is my sounding board for wacky ideas and lofty notions. We have the kind of friendship that picks right up where it left off the last time we talked, the kind of friendship that stands the test of time and the bigger test of miles. She has the intuition to know just when a package of whoopie pies and funfetti cakeballs will solve every problem I ever even thought about having.

Sometimes you need to hear you’re awesome just for being you. Sometimes you need a brown paper package tied up with string (or in this case, a white cardboard box tied with a green and pink ribbon) to remind you that life is full of pleasant surprises. Sometimes you need a little piece of cake with sprinkles to remind you that magic can, and will, show up on your doorstep.

I think I’ll try a little harder tomorrow to be the platinum lining in a cloudy day. I think I’ll try a little harder tomorrow to be a bright spot in a dark corner. I think I’ll try a little harder tomorrow to make someone’s day… something more.

Freezin' for a Reason

A few months ago, I told you about the upcoming Parking Lot Polar Plunge fundraiser for Special Olympics North Carolina. After last week’s brief stint of 80 degree weather, I had high hopes that Saturday's Polar Plunge would be something other than polar. I was hoping for a heat wave that would leave us with a lukewarm, something resembling bath water, kind of plunge.

To put it plainly, I was wrong. Wrong in a 42 degree temperature kind of way. Wrong in a blustery, windy, big rock star hair kind of way. Wrong in a teeth-chattering, can’t find a towel fast enough kind of way.

But sometimes being wrong is a perfectly fantastic thing to be.

Note: YES, that's ICE and NO, it's not melting!

Apparently, the water wasn’t cold enough so we added about 1000 pounds of ice to the mix. Yep, that did it. We had officially reached POLAR status.

There were about 40 brave (or maybe crazy) folks that were “freezin’ for a reason”, braving the frigid water and the wind to take a cold splash for cold cash.

 

And, there were costumes. I thought my Fancy Nancy rocked (complete with bejeweled star hairpins that you can’t really see in this photo) but the Smurfs won the Costume Contest. They deserved it; not everyone can pull off that stellar shade of blue!

At the end of the day, we’d raised about 5000 dollars which is a HUGE, EXCITING, PHENOMENAL big deal.

If you missed this fantastic way to spend half a Saturday, you missed out this time BUT lucky for you, we’re making plans to make this an annual event so next year, you’ll have a chance to join us for a quick little dip.

Huge thanks go to:

Karen Morrow & Ken Pike (who organized & spearheaded this truly fun event)- From concept to execution, you guys simply rock! Thank you for all you do for SONC!

Garner Fire Department (who helped with the pool & water {and just so you know- no, you can’t put the water back in the hydrant after you’ve used it!})- Thank you for going above and beyond to help us and for getting your feet wet during the take-down so we could keep ours’ dry. (Note to self: Next year, bring galoshes for the pool emptying part of the day!)

Chick-fil-A Owner Jerry & Manager Kim- Thank you for partnering with the SBI & ALE to make dreams come true for SONC athletes- We heart you guys! (and we heart the banana pudding milkshake... I'm proof positive you're never too cold for ice cream!)

To the great sponsors (that I won’t list for fear of missing someone fantastic), THANK YOU!!! We couldn’t have had such an amazing day without you!

And, finally, to the plungers- We hope you had as much fun as we did and we hope to see you (and lots of your friends) next year!!!

PS- The next SONC fundraiser for ALE & SBI is Cops on Top- May 13-14; we hope to see you there!

A Wrong Turn on the Way to Lyricland

If you know anything about me at all, you know I don’t do math. I don’t really have a reason, it’s just not my thing. The only numbers I really like are shoe sizes and the only math I can do with relative ease is figuring out how to get something for free with coupons.

Words, on the other hand, fascinate me. They always have. An overachiever from the start, my first words were “pretty flower” and I’ve been a talker ever since. Words are tiny little morsels of wonderful, weaved together to create a meal of inspired wisdom. I gobble them up, devour them, and search for second helpings. I read quotes and write them down, saving them for the moments my own words escape me and I need to borrow from a creative scholar. As much as I treasure quotes, I am head over heels madly in love with song lyrics. I’m enamored by song writers who string together words to create pictures, capture emotions, or say something that’s been said a million times in a fresh, new way. Give me a Steve Carlson, Jason Manns, or Matt Nathanson any day and I’ll give you one happy camper.

But, sometimes, the lyrical love goes horribly, hysterically wrong. Have you ever belted out a song in a karaoke bar only to actually read the lyrics and realize you’ve been singing the wrong words for years? Have you ever been jamming out in the car with friends only to have one point out that you’re messing up the lyrics?

According to the internet, misheard lyrics are often called mondegreens. As much as I love words, I didn’t know that. I guess we really do learn something new every day.

It takes a special person to creatively (and unknowingly) interject misheard lyrics into songs. I am proud to be one of these special folks. I like to think of myself as a Princess of Priceless Lyrics. Sometimes, my versions are better than the originals. Sometimes I just wonder what’s disconnected in my noggin’ to make me hear and believe some of the lines I sing. Tonight, for your enjoyment, are some of my fun, slightly embarrassing, lyrically challenged moments.

Christian Kane’s In the Darkness

The lyric: “I’ve been hell on wheels for days now, there ain’t a shade of red I can’t paint.”

My lyric: “I’ve been hell on wheels for days now; without a cigarette, I can’t think.”

Interestingly enough, I’ve found two other people who also thought this lyric was about a cigarette so I’m in good Kaniac company.

T-Pain’s Apple Bottom Jeans

The lyric: “Shawty had them Apple Bottom Jeans (jeans), boots with the fur (with the fur).”

My lyric: “She had them amplified jeans, and Reeboks with the fur.”

It takes a special girl to mess up a lyric that is the actual title of the song. And I’m pretty sure Reeboks never come with fur. Don’t ask me how I came up with that one. Just laugh at me, everyone else does.

Lady Gaga’s Pokerface

The lyric: “Just like a chick in the casino, Take your bank before I pay you out”

My lyric: “Like chicken La Casina, take your bait before I pay you.”

What? Stop laughing! There’s a La Casina restaurant back home, maybe I was craving a Grande Burrito? And the bait? Beats me. A tackle shop maybe? Anything’s possible when Lady Gaga's in the mix.

Eagles’ New Kid in Town

The lyric: “The talk on the street that sounds so familiar”

My lyric: “The talk on the street that sounds so vanilla”

Just so you know, that wasn’t my goof but that of my childhood friend, Kelly. In her defense, her lyric creates a better picture. We all know vanilla is the perfect base for a life lived with sprinkles!

George Strait’s Carryin’ Your Love with Me

The lyric: “Baby all I got is this beat up leather bag.”

My lyric: “Baby all I got is this beat up yellow bag.”

Anyone can have a leather bag, it takes a real man (like King George) to carry a yellow one. I'm pretty sure I'd love him all the same even if he carried a hot pink, zebra striped bag! (And if he'd let me borrow it sometime, that would be even better!)

I’m sure the list goes on but we’ll stop here for now. I have no doubt that my love affair with lyrics will continue, as will my crafty ability to interject my own special spin on things. The judges on American Idol keep telling the contestants to make the song their own; I’d say I have that down to a mondegreen science.

If there’s a song you’ve creatively enhanced, let me know. I’d love to laugh with you about the bait in your casino, your furry Reeboks, or whatever other crazy thing is going on in your Lyricland.

Do You Have Your Permission Slip?

Not too long ago, my four year old nephew, Garrett, invited me to come along on his preschool field trip. He’s completely adorable and since I’m officially the best aunt in the whole wide world, I was quick to accept the invitation! We've been looking forward to this for weeks!

We started our day by riding, with 15 other crumb crushers and curtain climbers (and their parents), on a chartered bus to Imagination Station, an interactive learning center in Wilson.

When we got to Imagination Station, we met Miss Laura who taught us about some of the animals that live there. She showed us a salamander and a tortoise and let some of us touch a chinchilla, a blue-tongued skink, and an albino corn snake. Garrett, being 100% boy, was completely mesmerized by the salamander, skink, and snake; you can’t even begin to imagine how grateful I am that I’m not the one who cleans out that boy's pockets after he’s played outside. There’s no telling what kind of creepy, crawly thing he might decide should live in his room.

In addition to the smaller animals, Imagination Station is also home to this guy…  a 90 pound, 15 foot Anaconda. They claim he's happy in his glass habitat under those heat lamps but I didn't think he looked too thrilled; I thought he'd look a whole lot happier on my feet as a cute pair of heels!

In addition to the lizards, turtles, and snakes that live on the second floor, Imagination Station's first floor houses a huge science section that has interactive exhibits that explain science concepts like leverage, energy, and reflections; biology concepts like how the heart works to pump blood through the body and how organs are connected; and for some reason, a giant set of teeth.

From Imagination Station, we went to the Amtrac Train Station to have lunch and to wait for the train that would take us back to Rocky Mount. The train ride was short, only 15 minutes or so, but it was the highlight of the day for Garrett who adores all things truck, tractor, or train.

The day was full of learning cleverly disquised as fun; there were plenty of smiles and squeals of delight to go around! I had an absolutely fantastic time today with my little buddy and I’m already ready for our next field trip together!  

A Seam Splittin' Good Time

If you’ve been keeping up with this blog, you know that in early February, I went to a Bill Gentry and Christian Kane concert in Winston Salem that was officially declared the Best. Night. Ever.

Last night gave the BNE a serious run for the money.

I heard Bill Gentry was going to be in Lynchburg and since my Kaniac friends, Blane & Patsy, live near there, a road trip reunion of sorts was planned and I convinced Jaime, my sister (who has endlessly endured hearing about how much fun we had in Winston), to put an up-close-and-personal face with Bill, the band, and my Kaniac friends. She was less than convinced of her pending fantastic night… at first.

(We should have taken this photo before we were hot & red-faced; that's what three hours of dancing & screaming does to you!)

We met Blane and Patsy at Phase2 in Lynchburg for dinner and had a great time catching up and reliving our previous adventure.  When we were ready, we headed into the club and found a spot near the stage. We made some friends almost immediately; members of the Gentry Nation came from as far away as Boston, Mass., and are quite the friendly bunch! As the DJ announced the concert’s start, we grabbed perfect viewing spots. And by that I mean center stage, front row, nothing but air and less than one arm’s length standing between us and Bill Gentry. A little bit of heaven, right here on the East Coast.

(Front row sometimes makes photos difficult but I thought this one was fun and different so I like it! And, since catching Bill standing still is pretty much a Mission: Impossible, some of my full-body photos were blurry. I decided to abandon the camera so I could focus on getting my front row groove on!)

Before he finished the first song, Wild Bill's Rock and Roll Revival, we had a convert in our midst! Jaime had suddenly become a card-carrying, bead-wearing, jumping, screaming, cheering, sing-it-like-you-know-the-words member of the Gentry Nation. Just when I thought Bill Gentry couldn’t be any more fun than he was in Winston, I was proven absolutely, completely wrong.

If a party is what you're after, Bill Gentry is the man to light your confetti cannons! His energy is infectious and he makes everyone from the front row to the back wall feel like they received a personal invitation to the bash. He moves, he grooves, he completely ROCKS! He threw it in Drive, never hit the brakes, and took us all for one heck of a wild ride!

He poured gasoline on country music for almost three hours. Three hours! That’s a long time to belt out most of my favorite Gentry tunes plus some Alan Jackson, Nickelback, Def Leppard, and Bon Jovi. He kicked it up to the point of busting the seam in his pants and having to have adorable guitarist Eric sing a few songs while he went to change.

He took it in stride and proved he is a consummate professional with a fantastic sense of humor (and an even more fantastic smile). He lavished the crowd with beads, shirts, CDs, and koozies. And when it was over, it still wasn’t over!!! He invited everyone to hang out getting photos and autographs. I think he stood around talking with new friends for about an hour. AND… he recognized us from Winston and seemed genuinely excited to see us. And the fact that he called me “baby” in that Southern gentleman way, waited patiently while Jaime figured out my camera, squeezed me up tight more than once, and came back over to our group to say good-bye just before he left the venue just makes me heart him even more. The jury is still out on whether he’s available so I say- if he is, he should look no further and if he’s not, she’s one lucky lady (and I’m a smidgen jealous!).

(That's one fun lookin' pair... I'm just saying!)

As genuinely sweet, excited, and humble as Bill Gentry was, his band members were equally fantastic. They grinned and laughed at our front row antics, and took the time to sign autographs (on the set list for the show I may or may not have stolen), take pictures, and talk with us after the show. They clearly love what they do. I think they’d be great people to hang out with; and how much would I like to be a ladybug on the wall when these phenomenal artists have a jam session?  

 

(Left: Steve, awesome guitarist, showing me some love; Right: Crazy amazin' on the fiddle, Matthew told me he could get lost in a moment with me. Awww, blush! Bottom: a happy little me sandwich with Eric the guitarist & Chris the drummer, both of whom are bending down to love me up.) (Sorry, Gary, I missed a photo op with you- but thanks for the autograph!)

Because we’d done our research and we’re true followers of this rockin’ rising star, we knew well his affection for Waffle House and we invited him to join us there after the concert. He couldn’t last night BUT we did talk about making a plan for doing it another time. I would tell you when and where but I’m not prepared to share the yummy scattered, covered, and smothered goodness with the masses. We went without him and took a photo in Waffle House hats- when you’re getting tired, you do strange things sometimes, I guess.

There really aren’t enough words to capture just how much fun we had or to explain to you how much we genuinely love Bill Gentry and want him to succeed in a global phenomenon sort of way. I think Jaime summed it up perfectly on the ride back to the hotel last night. After dancing our heads to a few Gentry tunes in the car, she said, “The best concert I’ve ever been to was Garth Brooks… until tonight.” I think that simple sentence speaks volumes.

While I'd love to keep all things Bill Gentry to myself, I also want to scream about him from the rooftops. You'll love his music so check out his website. From there, you can hear some of my favorites, including 19, a hauntingly beautiful tribute to our military personnel, Drive, I Want What You Want, and Who's Gonna Take Me Home? (And, it goes without saying, if Bill Gentry has THAT question, I could be the answer.) You can also join his mailing list and get a free download of 6 fantastic songs including Yeah But and Ice Cold Beer, Red Hot Woman both of which will have you dancing your head, tapping your feet, and drumming your fingers on the steering wheel.
   

I don’t know what adventures your weekend held but I hope there was something so amazing that it split your seams, something so fantastic that it rocked your socks off, something so wonderful that it was simply... Something More.

PS- Bill Gentry will be at Coyote Joe's in Charlotte on April 9 and at Johnny & June's in Winston-Salem on April 16- Hope to see you on the front row!

Beautiful or Busted?

The past few days, and the next few too, are dedicated to the hoop dreams and the insanity we’ve come to know and love as March Madness. Even if you haven’t watched a game all year, there’s a certain energy that comes with having an empty bracket and an ink pen in your hand. There’s something exciting about cheering for your favorite teams and secretly hoping that somewhere along the way, we get to witness a basketball version of David taking down Goliath.

You might draw your bracket by the seeds and rankings; you might do it by choosing which mascot or team colors you like better. (Even if you’re an ESPN commentator, you can’t tell me thoughts like “I’m pretty sure the Crimson Tide would drown a Tiger and I think a Wildcat would eat a Flying Dutchman alive” have never crossed your mind.)  No matter your process, there’s just something special about feeling like you’re a part of the madness and the unwritten guarantee that there will be comebacks, upsets, and buzzer-beating wins you didn’t think would be possible doesn’t hurt either. Without a doubt, there will be plenty of edge-of-your-seat, give-it-all-you’ve-got basketball this weekend.

I filled out a bracket earlier this week, in ink, because I learned a few years ago that brackets in pencil are deemed completely unacceptable. Ink means you believe in your choices, that you are committed to at least pretending to look like you know what you’re doing.

Sixty four teams came ready to boogie at The Big Dance this year and after the first round, there were 32 winners. I got lucky and chose 22 of those correctly. That's not great but it might not be too bad considering I probably watched less than two entire games the whole season. We’ll see what it looks like as we continue to move toward the Sweet 16, Final Four, and Championship…

Whether you predicted the upsets or played it safe by matching up all the top seeded teams, whether your bracket is still simply beautiful or just plain busted, I hope your basketball watching weekend inspires you to dream a few hoop dreams of your own and to make today… Something More.

The Beep Goes On

After Saturday night’s fights, I got back to my hotel around midnight and was asleep by 1:00a.m. It was, however, that fitful hotel sleep that isn’t very restful. I was rising but not shining somewhere around 5 to get back home for church nursery duty. I think, with the time change, I got about three hours of sleep. The ride home was fueled by Diet Mt. Dew and some very loud Christian Kane tunes.

I got back to town in time to swing by my house to grab some DVDs I was loaning to one of my favorite people. I walked into my kitchen and heard a BEEP. “What is that?” BEEP. “Oh, shoot. Smoke detector battery.” Argh. “I don’t have time for this today.” BEEP. Hush already. BEEP.

So, I took my still-jelly legs upstairs to plunder through the giant bag o’ batteries to find some 9-volts. Of course, I didn’t have as many as I needed but I had enough to get this project started. With one eye on the clock and one eye on the detector, I climbed the stepladder (and thought unkind thoughts about Pilot Mountain) and changed the battery I thought was bad. I waited. BEEP. “Drat.” I went upstairs thinking it was perhaps one of the detectors up there. I climbed the stepladder again; I changed another battery. I waited. BEEP. “Drat.” At this point, I decided I was going to be late for church so the beep would just have to go on until I got back. I wondered if it was loud enough that the neighbors could hear it. I wondered if they’d been hearing it all weekend long.

I went to church, and swung by the store for more 9-volt batteries on the way back home. BEEP. Welcome home. I change all the batteries. BEEP. The “Drat” had now turned into “*&%$#”. What in the world? I went back to all five detectors and took the new batteries out and put them back in again. BEEP. *%$^$#. I chased the beep around like a hummingbird on crack and narrowed it down to the detector in the downstairs hallway. I took it off the wall. I waited. BEEP. I took the battery out. I waited. BEEP. How in the world can it be beeping without a battery??? BEEP. &^$%#%$. It’s mocking me! And by this time, the limited sleep and the BEEP may or may not have led to tears. Surely, there was a simple solution but for the life of me, I had no earthly idea of what it could be. It was time to bring in the big brains. I did what I do: I called Dad. He told me it couldn’t be beeping without a battery but, as we chatted, BEEP. *^%$$. Knowing he was right, we determined the only logical answer was that the unit was bad so I would have to go to Home Depot for a new one. OK. Now we're getting somewhere. I like having a plan.

But I was still in my church clothes and I was now hot and irritated from all that step stool climbing. BEEP. &*%$#. I went to change clothes but I was hot so I didn’t want socks and sneakers. I wanted flip flops. I needed flip flops. BEEP. *%&$#@^. BUT, flip flops meant painting my toenails. The Beep-fixing trip came to a screeching, beeping HALT. Oh, come on now, I can’t go to Home Depot, the gathering spot for men who know how to fix things (and who are potentially cute and available), with jacked up toes! So I paint my toes an eye-catching, man-grabbing shade of hot pink. BEEP. And I yell at the detector, “I hear you beeping BUT I can’t fix you until I fix these toes.” BEEP. *^%^$. So, toes painted and armed with the faulty detector, I’m ready to go. BEEP. &^$%. I’m about to get in the car and I hear it. BEEP. &^%$#&^. But wait, it’s not coming from the detector in my hand. It’s coming from INSIDE the house. What the BEEP??? *&%*%^$#&$.

A bit more investigating, a lot more BEEPing and a bit more *&%$##ing and it turns out, the culprit was a faulty carbon monoxide detector. In my defense, both detectors sound the same and they’re positioned close together in the house. And given that it’s been plugged in for seven years and has never made a sound, I think I have a pretty good defense for why I didn’t immediately recognize the carbon monoxide detector as my beeping nemesis.

So, another house crisis comes and goes. All’s well that ends well. All the batteries are fresh and new; the beeping has stopped and my toes are freshly hot pink for my next trip to Home Depot.

From Mayberry to the Mountain

From Mt. Airy, I drove about 14 miles south to Pilot Mountain State Park. The weather was beautiful and after that artery-clogging pork chop sandwich (and a late night adventure to Waffle House with some new friends on Friday night), the least I could do was to try to walk it off.

I drove for what seemed like forever up a winding road to get to the Pilot Mountain hiking trails. On the way up, I passed six or eight bicyclists that made me wonder what kind of stamina and/or willpower was required to heave themselves up that hill on two wheels. I then hoped they had enough brakes on those bikes to get back down the hill.

The first trail I saw was a “moderate” trail called Jomeokee which my Hooked on Phonics told me was pronounced “Yo, me OK” so I figured that was some sort of cosmic sign that I could do it (even in the high altitude) without a problem. After all, I know Tony and Beto and Shawn T. You don't scare me, big mountain! Some distance into this hike, I saw another sign for a 2.2 mile “strenuous” trail that branched off of Jomeokee. I paused to ponder taking that road less traveled. By the time I hiked up to and around the knob of Pilot Mountain and got back to that sign, I was very glad I took the shorter, less strenuous trail. I felt like one of the Toughman competitors from Friday night who needed oxygen but I powered on and finished the trail. By the time I got back to the Jomeokee sign, I wanted to pull out my sharpie marker and change it to JomeNOTokee but I’m sure there’s some sort of law about that.

I wandered down a few more “moderate” trails and kept a keen eye out for legless creatures and critters. Thankfully, there were none. I did have to pay close attention when taking photos; I have a tendency to step back to get the view I want in the lens; you can’t really do that when there’s a significant possibility of plummeting down the side of a mountain.

But, a few hours later, with no injuries except a severe case of the jelly legs, I drove back down the mountain and headed to my hotel to get ready for Saturday night’s fights.

All in all, Mt. Airy and Pilot Mountain were great ways to spend my sunny, almost-summery Saturday. I think I spent 10 dollars the whole day (Pilot Mountain was free; the Andy Griffith Musuem was 3 dollars; lunch was 7 including tip). For fun, affordable entertainment, you can’t beat that! I think I’ll be a tourist in my home state again and I’ll definitely spend my summer trying to take better advantage of the parks that are around the Triangle; I forgot how much fun hiking in the fresh outdoor air can be.

I hope you took advantage of your Saturday and that you found some adventure in an unexpected place. I hope your weekend was... Something More.

Good Morning, Mayberry!

This weekend, I worked the two-night Toughman event in Mt. Airy. It might surprise you to know that although I’ve lived in NC forever, I’d never been to the town otherwise known as Mayberry. Since I didn’t have to be at the venue until six on Saturday night, I took the entire day to be a tourist in my own state.

I started out at Mayberry on Main, a cute little gift shop with more things Andy and Opie than you could shake a fishin’ pole at. Note to future Mt. Airy visitors- Most everything “downtown” opens at 10 so if you get there early, Mayberry on Main is one of the few places you can go. In addition to the Mayberry paraphernalia, they sell local food items and a wall full of hot sauces. They have free samples… but it was too early in the day for chili peppers for me so I politely passed on the sauce. The proprietors were fantastic, chatting with me and offering some helpful suggestions for my list of “must see places”.

By the time I was finished there, everything else was open so I wandered in and out of the Visitor’s Center and a dozen or so gift shops until it was lunchtime. I counted how many times I heard “Good Morning” from total strangers. I was up to 17 in less than 45 minutes when I popped into Snappy’s Lunch, a little hole in the wall made famous on the Andy Griffith Show for the pork chop sandwich. I learned that a pork chop sandwich “all the way” includes mustard, chili, slaw, onions, and a tomato. Trying to be a good little tourist, I agreed to everything but the onions. And, let’s just say, “try it, you might like it” did not end successfully at Snappy’s Lunch. But, again, four different waitresses asked if I needed anything so they get points for friendliness. I think friendliness is a requirement for living and/or working in Mayberry.

 

I then headed to the Andy Griffith Museum where I met two more friendly folks and I wandered through a maze of photos and memorabilia where I learned all sorts of things about Mayberry, Andy, Opie, and the gang. The museum is also home to the world famous Andy & Opie statue that depicts the dynamic duo doing their favorite things- whistling a tune while headed to the local fishin’ hole.

I waved goodbye to Andy & Opie and a friendly older gentleman giving the patrol car tour and I headed somewhere else… but you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to find out where. J

Thank You isn't Nearly Enough

Five weeks ago, a canoe overturned at a lake near where my parents live. One of the men in the boat made it to the shore; the other, sadly, did not. And doing what they do, the Sheriff’s Department and Rescue Squad (along with some help from agencies with cadaver dogs, scuba divers, robots, and SONAR devices) sprang into action and launched an exhaustive search. They searched the lake for over 2,000 hours in the cold and in the wind. They searched in the weeds and in the depths. They searched new places. They searched places they’d already searched. In heavy coats, hats, and gloves, in the miserable freezing cold, they searched. They weren’t giving up. That’s not in their nature.

The news covered this story, as did the local paper. My favorite superhero even made the front page, bundled up like a cross between an abominable snowman and the Michelin man. And the search continued…

And one day this week, after 36 days of continual searching, he was found. As proud as I was of the one who found him, I was also terribly saddened by it. I can only imagine what seeing something like that that does to the finder’s dreams. People trying to help others shouldn’t have to suffer from it but as is often true in the case of rescue, police, and fire, the service providers’ scars are as real as those on the victims.

Granted, there’s not a rescue member, a police officer, or a firefighter that I know who went into that line of work looking for a thank you but that doesn’t change the fact that a thank you is in absolute order today.

THANK YOU first responders, firefighters, rescue squad members, law enforcement officers, and EMS personnel. Thank you for missing ballgames and birthday parties to help strangers. Thank you for giving up your weekends, your vacations, your free time, and the feeling in your fingers and toes to search the lake for someone else’s loved one. Thank you for keeping our communities safe so that we can sleep soundly in our beds. Thank you for saving our homes from disasters. Thank you for holding our hands, for talking us through it, for getting us safely out of mangled cars. Thank you for having compassion for people in their worst moments; thank you for being calm in the midst of chaos. Thank you isn’t enough but there aren’t any words that ever could be.

From the Side of the Road

I planned to leave work on time today, partly because I’m in the red zone for having too many overtime hours and partly because I was anxious to watch the second half of the premiere episode of Breakout Kings that I DVR’d last night (because now that I have DirecTV, I can do that!) but you know what they say about plans…

About 20 minutes from home, precisely halfway between two side roads that would have allowed me alternate routes to my little castle in the sticks, traffic was at a standstill. And, of course, I was around a bend from what I correctly assumed was a wreck so I couldn’t really see what was going on. So, I sat. Not wanting to tax Fordinand (my car), I put down the windows and turned off the car. I called my sister and we chatted for a while. And I sat. And I called dad to see what he was doing (my stealthy way of letting him know that I was fine, just in case one of the three helicopters flitting around was filming the scene for the news). And I sat. I chatted with the friend I hadn’t met yet in the next car. And I sat. And I cranked up my Christian Kane CD and danced my head. And I sat. And an hour later, the lines of cars started the slow rubbernecking crawl past the accident scene and I moseyed on home.

But in all that time of sitting, captive with nowhere to go and nothing to do (counting emergency vehicles got old once I ran out of fingers; you guys know I don’t do math J), it occurred to me that these are the moments when the lessons you learn growing up come back to you. So, here’s a little reminder of some of my favorite life lessons:

1. Always have snacks and/or a drink in the car. Having a car that doubles as a vending machine on wheels has saved me more times than I can count… like those days I oversleep and don’t have time for a sit-down (cereal) breakfast, or I have a meeting right after work, or I am parking cars at the State Fair for Make-a-Wish and can smell the fair’s fried things on sticks but can’t get to them. I’m fairly certain that if I ever end up in an actual ditch rather than the proverbial one, I’ll have enough to survive until the search party shows up. I’m also pretty sure that if I’d been in the Donner Party, we could have survived on granola bars and pop-tarts until springtime.
2. Always go to the bathroom before you leave home (or your office, or wherever you’re leaving)… because you just never know when a 30 minute drive will turn into an hour and a half standstill. I refuse to comment on whether I followed this sage wisdom today or if I was doing the bathroom wiggle as I pulled into my driveway.
3. It’s better to be behind the wreck than in the wreck. I know that sounds a little strange but what I mean is when the frustrations of daily life get to me, when the schedule derails and nothing goes as planned, it’s easy to get impatient but it helps to remind myself that someone, somewhere is having a much worse day. True, it was an inconvenience to be stuck on the highway when I wanted to be home but someone’s loved ones were in those ambulances; some firefighter was missing dinner with his family because he was stuck in turnout gear in the middle of the road; some insurance agent was working overtime because she was trying to figure out medical insurance, car insurance, and how to get someone to work tomorrow. I had none of those issues to tackle today and I'm more than OK with that. Sometimes you just have to be grateful for the days in your life where nothing important happens.
4. And, perhaps the most important reminder of the day: life is fleetingly, amazingly, phenomenally SHORT. In the blink of an eye, the length of a breath, or the amount of time it takes to change lanes on the highway, the world can turn upside down and nothing is ever the same. People come in to our lives and usually, they leave again sooner than we want them to. So today, here’s your friendly reminder:

Even If…

Be generous with hugs, even if you’re only hugging yourself.

Laugh out loud, even if no one hears you.

Sing out louder, even if you only sound good in the shower.

Dance around your kitchen, even if you look like a frog in a blender.

Eat ice cream, even if it's time for breakfast.

Chase a dream, even if you never catch it.

Use your favorite dishes, even if it means you have to wash them by hand.

Wear your pearls, even if you’re wearing jeans.

Take pictures, even if you think you’re having a bad hair day.

Play, even if you only have 10 minutes.

Skip, even if you’ll get your good shoes muddy.

Even if today’s the only day you get, make it… Something More.

Slurpin' Up Some Summer

At some point during the week, the office lunch bunch (which is different than the Funky Lunch Bunch but still just as much fun) ends up at Chick-fil-A in Garner. This week, there was a flier on the tray advertising the banana pudding milkshake. While my counterparts turned up their noses at the idea (they don’t like bananas, for some reason), I was pleasantly intrigued.

So yesterday, I gave it a try and if you’re placing bets, you’d be wise to put money on the idea that I’ll have another. So yummy! It had bits of real bananas and ‘Nilla Wafers, and a big dollop of whipped cream on top (but no cherry, bleck! a cherry, in my opinion, ruins everything); if you could slurp summer through a straw, this is the way to do it! It tasted like a picnic or a church potluck where someone’s grandma made her signature banana pudding. I’m not exaggerating when I say they could have just named it Happy in a Cup.  

I didn’t research the calorie count, I don’t want to even think about that. I’d venture to say the banana pudding milkshake derailed my ‘eat better, work out more’ mission but truthfully, I didn’t care. There’s just something about splurging on a Friday afternoon with some shoe shopping and a creamy, dreamy cup of summertime.

As impressed as I was with the milkshake, I’m equally impressed with Chick-fil-A in general. Their food is consistently great and the staff is always friendly. At the Chick-fil-A we frequent, Ms. Judy is a fantastic hostess who is always quick with a smile and a drink refill. The owner, Jerry, and manager, Kim, have been instrumental in the Cops on Top events that support Special Olympics North Carolina. With just a little persuasion last year, Kim even let someone mark an item off her Bucket List!

And speaking of Special Olympics, I hope you’ve checked out my Parking Lot Polar Plunge fundraising page. March 26 is quickly approaching and it’s a great cause (especially since the Governor’s version of the budget is tentatively eliminating funding for this phenomenal program). I am actually really, really excited about jumping into icy waters to raise money for the 38,000 athletes in North Carolina who participate in the Olympic games. I can’t think of a better reason to be freezin’! I also can’t think of a costume so if you have any ideas, please send them my way! And since I’m of the opinion that it’s never too cold for ice cream, you can bet I’ll celebrate making it out of the icy pool with a banana pudding milkshake and thoughts of summer. 

Happy Birthday, Mom!

Several years ago, my mom helped a little one at church wash her hands. As mom handed her a paper towel, the little one asked, “Whose mama are you?” If I had been there, I would have cheered, “MINE!!!!!!”

Raising us, mom was our mom; she didn’t try to be our friend. She didn’t hesitate to say NO when it was for our own good; she didn’t squelch on discipline because we might be mad at her for it. We are better off for it and somewhere along the way, probably because of this approach to parenting, mom stopped being just my mom; she became my best friend.  

My mom is the only person who, on a regular (almost daily) basis, can finish my sentences and know what I’m thinking before I even know what I’m thinking. She’s always saying that being a mom is her job; I’ve fired her several times for using those telepathic superpowers on me. Within 10 minutes, she finds a way of getting re-hired. While she’ll always be mom, I really like those moments when she trades in her mom hat for the friend hat, and we talk about everything from the complicated stuff like shoes and adventures to the simple stuff like work and finances. And we may be the only two people in the world who prioritize like that; it works for us. J

But better than her ability to know what I’m thinking, what I love most about mom is that she gets me. When I say things that seem to make perfect sense in my head but that actually make no sense when the words hit air, mom knows just what I mean. I don’t even have to try to explain myself. She’s just right there in my thought with me. I like that. It saves time (I have big complicated rambling thoughts!)

And she makes me laugh A LOT. If you’ve ever spent any time with mom, she’s a funny lady but you have to be a quick and quirky thinker to keep up. Since we have the same sense of humor, keeping up is no problem for me but there are times we leave other people in the dust. And I’m OK with that, we are like our own little secret silly society. Giggling makes the world go ‘round, don’t you think?

And, on the flip side of being hilarious, she’s the strongest woman I know. She handles trauma and tragedy with grace and tact. When she’s hurt, she takes the high road and doesn’t say the things she’d be well within her bounds to say. When I have a decision to make, I do what I think mom would do in the same situation.

Mom’s always there when I need something and she always keeps me on my toes, asking questions that make me think and that make me wonder how far I could go if I set my mind to it. She pushes me to try new things and to go beyond what I think I’m capable of. She supports everything I do, even when the idea is wacky or nonconventional. She has, however, drawn the line at skydiving. She only wants to know about that AFTER the fact.  

So, today, as she celebrates her birthday, I hope she knows how much I love her, how much and often I need her (even when I say I don’t), and how grateful I am that she’s figured out how to be my mom AND my best friend.

I love you, Mom. Happy Cake & Candles Day!

Two Kinds of Kaniac

Anyone who has read this blog for more than, say, two minutes, knows how much I love love love Christian Kane. You know I’m a CD-blasting, t-shirt-wearing, concert-going, twitter-following, facebook-stalking Kaniac. Being a Kaniac has turned into one of my most favorite things to be. But last night, I got to be a different kind of Kaniac.

A few days ago, I received an email offering me a few tickets to last night’s hockey game which pitted the Carolina Hurricanes against the Florida Panthers. So, I grabbed a buddy and off we went. Our seats were fantastic and wow, was it crowded!

While I’m able to give you a play-by-play of the Daytona 500 and I could be a commentator for football, baseball, or MMA, I have to confess that I actually know very little about hockey. I wore red and black, the Hurricanes colors, and tried to blend in as a Kaniac, the term of endearment for Hurricanes fans. I cheered when the people around me cheered. I assumed they knew what was going on because almost every one of them had on red and black, or a Hurricanes jersey, and they were using words that I knew enough to know were phrases of "hockey lingo". I think maybe they’d been to a few (thousand) games before.

Since I was sitting with a gaggle of gals, the chit-chat inevitably turned to which players might be ‘single and searching’ and the fashion that is (or isn’t) a hockey uniform. After much discussion (and more than our share of giggling like school girls), and a few suggestions to scoot on down to the penalty box for a little up close and personal investigation, we decided the uniform was shorts over either tights or some really tall knee socks over a bunch of padding. We also concluded this ensemble makes determining the fun yummy factor of a hockey player a bit of a challenge but we used the jumbotron and the player calendar to pick our favorites. There were also discussions of why Florida would have an ice hockey team in the first place, why we didn’t learn how to ice skate growing up, the job requirements to be a member of the Storm Squad, and what everyone’s upcoming weekend plans were. What can I say? We may be sports fans on the outside but we're still chatty, curious girls on the inside. Oh, yeah, and somewhere along the way, we did actually watch the game (when we weren't scoping out what the people around us were eating). We’re multi-taskers, we are! The Canes won and a good time was had by all J

All in all, the Carolina Hurricanes hockey game was a lot of fun and a great way to spend a night in the middle of the week. And today, I blasted my Christian Kane CD and celebrated being two kinds of Kaniac. And, I'm thinking that the Canes should take a tip from the Colorado Eagles hockey team and make The House Rules their team theme song.