Author: ICRTD

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Hey Siri…

So, since we all can agree that, to quote a very wise woman, live music is better live, I saw some the other night.  Live music that is.  A band by the name of Devil Makes Three (h/t to McG) was playing at venue about an hour from me called the Haw River Ballroom.  Great place btw, in the dye room of an old cotton mill, and somewhere I’ll definitely keep on  my watch list for future concerts.  The concert was pretty great as both acts put out excellent vibes.  The openers have, quite possibly, the longest name of any touring band – The Huntress and Holder of Hands – but they were really quite good.  One of the songs that stuck with me, actually more than anything the headliners did, was a cover of a wonderful Cranberries song that kind of slid out of my memory.  Just a really nice night.

Now the town this place is in is pretty small, about 1,600 people, and I’d never heard of Saxapahaw, NC before so I pulled it up when Mike first mentioned the band to me.  Looked pretty simple to get to, a couple state highways and only a few turns.  Piece of cake.  However.  Since I’m still pretty new out here, if I go anywhere other than Asheboro itself, I typically punch the address into a map app just to make sure I don’t miss a turn or something.  I’ve always been pretty good with directions but why mess around, right?  So I got in the car, typed in the destination and took a look before I headed east.  I looked at the map and noticed right away it was different from what I had pictured in my head.  Pretty much straight-line diagonal from my house to the venue and I thought from looking at the map that I would need to backtrack slightly to get there.

Now, if your history with Siri is anything like mine, you’d appreciate the sense of trepidation I felt right there.  I thought I’d already shared my Siri-induced misadventure on my way out here, but I just checked and apparently I haven’t.

Yet.

I got around Winston-Salem and had been going Siri-less for several hours since I had been out this way a few times and was fairly confident I could find my way to the hotel in Asheboro.  Until I caught a detour.  Since I was driving and didn’t want to pull over (an obvious sign of weakness *snark*) I said to myself “I have a smartphone, I can just talk to Siri and she’ll give me directions to my hotel.”

BAHAHAHAHAHAHA

I received directions to a hotel in Lexington, KY.  Several times.  I also received directions to a Waffle House in Burlington, NC.  More than once.  I received directions to so many different places and never less than sixty miles from where I wanted to be.  This, as you may imagine, displeased me.  Especially so close to the end of 14 hour drive from northern Illinois.  Fun fact.  Did you know that launching a profanity-laced tirade at Siri will cause her to, not unlike an actual human being, shut down?  She has a particular dislike for being called a word that rhymes with “brotherclucker” fwiw.  I think Apple missed the boat in not pointing out that attribute.  She’s so lifelike!

Needless to say, I finally pulled over and typed in the address to my hotel, arriving without further Siri-related incident about 45 minutes later.

So there was a brief hesitation as I left the house under Siri’s guidance.  I drove through, what I assume was a pretty bucolic part of the state.  And I’m not throwing stones with that, I mean after all I grew up in the Greater Burlington Metropolitan area (*more snark*) but since it was, you know, dark, I couldn’t really tell.  Also the two-lane, curvy, country roads were not conducive to the wandering driving eye I picked up from riding in a car with my Dad during my formative years.  All in know is, on the way home I saw, probably fewer than five cars, until I got back on the state highway about 30 miles later.

All in all it was an outstanding way to spend a Thursday evening.  The next concert on the books isn’t until April, I’m gonna have to work on something before that.

Time to search the interwebz!

Peace.

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Snowmageddon 2018

It started snowing about 7:00 this morning here, as I write this we’ve gotten about 2″ and I think we might get a couple more before it’s done.  Everything is shut down, or at the very least, delayed in opening.  The crawler on the news last night was chock full of closures, based on the likelihood of snowfall today.  I got an email from the YMCA last night advising they wouldn’t open until 1:00 this afternoon instead of at 5:00 AM as usual.  The street I live on isn’t terribly busy, but I’ve heard almost no one driving by, certainly less than a normal day.  I was just thinking, if I was in Illinois I’d probably grab the shovel and at least make the first run at removal before it piles up too deep.  Here, on the other hand, our forecast is for temperatures in the 40’s tomorrow and the 60’s by the weekend.  And I’m perfectly content to let Mother Nature take care of her own mess.  I’ll probably throw some salt on the front steps/porch so the mailman doesn’t slip, but that’s going to be the extent of my snow removal.

**UPDATE**  A follow-up email from the Y came in moments ago with the notice that they will be closed all day today and reopen at 8:00 tomorrow morning.  Insert wide-eyed emoji >here<

Now, this storm tracked across parts of the U.S. of A. that typically don’t get snow.  Including southern Arkansas which btw is home to my friend and internationally renowned podcaster, Seth.  I bring that up because I got a phone call from Seth Monday, the day before Snowmageddon 2018 was due to hit his little corner of the world.  He said that, while he wasn’t on shift, he had been in town and had gotten a phone call from his daughter to let him know they were out of milk and asking him to pick some up on his way home.

Pretty mundane request, right?

Not in the context of Snowmageddon 2018 (brief editorial note- I highly recommend reading “Snowmageddon 2018” in the deepest, most authoritarian voice you can conjure up in your head.  Try it, it’s awesome and if you can add in some “Breaking News” music as a backdrop in your head it’s even more amazing) which, apparently by default, includes undercurrents of chaos.  Seth told me when he got to the grocery store, not only was the parking lot so packed he had to park across the street and walk over, but the only milk left in the store was those little single-serve size bottles.

**UPDATE #2**  While not actively paying attention to it, I haven’t heard any traffic on my street whatsoever for roughly the entire time I’ve been working on this post.

I’m not sure how much snow is typical for this part of the country, obviously, I mean this is my first winter here, right?  But from watching the local weather on TV, I know the average high temperature for today is 49º so I’m thinking this may well be our first, and last, significant snowfall of the year.  I am absolutely ok with that fwiw.

You know, it suddenly occurred to me I may have buried the lede.  I joined the Y. Now, if you know me IRL, you know that “Fitness” is my middle name (not really).  The truth of the matter is, I haven’t done any walking to speak of since I’ve been down here.  That’s a result of being a dog-less household (pour one out to a great dog) but it also has brought me, in and of itself, no closer to adding a dog.  Just yet.  That time is coming, but, like me saying “y’all” it isn’t here now.  You people (yes, I said “you people”) will be among the first to know when I get serious about adding a dog.  But in the interim, I joined the Y last week and have done a decent job of getting over there and actually doing something.  Baby steps, no pun intended, but in the right direction nonetheless.

**UPDATE #3** I just went out to the front porch to throw the aforementioned salt for the mailman.  Our snowfall is 3″ or so.  I saw what I’m fairly certain was his footprints across the front yard.  Not close to my mailbox up on the porch.  I’m hoping it was because I had no mail today, otherwise that throws the whole “rain nor sleet nor gloom of night” thing right out the window.   I gave the man homemade brookies for Christmas for Chrissakes, certainly he could trudge ten feet to the right and up four stairs for me, right?  Hmmmm.

Ok, I think I’m good here for now.  I may go out and seek some snow mischief, I haven’t decided.  But one thing I won’t be doing is shoveling snow.

To quote Ren and Stimpy “Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy!”

Peace

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This Post Is For the Birds. Well, Partly…

As I was sitting out on the back patio with my morning coffee, I noticed a couple of birds sitting in my neighbors tree.  That’s a euphemism, btw.  The “back patio” part, that is.  It’s actually a carport.  When I started house hunting down here, I kinda wanted a garage, because, why not?  The problem with that lies in the fact that, due to the fact I really wanted an older house, garages aren’t typically part of the deal.

Back in the day, garages were not as important as they are today I guess.  If I found a house with a garage, it was an old, small, one-car size but as often as not, not only did the house not include a garage, it probably shared a driveway with a neighboring house.  Carports, on the other hand, are everywhere down here.  And I’ve grown to like mine a lot.  It keeps my car out of the rain/snow (so far) and provides me with a lovely spot for coffee (in the morning) or sweet tea (in the afternoon) or what have you.

Can I just take a minute here and sing the praises of sweet tea?  Cause I’m going to anyway.  That stuff is the King of soft drinks.  Or is it Queen?  Not sure if a gender has been assigned to sweet tea, but either way it’s the real deal.  It migrated north a few years ago, you can get it at ubiquitous fast-food joints in every part of the country, but it’s like an art form down here.  Although, if last night is any indication I need to watch my intake.  It’s not like I had the caffeine shakes or anything, but I had a couple of glasses with dinner (a lovely pot roast ftw) and slept like crap last night.  Like I was back at the firehouse.

But I digress…

I’m enjoying the heck out of my carport.  I need to get some actual furniture to set out there.  I’ve got an old office chair, no longer fit for office duty due to an unfortunate tipping incident, that is kind of a “make do” patio chair for now, but I’ve been scanning Amazon and checking out the local home improvement stores waiting to see what I can find.  I need to relocate my garbage and recycle bins, but that’s nothing.  The concrete needs a good cleaning too, since the previous owners apparently had an oil leak or twelve on their cars.  I think I’ve got a photo of it from one of my pre-purchase visits.  

Found it!

The Big Wheel isn’t mine btw.  Don’t ask me why I’ve got two back doors either, it’s a mystery to me too.  There’s also a side door in addition to, of course, the front door so… If the zombie apocalypse comes to Asheboro I guess they’ve got a 1 in 4 chance of guessing the right door, which works in my favor.  I think.  If there’s any zombie apocalypse experts reading this, feel free to chime in.

Peace

PS- Because, well, you know, I started this by watching a couple doves in a tree and that got me to thinking, I haven’t seen any pigeons since I moved down here.  Like, not a single one.  I wonder if the story of my interaction with Jake the pigeon last summer preceded me down here…

 

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Resolutions Are For Other people, Right?

Certainly not me…  I’ve actually never (probably never.  At least, I don’t remember making any and if I ever did, I know I never stuck with them) made resolutions at the start of a new year.

But, having said that, I came to a realization (thanks in no small part to the “subtle” urging of a dear friend) the other day.  I had been doing a terrible job of staying in touch with friends back home.  Which led me to another realization.  Self-awareness can be a bitch.  Because, in addition to the above, I’d also done a terrible job of keeping up with my writing.

And not just here.

I started this blog with a very specific purpose in mind.  To trigger my writing.  More to the point, to trigger my writing about Diane, Caitlin, and our lives together as well as my life since that time.  I had been encouraged by several people in my life to chronicle what happened, that it was a compelling story and one that should be told.  A daunting task to say the least.  But I cranked out a few thousand words in a relatively short period of time.  At least until I started getting to the “hard” part.

I don’t know if it was writer’s block exactly.  I think it was more the fact that I wasn’t prepared to rip the wound that far open.  And it became an easy excuse to not pick up where I’d left off.  I thought by taking on the blog world it would get me moving on the book again.

I was wrong.

So, despite my marginal success with calling myself out “in public” on staying in touch with friends back home, I thought I’d take a similar tack with my other project and call myself out on this platform to keep working on how our family has evolved since May 22, 2003.  To that end, I’m going to (semi-regularly) insert parts of what I’ve written in the hopes it inspires me to get my ass in front of the keyboard for the purpose of writing as I had intended once I retired.  I’m not sure if I’ll go chronologically or not, but right now I’m thinking I’ll just grab a few hundred words in somewhat random order and see how it goes.

So, without further adieu-

“Drive careful.”

Those were the last words I, or anyone else, ever spoke to Caitlin.  Of course, I couldn’t possibly have known it at the time.  At the time, I was just being a Dad, you know?  One of my kids was out at night and I was concerned for her safety.  

Having said that, I already realize I need to revise the statement.  I’m fairly safe in assuming that the firefighters, paramedics, police officers, and the Flight-for-Life medical helicopter crew spoke to her that night after the crash.  I’ll bet the doctors and nurses she encountered at the hospital that night spoke to her too.  But I’m pretty sure mine were the last words she knew.  She called home about 9:30. It was her second phone call home that night.  She wanted to make sure she was driving in the right direction.    Caitlin had spent the evening at Woodfield Mall in Schaumburg, looking for an outfit to wear on a boat trip on Lake Michigan for her senior class.  It was the first time she had been to the mall since we moved and she wasn’t exactly sure how to get home from there.  

When I answered the phone the first words out of her mouth were “Should I be going east or west on Route 72?” 

I said “You should be going west.”  

She said “Oh good, I’m going in the right direction.  I’ll see you in a little while”  

And I said “OK.” 

And I said “Drive careful.”  And I waited for her to come home.

Diane and I met in June of 1995.  It was a blind date.  I thought she was beautiful.

My niece Melissa had lunch one day with her cousin Teena.  After lunch, they were sitting in Melissa’s car before Teena went back inside the salon where she worked.  Diane came out to go on her lunch break and Teena asked Melissa if I was seeing anyone.  Melissa told her she didn’t think I was and Teena said “We should fix those two up.”

We talked on the phone almost every night for about a week before we met.  It’s usually hard for me to talk to people I don’t know well, but it seemed pretty easy to talk to her.  Although my recollection was that she did most of the talking and I just listened.  She always told me that I was pretty talkative at that time.  We finally met on June 23rd at a local fair.  Diane’s eyes were the most amazing shade of blue I’d ever seen.  She had a quick, easy smile and when she laughed, it was if she’d just heard the funniest thing ever. 

Her two girls, Cassandra and Caitlin were twelve and ten when we met.  She had been a single Mom for eight years and she and the girls lived in an apartment she rented from her Mom and Step-Dad.  

I lived in an apartment in a small town about fifteen minutes away, with my two kids.  Emily was eighteen and Ryan was fifteen.  I had been divorced for about a year when Diane and I met.  She almost passed on my phone number because she didn’t think I had been divorced long enough.

By the time we got married four years later, my kids were on their own, so it was just Diane and I with her two girls, a one year-old Jack Russell Terrier named Tobi and a five year-old cat named Abby.  We lived in a three bedroom, one and a half bath townhouse.  In theory it was the right size for us, but we both knew we wanted to buy a house that was a little bit bigger, maybe had a little property around it.  We started looking in earnest in 2002.  We went through countless homes; old, new, ranch, two-story, big yards and postage stamp lots, new subdivisions and old but we couldn’t find what we wanted.  Some were more than we wanted to spend.  Some were in need of too much remodeling to fit what we wanted.  Some just didn’t feel right.  Some we waited too long to make an offer.  I’ll always remember one we waited too long on.  It was on a half acre in a nicer, new-ish subdivision that was close to town, but still kind of rural.  It was just off Route 72, about a mile east of Gilberts.  As I recall it was a little bit more than what we wanted to spend, but not by much.  We talked about it for a week before deciding we wanted the house but we were a couple of days too late.  Somebody else put in an offer and it was accepted.  

After that, we decided to stop looking for awhile.  Instead, we’d get the townhouse ready to sell.  That way, when we finally found the right house we’d be ready to go.  We painted and ordered new carpet, neutral colors because we were told that’s what sells fastest.  One Saturday morning while we were out running errands together, we stopped to drop off some clothes at the dry cleaners.  While I was waiting in line, out of habit, I grabbed a real estate magazine and brought it out to Diane.  She looked at me like I had a third eye and said “I thought we weren’t going to look until we got done with the townhouse?”

I said “I know, it’s just force of habit.”  

A few minutes later, while flipping through the magazine, she said “Oh I really like this one!” 

I asked her where it was and she said “It’s in Wonder Lake.”

“Why do you want to go all the way up there?”

“Because I like the way this house looks.  Can we call the realtor?”

“Yeah, I don’t care.  It’s just that it’s an hour from here.”

So we called the realtor and got directions to the house.  When we turned on the street, she recognized the house from the picture in the magazine.  It sat on top of a small hill and looked really pretty up there.  The yard was about a half acre, it was a newer subdivision full of custom homes in a small town of around 1,200 people.    

She said “I want to buy this house.”

“But we haven’t even seen the inside yet.”

“OK, but I want to buy this house.”

So we met the realtor and went inside.  The first floor was all hardwood floors.  It had a pretty open floor plan with a fireplace in the living room opposite from the kitchen.  There was a small, formal dining room, a powder room and a laundry room on the first floor too.

“I want to buy this house.”

“But we haven’t even seen the upstairs.”

Upstairs there were three bedrooms, each with its own full bath.  The master bedroom had a fireplace and the master bath had a jetted tub.

“I want to buy this house.”

“Umm, OK.”

A couple of days later, we brought Caitlin up to see the house.  Since Cassi was away at college and engaged to be married, Caitlin got her choice of bedrooms.  She chose the bigger of the two remaining rooms.  And immediately started thinking about how she wanted to decorate her room, with animal prints.  She loved the house as much as her Mother did.  She couldn’t wait for summer (the summer that, ultimately, never came), so she could lie out on the back deck and work on her tan.

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Snow Days

So, I was just outside for a bit, puttering about in the yard.  Even though the current temp here is 16° with a wind chill of 4° (fear not northern friends, the forecast calls for 60° by Friday #sorrynotsorry) checking to see if the recycle bin has been picked up yet (it hasn’t) and at one point I sat down and just kind of looked at my backyard.  Now, to paint the picture, I knew I wouldn’t be out for long, so I just threw on my old Carhartt overalls since I’m still wearing shorts and didn’t feel like getting dressed yet on account of I also knew I

A.) Wouldn’t be outside for very long

B.) They’re very comfortable

C.) They’re very warm

D.) I was kind of looking for an excuse to wear them since I haven’t needed them in a while.

I got them several years ago, when I used to do fire investigations on my days off.  The job required working outside in, occasionally, extremes of weather.  From blazing hot, sunny, humid, August days to blistering cold, sub-zero, January days.  My Carharrts came in handy for the latter, not so much for the former.  They served me well for many years worth of winters in that job and now, like me, are retired to softer duty.

But as I sat there taking in my view, I noticed the fly was open.  This is not unusual for this particular garment.  They came with a button fly instead of a zipper.  I don’t know why.  But one of the first things I learned was that; due to the nature of that particular job, including the weather conditions that would necessitate their use, it was far better to leave the button fly undone rather than fumbling with the buttons with cold-numbed fingers in case, ya know, nature called.  Just sayin.  But this got me to thinking… what the heck was the response, back in the day, when the zipper fly was first proposed?

“Wait, what?  You’re going to put that thing, with those teeth, where?  Seriously?”

The things I think.

Winter reared its ugly head here in the southeast this past week.  In addition to the above mentioned temperatures, we got our first measurable snowfall a couple of days ago.  And I use the term “measurable” loosely.  It’s all a matter of perspective as I’m learning.  Down here the maaayyybe one inch of snow crippled the town.  I was sitting here at the house that evening and one of my neighbors stopped in.  She said the streets were a mess and on her short trip from one end of town to the other, she saw as many as a dozen fender benders.  I’m sure the incredulous look on my face accurately described my surprise at hearing that.  She also said there was a young girl (16 years old or so) parked (in the turn lane) down at the end of our street, in tears because she was too freaked out to drive further.  My neighbor stopped to check on her, she was unhurt, but was waiting for her Dad to come pick her up and drive her the last several miles home.  We walked down to see if we could help, and I ended up driving the car back up to my neighbors driveway so it was off the street and she could wait for her Dad in the warmth of my neighbor’s house.  To the girls defense, this was probably her first time ever driving on snow, so I’m not judging or anything.  But as I explained to my neighbor, having driven in this crap since I was 16, I was fairly confident in my ability to negotiate the three hundred yards or so I’d need to drive.

Now, curiosity doing what it does, I decided I needed to drive to the gas station, about a mile down the road, to see how bad things were here.  In that two-mile round trip I saw two more cars on the side of the road, for no apparent reason, with the four-way flashers on and another fender-bender.  And, as I drove over the interstate, I  glanced down and saw an eighteen wheeler that may have been facing the wrong way.

It snowed for maybe an hour and had stopped by the time I got out.  I knew coming down here, people weren’t accustomed to driving in this mess.  But this really kind of set the bar for just how inexperienced folks here are at dealing with snow.  I guess if I had to draw a parallel from back home, this was the equivalent of a 10″-12″ snowfall in northern Illinois.  But instead of hitting a slick spot and driving into a snow bank, these folks just parked where they were and flipped on the four-ways to, I don’t know, wait till it melted?  The one car I saw appeared to be a guy in his 20’s or 30’s and I thought to myself “who the heck are you waiting for to come rescue you?”

I really wanted to stop and ask if he needed help, but I didn’t think I’d be able to keep a straight face.  Ok, maybe I am judging.  A little.

Peace

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Family Lines

The Oldest One and the Heir To The Throne are heading out for a visit at the end of the week.  It’ll be great to see them, I think I’m looking forward to the visit as much as they are.  That got me thinking about family in general and mine in particular.  And, it reminded me of something I’ve been meaning to do here for a couple months as well as to share an achievement I recently accomplished.  But, more importantly, to tell you why I did it…

One of the proudest moments of my life came 25 or so years ago, when my then (to me they still are, fwiw) brother-in-law and sister-in-law, Randy and Dawn, asked me to be the godfather of their newborn daughter.  Randy, brother of my original ex, and I always got along great.  Same thing with Dawn.  If I remember correctly, and good God it was so long ago, they started dating just before the OE and I met so I’ve only ever known them as a couple even after all these years.  Still, the fact that they thought so much of me as to ask me to be such an important part of Amanda’s life was an honor I didn’t take lightly.

Over the years, even after the OE and split, I tried to at least reach out to Amanda on her birthday.  There was a long time where I didn’t see those guys, yet, I always felt like they were a part of my family.  I mean, we all know sometimes family is separated by miles or what have you.  Often times, today especially, family can get separated by belief systems.  We all have that uncle, cousin or brother-in-law that is not only our polar opposite in beliefs, but insists on pointing out the error of our ways at every. family. gathering.

“Gosh thanks for explaining to me how much you hate ‘candidate A’ Uncle Wilbur.  Now I can see why voting for ‘candidate B’ makes sense to you.  I just didn’t realize you were so passionate about Fascism before.  Now can you please pass the mashed potatoes and shut the hell up you Nazi.”

As I flash forward from the warm, fuzzy moments of becoming a godfather I’d like to stop by this past summer when I went to a family cookout at Randy and Dawn’s house.  It was a great time; we reminisced about the old days, marveled at how, despite the passing of years, none of us had aged (bold-faced lie).  But one of my favorite parts was getting to see Amanda and to meet her sweetie pie, Korey.  I actually might have met him in passing at a family funeral, but those things aren’t really conducive to getting to know someone, so… I was pleased to come to the conclusion that Korey is a pretty stand up guy.  They’ve been dating for quite some time now and when you’re that age and in a long-term, committed relationship, well the conclusion is going to get jumped to, whether you realize it or not.  Sure enough, they’re engaged and have a date set for October of next year.  I’m thrilled for them both, especially seeing Amanda so happy.

So, when I got something in the mail from the two of them shortly before I moved out here, I didn’t think too much of it.  “Save The Date” cards are quite the thing now, and my assumption was that I’d gotten mine.  But when I opened it, in addition to the expected card, there was a hand-written note from Amanda.  I didn’t have the foresight to pull it out when I sat down here so I’ll paraphrase it.

She spoke of her memories of me as she grew up; from the “Veterinarian Barbie set” at age 5 to the “annual birthday text” exchanges we share since she’s become an adult.  Whether she knew it or not, Amanda has always had a special place in my heart and she burrowed securely into the middle of that sucker with her note.  And then she slammed the door behind her with the end of her note when she asked if I would consider being the officiant at their wedding.

I’m not gonna lie, tears were streaming down my face as I read it.

Now, a few things were going through my head as soon as I processed the words.

A.) Of course I’ll do it, it would be my great honor

B.) I don’t have to be a priest, right?  Cause that ship has sailed…

C.) How long does it take to become an ordained minister?

I kind of put this on the back burner when I moved, figuring I had about a year to do whatever I needed to do.  And, when Amanda and I spoke about this a few days after I got the letter she suggested an online program that she knew was both legal in Illinois and fairly easy to obtain.  After being out here for a few weeks, I decided to look into the  website she’d suggested.  I read up on it a little, saw some of the people that had become ordained and the history of the faith and moved forward on it.

I filled out the registration form; name, address, where I would be using my new-found title, clicked “SUBMIT” and Voilà!

I became a minister in the Universal Life Church.

Now, if you know me IRL, you know I tend toward the irreverent, probably not a typical behavior for, you know, a reverend.  In fact, when I spoke with the Great Vincenzo and mentioned it to him I’m fairly certain I dropped an eff bomb in the title somewhere.  And when asked how I should be addressed, my first thought was something along the lines of “The Right Reverend”.  It has a nice ring to it.  To be honest, at this point in my life, I’m not a huge fan of organized religion.  I think I’d probably describe myself as spiritual rather than religious.  But the truth of the matter is, I take this very seriously.  At least as far as the wedding is concerned.  I’ve already started working on what I want to say.  To be such a big part of such an important event in the lives of these two isn’t something I take for granted and I want the words to be honest and open and real.  I want them to understand how precious love is.  And how it’s never to be taken for granted.

And how I’m not the role model they want to follow.  Three strikes and you’re out, right?

Just sayin.

Peace

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Falling Leaves

In my yard, or immediately adjacent to it, I have five beautiful, mature oak trees.  They’re huge, old trees, maybe a couple hundred years old, and really kind of majestic.  To think of how things were here when they were saplings, and the changes that have taken place on this landscape over the course of their lives gives one pause some times.  Nature can be quite spectacular when we allow ourselves the time to reflect upon its beauty.

Standing in the backyard, watching the leaves waft gently down to the earth can be fascinating.  Twisting and turning, sometimes rolling, ever gently cascading toward their ultimate resting place in the yard, it’s mesmerizing.  One by one,  gingerly drifting downward it’s a  beautiful, serene, pastoral, calming scene.

But as they conspire to fall by the hundreds, thousands even, changing the landsca- GOOD CHRIST THEY WON’T STOP FALLING WHEN WILL THIS MADNESS END

Sorry.

It seems as though I’ve traded in my snowblower for a leaf blower.  Not a bad trade mind you, but let’s just say I’ve spent a fair amount of time here these first six weeks on leaf relocation.  On the plus side, the local Public Works Department does a pretty decent job of picking them up.  The street side of my yard is as far as I have to deal with them, after that the city comes by on a semi-regular basis to vacuum them up and take them wherever leaves are taken.  I did the most recent leaf roundup last Tuesday *shout out to my neighbor for coming over to help me play “Beat The Clock” with the sun* before the pending arrival of the Boy Child, PhoJoMama™ and family, so the yard would look somewhat presentable.  Of course by the weekend you’d never know the yard had been raked.  Ever.  Except for the ginormous pile of leaves defining the boundary between street and yard.  I assume the holiday has their pick up delayed since said pile is still there.  It’s kind of had me holding off on leaf blower detail since I planned on waiting until last week’s pile was gone to start over.   I don’t think I have that option any more though since the new crop of fresh fallen little demon leaves have blanketed my yard in various shades of brown.

In a somewhat related vein; and proving the theory that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, (see what I did there?) this article  was placed on my social media yesterday by the Boy Child.  While it raises many solid environmental points, I’m choosing the vanity of a (reasonably) well-groomed lawn in its stead.

In a delightful (is there any other kind?) bit of serendipity, I hear the rumble of the leaf-vacuuming truck as it moves in to the neighborhood, clearing a spot in leaf purgatory for the past weeks collection.   Wow, that’s kind of metaphysical for this time of morning.  I guess my coffee has kicked in sufficiently to start the removal.

Peace

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And So, We Give Thanks

Sometimes you have to strike while the iron is hot.  I just had this text conversation with my friend, my go to guy for all things southern, the internationally renowned podcaster and the pride of southern Arkansas, Seth.

Seth: “I’ve got a super southern thing to tell you.”

Me: “Oh?”

Seth: “Met a man called Possum whose dog’s name was Ray.  Ray and Possum get paid to search for deer that get shot and can’t be found.”

Me: “Not only did I literally lol, I can’t stop.”

Seth: “True story.”

Me: “That’s amazing.”

As we wheel into the Thanksgiving holiday, there are so many things for which I’m not only thankful, but grateful.  First and foremost; friends and family.  I may be biased, but I think I’ve got the best of each.  And if I don’t tell you that often enough, shame on me.  I wouldn’t be where I am today without you.

Speaking of which, I’m thankful for what I’ve found here in my newly adopted home.  As a new Asheborower (Ashboroian? Asheborogian?  Asheborologist?) I’ve been welcomed in to the neighborhood, at least by the neighbors I’ve met.  And even the ones I haven’t yet met still use all their fingers when they wave at me, so that’s a plus.  And I’ve only gotten honked at once by someone that was less than satisfied by my driving skills.  Also a plus.

I told myself I wouldn’t stoop to “weather shaming” when I’m asked about my new environs.  I’ve slipped a couple times, but really unless someone specifically mentions the weather I’ve held back.  It hasn’t been spectacular, but in all honesty, it’s been pretty nice.  Coolish, a little rain here or there, but certainly nothing like what I’ve heard it’s been like back home.  No snow, really not even what I’d call a hard frost.  So I’m thankful for that too.  Since climate was one of the reasons I chose to relocate.

I’m thankful for my new-found sense of restraint too.  As most of you know, a couple months ago, I had to have Sophie put down *skypoint* and I thought I’d get a puppy after I got down here.  I started watching a site that featured rescue Labs.  I found several I wanted to see, even went and looked at one although three other visits fell through for a variety of reasons.  I planned on going to a puppy adoption event last weekend to check out a bunch of puppies but, as the time to leave came and went, I found myself questioning my motives.  I decided I didn’t really want I puppy right now, rather, I wanted Sophie.  I miss having her around more than I miss having a dog around, if that makes any sense.  I kind of enjoy, for now anyway, the freedom of not having to watch the clock to get back home in time to let the dog out/feed the dog/whatever else  particular need the dog may have.  I  know the time will come when I’m ready.  But, just like the time for me to start saying “y’all” hasn’t arrived yet, neither has the time come for me to take on a puppy.

Lastly, and kind of circling back a bit, I’m thankful the kids and the littles are all coming to visit soon.  The Boy Child and PhoJoMama™ and their brood are coming for Thanksgiving, Oldest One and the Heir for Christmas, and the Quiet Child, Boy Genius and Reigning Princess will help me welcome in the New Year.

So, yes, life in general and retired life in particular are pretty good for yours truly.  I hope each of you can find the things in life for which you’re thankful and celebrate it with the ones you love.  If not, call me.  I’m more than happy to listen.  Because we’re all in this together, like it or not.

I’m still laughing btw…

Peace.

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Mailing Chickens

There’s an old saying – “an army marches on its stomach” and a quick GTS tells me it either comes from Napoleon (Bonaparte, not Dynamite) or Frederick the Great.  So either way, it’s been around a long time.  I guess it isn’t exactly applicable to me, since I usually eat on the fly or load the front passenger seat with easy to grab munchie type foods when I travel, but I’ll get to it’s applicability in a little bit.  Probably.

See, I traveled to Nashville last weekend, for the wedding of two lovely people, shout out to Steph and EJ.  I wish you both much love and a lifetime of peace and happiness.

Since it was my first time there, I decided to make a weekend out of it.  When I wrote about the trip last week, I solicited suggestions for where to go, what to do, etc.  I mean, Nashville is known for music, obvs, but I wanted ideas from people that I know (and that know me) to get a better feel for what I’d enjoy there.  Got recommendations to visit the Ryman Auditorium (Yes, it was very cool) the Country Music Hall of Fame (also worth the visit, and I’m not a “country” guy) but, without question, my favorite recommendation came in the form of a text from my good friend and internationally renowned podcaster, Seth *skypoint*, minutes before I got on the road.  I’ll paraphrase- “If you get in a bind I’ve got a couple hookups down there for bail money, etc. And whatever else you do, EAT AT MONELL’S!  It’s a f**king mazing.”

The man does not lie.

I mean about the Monell’s part.

I didn’t need bail money but I believe that part to be true too.  But I digress.

Monell’s is, indeed, a f**king mazing.  It’s set in an old house, in an old neighborhood. The food is served family style, meaning, you’re seated at whatever table has room for you and whomever you’re with.  When I say “family style” I mean they cook for a family of roughly 84,326 people, each of whom is ravenously hungry.  Good Lord there was a lot of food and each plate was at least as good as the one that preceded it.   Bite-size cinnamon rolls, biscuits and gravy, corn pudding, cheesy grits, peach preserves, scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, pancakes, sausage, bacon, and country ham.  Oh and before I forget, a ginormous plate-full of fried chicken.  Jesus, my eyes are glazing over just typing this.  It was incredible.  Bob and Melissa joined me on Friday morning for my first visit and when we finished we all kind of looked at each other with a “what the hell just happened” look on our faces.  Seriously, ridiculously, incredible food.  And when I went there yesterday morning for my pre-road meal it was a repeat of wonderful.  I had to step a little bit out of my comfort zone to sit at a table of total strangers, but this food would make you do things like that, it’s so worth it.  And the people I broke biscuits with were all really nice too, so that helped. If you ever go to Nashville YOU MUST EAT HERE.  You have been warned, if you don’t go you have no one to blame but yourself.  Seth, my man, any time you feel like sharing foodie recommendations, fire away.  My stomach now trusts you completely.

Quick road trip related note… I crossed, I think a couple times each way, what may well be my favorite river, by name only at least.  Every time I cross the French Broad River it brings out my inner 15 year-old and I can’t help but giggle.  Out loud.  I picture in my head a bunch of early settlers standing on the bank of this river, wondering what to name it.  And one of them shouts out something about a woman they’d met at a trading post a ways back.

“What was her name?”

“Which one?”

“I don’t know.  That French broad”

Of course that’s not what the name means, but I have to confess a conversation like that will play out in my head every time I cross that river.  And I’ll laugh.  Every time.

Before I hit the road, I had to swing by the Post Office to ship out some of my excess candy from the Halloween that wasn’t.  As I walked in with my packages, I noticed a couple at the counter with several boxes, each box with numerous holes in it.  I assumed they were shipping plants somewhere.  But as I stood there, filling out the address tags for the various destinations, I heard a strange sound.  I couldn’t quite place it at first.  It was very soft, and my brain took a few seconds to register since the noise wasn’t one I’d ever expect to hear at the Post Office, of all places.  But, as I listened more intently, sure enough, I heard…

Clucking.

I looked up at the couple, now having set the first pair of boxes up on the counter, and sure enough, they were mailing live chickens.  And I’m not even joking.  Live.  Chickens.  In the mail.  I don’t know if that’s a thing or not btw.       *door knock* “Who is it?”   “Chickengram”   “Oh!  Great!  I’ll be right there!”  And I wanted to know so much more.  Who gets mail-order chickens?  What’s the survival rate for mail-order chickens?  How many mail-order chickens does it take to make a full load?  What other animals can you get mail-order style?  How many chickens were in each box?  What happens if the chickens don’t care for their traveling companion?  What does a chicken battle royale sound like in transit?  What happens if the chicken lays eggs in between Point A and Point B?  Is there an extra charge, since you got more mail-order chickens than you paid for?

Ok, I’ve got to stop.  The more I sit here, the more I want to know about mail-order chickens.

Peace.

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Scary Creatures. Somewhere Perhaps, But Not Here.

Does anybody need three wardrobe boxes?  Asking for a friend…  The amount of leftover cardboard seems staggering, it certainly feels like more than what I bought.  I filled the recycle bin last week and immediately refilled once it was picked up.  I saved the boxes that survived the cross country transport in the best shape and put them up in the attic, you know, in case I ever decide to move again…  LOLOLOLOL, I crack myself up sometimes.  At any rate, it’s safe to say I’ve still got a surplus of cardboard products.  Now, this also means that I’ve essentially got everything unpacked.  It may not be where I want it to be, and I’ve still got much to do as far as getting this place the way I want it, but small victories are, in fact, victories nonetheless.

Something else I’ve got a surplus of; Halloween candy.  I had not. one. trick or treater. yesterday.  No goblins, no ghosts, no Kardashians, or any other frightening figures knocked on my door.  What the hell?  I, of course, bought candy that I like (obvs) and I bought a bunch of it because who wants to run out on Halloween amirite?  That’s just asking for trouble.  So now, rather than risk putting on a fast fifteen pounds of post Halloween weight I’ve decided to send out “care” packages.  Because I care about maintaining my svelte, boyish, figure.  Again, LOL.

I decided, since I’m traveling to Nashville for a wedding this weekend, for one of the guys from the firehouse, my brothers from Red Shift in the high-rise district will be the beneficiaries of some of my overestimation of candy.  You’re welcome!  I think I’m going to send some to the littles too.  Sugar load coming courtesy of someone who won’t have to deal with the after effects!  Speaking of Nashville, since this is my first time there, I’m open to suggestions of where to go and what to see so fire away.  I’ve gotten a couple of good ideas from people, but I’m making a weekend out of it and I’d like to see as much as I can.  I’m kind of bummed on one thing; I knew I wanted to check out the Bluebird Cafe, even more so after it was recommended by a friend who has a trustworthy sense of quality music, but when I signed on Monday morning to get a ticket to a show I wanted to see, it was sold out less than three minutes after it opened up.  It’s a very small venue, so I get it, but it’s still kind of a drag.  Sigh.

Moving right along… I thought I had mentioned, either here or on the old site not that long ago about how I made chocolate chip cookies after a baking fail at the firehouse.  I was pretty sure I’d commented about it, at least in passing, and a deep seated fear of redundancy initiated a fifteen or twenty minute search through old posts which produced nothing.  So, let me just say that those cookies were pretty darn tasty.  If you read this even semi-regularly or if you know me IRL, you know how fond I am of baked goods.  So it is with no small amount of shame that I admit to you, I neglected to buy anything of that nature during my first couple excursions to the grocery store since I got here.  I know, right?  I don’t know what I was thinking.  I’d like to blame Bob and TJ somehow, but I just couldn’t make that work in my head, so I guess I have to own this one.  To that end, I bought a Kitchen Aid mixer.  This is something I’ve been putting off since the first batch of homemade cookies.  It was a bit of a mess, literally, since I wasn’t prepared hardware-wise for baking at home.  Bowls were a little on the small side and the old hand mixer I’d picked up at an estate sale was almost overmatched.  I found out just how overmatched when I smoked it (literally) at the conclusion (thankfully) of my second batch of homemade cookies.  I waited because I wasn’t sure where I’d end up, or rather, what type of kitchen I’d have.  And since I’m nothing if not a color coordinating fool *snark* I waited to make sure it matched whatever appliances I’d end up with.  Actually that’s a little less snarky than I care to admit to, but whatevs.  So I’ll soon have no one to blame but myself for not having delicious baked goods whenever I desire.  Spoiler alert- there’s really never anyone to blame but myself, so…

I’ve decided my maiden voyage in the new mixer will be – brookies. That’s right,  you know ’em, you love ’em, you can’t eat just one, that little piece of euphoria inducing splendor will be coming to me from my very own kitchen.  I already can’t wait.  If you’ve never had one, well, you need to change that, pronto.  You’ll thank me, I promise.

Peace

PS – I can’t believe I forgot to add that at the end of my last post.  It’s been kind of my unofficial official closing here for years.  So you’re getting another one here.

Peace