What we talk about on long car trips

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Matt and I took a long weekend trip to the beach this past weekend. On the way, we passed a stretch of houses that all had names, you know like Scarlett O’Hara’s plantation was named “Tara”, and George Washington’s home was named “Mt. Vernon”.

None of these houses that we passed were as grand as Mt. Vernon or Tara, but they each had signs at the end of the driveways proudly displaying their names, asserting that they weren’t just someone’s house, they were someone’s estate.

Seeing this resulted in the following car conversation:

me: Let’s name our house. Like these houses and like big estates. It deserves a name.

Matt: Ok, you go first.

me: No, it was my idea. You go first.

Matt: Mmmm, what was the name of James Bond’s estate in Skyfall?

me: Skyfall.

Matt: Ok.

[silence]

me: So, you’re proposing Skyfall? No, that’s dorky.

Matt: What’s your idea?

me: Deathstar.

Matt: Like from Star Wars? That’s dorky squared.

me: You next.

Matt: Elder Estate.

me: No, I want something creative. Like Peaceful Alliance.

Matt: Alliance? Is that a Star Wars reference again? Why do you keep bringing up Star Wars? You don’t even like Star Wars. Stop it.

me: It’s too bad we had those big pine trees cut down. We could call it something like Pine Valley, or Pine Swept, or Pine Song, or Pine Haven. We have those birches now, so it could be like Birchwind. Or Birch Star.

Matt: Really, stop.

[silence]

Matt: You know the land originally belonged to the Moose family, so it could be something with Moose in it.

me: Moose Star! Moose Lodge! Moose House! Moose Haven!

[silence]

me: I thought the land came through the Drye family, not the Moose side of the family.

Matt: You’re right, so it would need to be the word Drye.

me: Drye Land! Drye Winds!

Matt: I like Haven. Our Haven.

me: Our Drye Haven!

[silence]

me: Yeah, that doesn’t work. It sounds like a rehab center.

[silence]

me: Our Drye Moose Haven.

Matt: I like it.

me: Me, too.

So, that’s what we’re naming our house/estate. And we sound like we support sober moose. We’re good people.

**********************

After we got to the beach, we noticed that most of the beach houses were named. Do you think that there is a special place that people with beach houses go to find names? Here are some of the ones that we saw:

  • Seas the Moment
  • Luna-Sea
  • Mr. Krabs
  • 4 All Sea-Sons
  • Sea-esta
  • Nexta-C
  • Wait N Sea
  • and my personal favorite: House
Luna-Sea

Luna-Sea

I can’t wait to get a fancy sign that reads “Our Drye Moose Haven”. I’ll post when done. And remember: just because we now live on an estate doesn’t mean y’all can’t visit any time.

Happy Birthday, Mama!

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I have had this blog post on my mind for over a month now, but today is the appropriate day to share it.

I was driving to work one morning when the story of the oldest person in a neighboring county came on the radio.  She was celebrating her 110th birthday.

It’s not the fact that she was turning 110 that made me love this story so much.  Or the fact that during the radio interview (click on link and see the “Listen” link in the story to hear the actual interview) you hear her social worker yelling, “HOW DOES THAT FEEL [to be the oldest person in the county]?”

110 year-old Sina Hayes takes a break after eating breakfast in the meeting room at Brookridge Retirement Community in Winston-Salem, N.C. She displays one of her favorite quilts she has made over the years.Credit Keri Brown

110 year-old Sina Hayes takes a break after eating breakfast in the meeting room at Brookridge Retirement Community in Winston-Salem, N.C. She displays one of her favorite quilts she has made over the years.Credit Keri Brown

What I loved about this story was that her 88-year-old and 90-year-old sons flew into town to help her celebrate her 110th birthday.

How awesome would that be to be 90 years old and still have your mama around?  Of course, I can see her 90-year-old son telling his friends at his rest home, “I’m flying home to see my mom for her birthday.”  They’re probably thinking, “Oh, Bob has stopped taking his medicine again…”

I hope that when I am 87, I still have my 110 year mama around.  And maybe, instead of flying into town to celebrate her birthday, my nurse can just roll me from room in the nursing home into her room in the nursing home.  And we can complain that my sister never visits us, how the green beans just aren’t as good as the ones that she used to make, that we wished we could still see so that we could pluck those chin hairs, that someone would change the channel to Discovery ID because our favorite true crime show is getting ready to come on, and how happy we are that they made chocolate cake for her birthday because we both love chocolate.

Happy Birthday today, Mama!  Here’s to at least 44 more — let’s aim for 110!  Hugs and kisses.  Cristy

In memory

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I am incredibly sad tonight.

Around 11 AM, I found out via Facebook that one of the firefighters killed in the Yarnell, AZ, fire was someone with whom I went to school from elementary through high school.  While I was in college, he was in a serious relationship for several years with one of my first cousins, so I would see him at holidays and other family events with her.

But my memories of Eric are not from those later years, but always from high school.  I remember a cute boy, a really good athlete, soft-spoken and somewhat socially awkward.

And I am saddened by his death.

I am also saddened by the tremendous wave of nostalgia that has engulfed me as all the memories of high school have flooded back as a result.

For me, this was the time in my life of true innocence.  I had yet to encounter anyone with an ulterior motive; good things seemed to happen to good people; I didn’t really know any “bad” people.  I was blessed beyond all measure.

Life was:  football games, homework, talking on the phone (a land line), passing notes (no texting), spending the summers at the lake, the smell of sweat in the school gym, cruising town on the weekends, going on dates, gossiping about who was dating who, trying to find enough money to go to McDonald’s after school, cheerleading practice, T-P’ing someone’s house….

That innocence, that fun, that lack of responsibility — it makes me sad to think about how I didn’t appreciate those wonderful days when I was there.

Everyone always says that “if they knew then, what they knew now….”   If I knew then, what I know now, I would breathe in even more precious minutes than I did.  Knowing now what I know now, there’s nothing stopping me from doing that.

And if I knew then, what I know now, I would take extra minutes to ask Eric (and Tammy, and Chuck, and Scott, and Kim and all the others that we have lost so young), “Hey!  Want to hang out?”

Asking and receiving

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I was raised in a Christian house. We went to church every Sunday. Whether my sister and I wanted to go or not (and there were lots of Sundays we didn’t want to go).

I grew up in a world of Sunday Schools, Vacation Bible Schools, Bible Stories and such.

I could quote lots of Bible verses and not just “Jesus wept” (John 11:35). That’s the shortest verse in the Bible, for any of you who maybe don’t know the Bible that well.

I knew as a little girl that God wants us to pray. I had heard many times through my young life “…ask, and ye shall receive…” (John 16:24) and “….but in every thing by prayer and supplication in thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.” (Philippians 4:6). I had heard tales of people in dire situations who prayed to God for intervention and were rescued, people who had the faith that their prayers would bring about miracles and then the miracles happened. Asking in prayer and receiving was a common occurrence.

I was also a child of the 1970s. The era of either really good or really bad TV, depending on your point of view. I was a big fan of Wonder Woman, starring Lynda Carter. I watched her show every week and dreamed of being a super hero, fighting bad guys and keeping peace. I wanted a pair of gold cuffs like Wonder Woman in order to save people, too.

And with my unshakeable faith, I determined that I would ask God to give me some. I prayed, and I prayed, and I prayed for a pair of Wonder Woman’s cuffs.

In Action

Fabulous Cuffs

I remember spending at least one hour before bed time one night praying as hard as I could that God would send me a set of my very own gold cuffs. And I knew that when I woke up the next morning they would be waiting for me. I was asking, so I would be receiving.

The next morning, much like a Christmas morning, I ran downstairs into our den, quickly scanning the sofa, the floor, the chair, the side tables. No gold cuffs.

I ran through the house, searching other rooms. No gold cuffs.

And in retrospect, I have to admit, my faith in God’s willingness to answer prayers died a little that day.

Earlier this week, I told this story to two of my co-workers, really making fun of myself. As in, “Ha, ha, wasn’t I silly and naive, praying for a pair of Wonder Woman gold cuffs? And, of course, I never got them.”

And one of the women said to me, “You have cuffs somewhere. They just don’t look like Wonder Woman cuffs.”

I. Was. Floored.

Could that be it? Did I fall trap to the fallacy that God answers prayers exactly the way one asks Him to? Even my childhood prayer for gold cuffs that would save people? Have I allowed my faith to have this tiny crack in it for all these years because I expected cuffs with red stars when maybe my people-helping cuffs are really my sense of humor or my willingness to lend a hand? I think that I did.

I have many examples in my life, especially in my adult life, that it turned out to be a “blessing in disguise” when the goal or the “thing” that I thought that I most wanted in the whole wide world, I didn’t get. Everyone probably has a similar story. The promotion that they didn’t get, or job that they didn’t take. The person that they didn’t marry, or the house that they didn’t buy. You don’t get what you think you wanted, but instead end up with something better. Some people call those “unanswered prayers” because they prayed so hard for the thing that they didn’t get. “Oh,” they say, “I’m so glad that God didn’t answer my prayers and give me X, because I’m so much happier with Y.”

I don’t call those unanswered prayers. God answered the prayers, just not in the way that was expected. (He’s good like that.)

I’ve had so many answered-in-a-different-way prayers. And this week, I learned that my gold cuffs were answered in a different way, as well. I’m finally comfortable calling myself Wonder Woman.

 

Gnarly

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Because of a bee sting that I got yesterday, I now have the hand of a witch, all gnarly knuckle and everything.

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Awesome. “The better to shove you in an oven and sprinkle your bones, my pretty.”

Maybe witches were also beekeepers and that’s why they were always in a bad mood — they just got stung and they were in pain. Come to think of it, it’s a good thing I don’t have any poisoned apples handy, or there would be a few people put into a “100 year” sleep faster than you could name your favorite dwarf.

Now I’m going to have to avoid apples in case I’ve offended any witches by saying they have ugly hands.

It’s hard to express an opinion.

Birthday luck

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I had a birthday this past week and I am glad that I lived another 365 days, but I’m definitely past the age where birthdays are one of the most exciting days of my year. I remember the birthdays that were so important because each one got me one year closer to 16 — the best birthday ever, the day I got my driver’s license. Then, I remember each birthday that was so important because it got me one year closer to 21 — the best birthday ever, the day I could buy alcohol.

And many years later, I remember the details of those two birthdays very well. They were milestone birthdays.

The milestone birthdays that happen now are not so important because of what you get to do because you reached them, but important because you reached them. Doing anything after them is sorta gravy….

Regardless, I realized I am really lucky. Many people sent birthday wishes and I felt blessed that so many people took time from their day to acknowledge that my mother expelled me from her birth canal. (You know, the mother ought to really get the messages on a birthday…)

And I realized how lucky I am to be married to a man that understands me. Matt bought 43 scratch-off lottery tickets and hid them around the house. He knew that I would enjoy finding them and the quick rush of scratching them off. And some of his hiding places were clever, but he also took into account that I’m not a morning person so he didn’t make it difficult: in my shoes, in the Keurig, under the faucet, in the dog food…the man knows me.

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I won $9…okay, I’m not that lucky, but lucky enough.

Nothing

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I did something this evening that I haven’t done in a long, long time.  I did absolutely nothing.

Matt might argue that I do this a lot, but I don’t actually.  I watch TV, or I surf the web, or I read or play a game.

This evening, I sat on this wall:

while this dog:

rolled around and played in the backyard.

I sat on the wall and listened to the birds sing.  This is what I heard:

I closed my eyes and listened to the birds call and sing to each other.

And I smiled.  I must do nothing again soon.

“Real” Barbie

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Growing up, my favorite toys were my Barbie dolls.  I had about 5 or 6 different dolls, including one Ken doll.  My favorite of my dolls were my Superstar Barbie and my Ballerina Barbie.

Superstar Barbie and her awesome boa

I loved making up stories for my Barbies and dressing her up for dates and for going to work.  She had exciting jobs, like being an actress or a famous singer.

I got in trouble once when playing with my Barbies when my mom found me with naked Ken on top of naked Barbie in bed.  When asked where I had found this game to play, my reply was that I saw it on Days of Our Lives at my babysitter’s house that day.  I was maybe 4 or 5.  I think that I had my Barbies taken away for a few days and told that Ken and Barbie should never be unclothed at the same time and Ken should never be on top of Barbie.  The beginnings of my neurosis.

I always thought that I would have a daughter with whom I could play with Barbies when I grew up.  But I never had children.  And my nieces aren’t all that interested in Barbies.  My youngest has some Disney fairy dolls, but fairy dolls aren’t Barbies.  So my dream of still playing with Barbies has turned into naught.

But every now and then when I am at Wal-Mart, I check out the Barbie aisle, just to see what’s the latest with Barbie and her pals.  And over the years, I have seen some changes.  Barbies with different skin colors, Barbies with different hair colors and Barbie play sets where Barbie is a doctor or a vet or even an astronaut.

Yesterday, however, I strolled through the Barbie aisle and saw this:

GLAM Laundry

GLAM Laundry

Really, Barbie?  Glam Laundry?  That’s what you’re offering up to little girls these days?  Look how glamorous laundry is?  Sexist, lately, Barbie?

So, I’ve been thinking about this.  Why, why, Mattel, would you take a seemingly step backwards with Barbie?  You gave her a breast reduction so that little girls didn’t think that Triple Ds naturally went with 16″ waists.  Great move!  You started to give her real careers.  Way to go!  Now, you put her back into household chores.  Shame, shame, shame.

I started to think that maybe Mattel did this because little girls wanted to emulate their mothers and mothers probably do the majority of laundry.

So, Mattel, if you want to show little girls what it’s like to be a woman/mother in the “real” world, here’s some Barbies to create:

1. Sitting In Uncomfortable Chair Through Another Karate / Dance Class Barbie — Barbie comes with a plastic chair and shifts in her chair every 5 minutes trying to get comfortable.

2. Driving Through a Drive-Through On the Way to Another Practice / Soccer Game Barbie — Barbie comes with a car full of kids, pulled up to a drive through, digging in her purse and passing bags of food out

3.  Barbie on a Laptop After Everyone Has Gone to Bed Barbie — Barbie is in her pajamas on the sofa while everyone else is asleep, finishing up her work

4.  Barbie Being Judged By Other Mothers Barbie — Barbie sits by herself at an event while other Barbies sit together whispering about her, probably because she didn’t hand punch or stamp a birthday card or something else like that

5.  Feeling Guilty Barbie — Barbie carries a hundred pound bag of guilt on her back because she feels like she isn’t “doing it all”

6.  Buying a Present for the 35th Birthday Party in the Last 3 Months Barbie — Barbie is shopping again for a birthday present for one of her kid’s friend’s birthday party

7.  Asking “What would you like for dinner?” Barbie — Barbie asks her family what they would like for dinner, to which they all reply “I don’t care” or “whatever”

This list is not exhaustive, but it should give you a good starting point.  Much better than “Glam Laundry”

Your #1 Fan,

Cristy

Country living is for me

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I get to see these beautiful fields everyday, twice a day, on my way to and from work.

Fields of Canola

Fields of Canola

I love living in the country.  I grew up living on a (small) mountain/hilltop with no neighbors, so to speak.  My aunt and uncle and cousins shared the little mountain top with us, but they weren’t next door neighbors, just in sight neighbors.  I had never lived in a neighborhood until I bought a house at the age of 33.

I quickly discovered that “city living” wasn’t for me.  And I didn’t even really live in a city, just in a town, but I lived on a street, with sidewalks and houses right next door to me.  I felt hemmed in and confined and like too many people were minding my business.

Not long after moving into my house, I adopted two kittens.  They were from the same litter and came with the same case of ringworm.  I took them to the vet and we first tried to cure them via pills.  No such luck.  They still had spotty patches of hair.  I had an appointment to take them back to the vet when I came home one evening from work and found a note in my mailbox.  An anonymous note saying something to the effect that “I know what you are doing to your kittens.  You are abusing them.  Please treat them nice.”

I guess their case of ringworm and loss of hair on their tails gave someone the impression in my (friendly) neighborhood that, for sport, I liked to take my kittens by the tail and swing them around in the air.

Later, as they were older, I found one of my cats one sunny Saturday on my back deck with a big scratch on his neck.  “Uh oh, Simba, looks like you’ve been cat fighting.”  About an hour later, one of my (friendly) neighbors came by to tell me that they had seen Pooh (the neighbors had their own names for my cats) and it looked like he had been shot!  Please, please, please take him to the vet.  “Which one of my cats,” I asked, “do you call Pooh?”

Trying to be a good neighbor, I rushed Simba/Pooh to the vet and $200 later found out he had been in a cat fight.  Surprise.

Almost six months later, I came home early from work and was unloading some potting soil and such from my car when a trio of my (friendly) neighbors came over to tell me that the night before, Tigger (whom I called Sarabi) ran out in front of a car and was hit.  That morning, while I was at work, they found him under my back deck and retrieved his body and buried him and had a little funeral for him.  They just wanted to let me know.

“You buried my cat today while I was at work?”

“Yes.  It was no problem.  And by the way, my daughter is so upset about Tigger (Sarabi) dying, that I’ve brought Pooh into the house to keep her company.”

I never saw Pooh, I mean Simba, again except for one time when he climbed up on the outside ledge of my kitchen window and I saw that he had a new collar and tag that read “Pooh” with my neighbor’s address and phone number.  I thought about leaving a note in their mailbox that said “I know what you are doing.  You are stealing people’s cats.  Stop it.”

That’s one big reason why I love living in the country.  No neighbors.

__________________________________________________

On another note, this is the conversation that I had with my insurance agent today:

me:  Tell me about life insurance.  I need to think about it while I’m still fairly young.

Agent:  I recommend term.

me:  What is term?

Agent:  It’s good for a set period of time, like ten or twenty or thirty years.  Then it expires.  It’s the cheapest.  Really, why are you interested in life insurance?

me:  To make sure that if something happens to me in the next 10 to 20 years, Matt can pay off the house so that the slut he marries next doesn’t have to work.

Agent:  You’re a hell of a wife.

me:  You’re right.

I got stung twice today and it was fabulous

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I have mentioned a couple of times that Matt and I wanted to become beekeepers.  We took classes, started to attend the Beekeepers Association Meetings, etc.

Today, we got our bees.  Check out my beekeeping blog Buzzing Around in My Head for all the details and more great pics.

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