A Respectful Afternoon

Road Trip Day 4: After a late breakfast on day 4 I felt I wanted to go to the cemetery to pay my respects to my dear Aunt Hazel. She was loving, loyal, a hard worker, generous, lived for her family. She taught me how to cook southern style every summer when I visited and immersed me in their culture.She would tell me to grab my pocketbook and let's go loafering! And Oh could that woman ever talk, for hours, about nothing. I surprisingly liked that.She was precious to me and although we had said our good byes last summer when she was helping to write her Eulogy, I was unable to attend her funeral over Thanksgiving and felt I had really missed out on something important.

You know I'm not a fan of drama and public displays of emotion but when I leaned down to gingerly touch, and then clean my Aunt's headstone I felt greatly grieved. And I missed her. It was my first trip to N.C. that I didn't see her smiling face and accept her "sugar" while trying not to grimace. Everyone on our side of the mountain is still feeling raw around the edges of their mourning. As they like to say we are all feeling tore up over her passing.

Her husband, my Uncle Richard passed away 18 years earlier in 1990. He would take me hiking and exploring all over in places my mother would never approve of me going. He talked and demonstrated as he walked along. He knew everything about the trees and the snakes that populate the area and of which I am deathly afraid.He had so many funny tales of he and his brothers exploits around these mountains. Just when I thought I had heard it all he would come up with another tale and  I'd discover a new piece of our family puzzle. It was like hiking with a relevant and interesting history book. Each summer when it was time for me to return to Michigan I always missed them the most.

Now I have my cousin David and some of his children and grandchildren to share memories with. We are striving to keep the stories alive and relevant and to teach these values to the next generation.

 On my last stop I had to see my Uncle James who had shocked us with his untimely death 4 years ago. After years of diminishing health and back problems they had done a heart procedure that really seemed to breath new energy into my tallest uncle whose nickname was treetop.

He seemed to be on a roll, able to move about more freely and having more energy than he had in years. That spring flu season hit hard. Both he and my dad came down with an unruly case. Subsequently my Uncle was hospitalized and entered a downward spiral that he never came out of and he passed, leaving his very close family shell shocked to say the least.

I flew down to the funeral all by myself and picked up my rental car which ended up being a very fast black Mustang. I felt a wee bit conspicuous tooling around the mountains in that car but all my male cousins got a big kick out of it. My Uncle James was a very quiet and humble man and our visits rarely had much conversation but instead companionable quiet and that was ok with the both of us. I do however recall some pretty wild rides on the back of his jeep up and around trails and through mountain passes- so maybe the mustang was a fitting ride for the funeral after all.

We spent a fair amount of time their taking in the air, pulling weeds and trimming back grass around the headstones of our loved ones.

Later I tried to explain to my 13 year old daughter who was with us how important these simple rituals were to men like my dad. It demonstrated to him that I had not forgotten to miss these dear people even though I live 600 miles away. And it comforts him to have us there as a matter of respect to these family members that he spent so much of his life with.

I was proud of her, she didn't roll her eyes once or act bored. She didn't say much but just followed along thinking. When we got in our own car and followed my dad back up the mountain home she said she thought it was a fine way to spend 30 minutes if it could make Grandpa happy and show him that we cared about the same things he did.

That made me so happy.

Nerves of Steel

Road Trip Day 2:

Remember the old saying "you get what you pay for?" All three of us paid for a good nights sleep but I don't think any of us got one. I thought we were being so super cool, researching it out and staying in this quaint (as in out of date) vintage 60's motel. We were excited with the massaging bed and all.

I gave a few minutes of worry that we were staying at a "motel" with the room door opening directly outside but there was a new and sturdy looking lock so I didn't say anything to my daughters and after watching CSI Miami and George Lopez we all fell asleep.

I woke up at 3 a.m. and turned off the tv my nightowl had left on. I warned myself, just go back to sleep and suprisingly I did, only to be jolted awake by a loud alarm sound. I am talking about a stunning kind of pulsating buzz that you would hear when Jason Bourne breaches security at some top secret weapons cache, along with a flashing light.

We were all totally freaked out. Could it be an air raid alarm, a fire drill? Holy shit What is it? I glanced at the clock, 5:40. Is that ungodly sound just the ancient alarm clock, like one of the first digital clocks invented. It was. The s.t.u.p.i.d vintage digital alarm clock. I shut it off. Realized the flashing light was just my computer. So I talked myself and my charges down off of the ledge.

By now, all of our hearts are pounding. I reassured my darlings all was o.k. and we really needed to go back to sleep. I lay there convincing myself, actually feeling a bit drowsy and closed my eyes and relaxed. Suddenly the noise returned. I grabbed that demon possessed clock, yanked the plug out of the wall and tossed it under the lousy massaging bed singing get behind me, Satan.

The girls did sort of drift off to sleep but there was not a chance on this earth that I would. I organized our belongings and made them get up by 7:30. We checked out and were out of there by 8 a.m. I had promised them pancakes for breakfast so we had that. I could feel my eyeballs rolling around like they were coated with sand even as I had a cup of coffee with my food. Plan was made to stop and get some stronger type of stimulant so I pulled off at the next exit where I knew there was a Starbucks and loaded up.

Less than an hour later I knew I was in trouble. It was a beautiful morning but for any of you who haven't driven on I-75 through Tennessee and then onto I-40 east, it is not a job for the faint hearted or unfocused. I am telling you it requires nerves of steel between the mountains, the curves and the semi trucks. I was so tired and so highly irritated that this was disrupting my travel schedule I thought my head might pop off. 

 Apologizing to my daughters, and astounding them at that, I explained we would have to pull off and I would try to take a nap and gather my wits. The first thing we came to was this deserted Hillbilly Market. The way my girls looked at me when I pulled into this gem was like I had grown another head. "I'm scared" the baby cried. So on we went around the bend and found a cool shadely spot under a tree in a Cracker Barrel. I laid down in the back seat and fell asleep, despite all the caffiene I had consumed.

I heard them debating about when to wake me up. 15 more minutes I said and drifted back off. A short time later we went on in the Cracker Barrel, used the facilities, bought two jars of cobbler filling (one peach and one blackberry) and we got our show officially on the road, having spent a little over an hour sleeping.

Luckily we didn't have a lot of miles to drive, and although I felt much more alert we were all acting crabby and contencious instead of like the fun bunch we can be. Traffic was moving and there were a lot of trucks but so far the highway was wide open and we were getting excited to be making good progress.

 

We made our move onto 640 East and then onto I-40 and we were on the mountain freeway now. They always take my breath away at this point of the drive . I am just a mountain person, it is in my blood. Hello curves and grade changes and hello truckers. You stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours.

It didn't take long until I was sandwiched inbetween a couple of big rigs, but I manned up and kept as cool as a cucumber. My helpers were getting exasperated with me because I kept giving them cues of what I wanted pictures of and they were always mashing that button about 5 seconds too late. 

At least y'all are headed west. Good. I don't need 500 tons of Mack breathing down my neck or squeezing me into the cement barrier in the middle. Oh no, mama's got company behind us. Where are those signs we made? 

OK now. So that's how it's going to be. I am alert, caffiene oozing out of my pores. All synapses are firing and here comes that big curve girls, get a picture of that truck warning sign...you know the steep grade change on the curve that could cause them to topple over on the curve. What do you mean you missed it?

I only got squeezed into the median once and I didn't make contact thank you very much. And that honking you did Mr Trucker, that helped me out really well. Why don't you try scaring me a few more times. Girls get those get over and back off signs out! Girls. Girls. Girls, do you hear me? I guess not because one was hiding under a blaket and the other looked to be sleeping.

This should get your juices flowing. TUNNEL! Hooonnnkkkk. Wooo Hooo. The baby refuses to come out from under the blanket. But that was fun. My teenager is rolling her eyes. That's a good sign and so is this, our blessed Exit!

Hello Candler exit, we are so so glad to see you. If we weren't all so cranky we would get out and dance around that sign. I look at the clock, I am running so behind I feel shamed. Whatever, we are here safe and sound so we head off the exit and in a few short turns we are headed up the mountain that my people are from. It's also a narrow winding road but every turn is familiar and in 7 short minutes we have reached destination Virgil.

The only bad side to this is I have to scoot up that steep narrow drive and tell him to hop in becasue we need to head back down the mountain to pick up Princess #1 in 20 minutes from the airport. At least with a very relieved gramps in the car we are all much more cheerful and less likely to tear each other hair out.

Renegade Redneck?

Road Trip Day 1:

I mentioned last month (Sluggishly Blogging) I would be road tripping to North Carolina with my 2 youngest daughters. Well that trip began today when my car rolled out of the driveway around 2 p.m. EST. We (and I use the plural loosely here) spent the morning packing the car carefully making sure we would have what we needed for our fun on the road. Being busy driving makes for less than my normal (merely passable) quality of photos so you'll have to use a bit of imagination to enhance this travel tale of mine.

I am a packing genious if I do say so myself. I'm determined to get to my destination in a timely fashion while having some fun along the way. Packed in the back of the 2009 Ford Flex that was featured in 48 Hour Leave of Absence was a full aresonal including duct tape, 3 tennis rackets and tennis balls, basball gloves, camera, Flip video, blue masking tape and paper and markers to send messages to other drivers we pass by on the freeway. I'm telling you our vehicle was loaded for bear.

This guy was like a gift from God sent solely for our entertainment.My photography assistant manned the camera as well as she could. According to this guys car, with North Carolina license plates he is an "Agent" for State Security. Their motto in italics said " to punish and control". We totally aggrevated the man while trying to get good shots of his car while driving  78 miles per hour down the interstate.

My thinking is this is either a new Obama security detail agent or a renegade redneck militia member. Could go either way. We followed him all through Ohio before losing him in Kentucky. We were preparing some signs to hold up in the window to communicate. Our first sign said, "hey, nice buzz cut" but he pulled some pretty fancy maneuvers and escaped our grasp.

We stopped a rest stop and streched our legs, used the potties and were going to throw the frisbe around but found it too blasted hot. So we motored on and found our motel at the end of the day.

We checked into our motel (I had investigated it thouroughly online to be sure it was safe and clean). For $42 we got this ultra nifty room that is stuck in the 70's, even with a magic massaging bed that took quarters . That was an absolute hit with my crowd.

So we are settled into our groovy room and preparing to get some sleep so we can explore the southern institution of The Waffle House in the morning before we take our show back on the road. We'll be headed up into some serious mountains during the last leg of our drive tomorrow, we will try to capture the treacherous interstate...after we get our bellies full of waffles.

Grocery Store Whore

Just the other day I was in a pretty manic state as I ran into the nearby grocery store for a few items we needed to complete dinner that night. Feeling smug that I had been able to snag a tiny cart on my way in, I was driving that thing like a NASCAR vehicle, zipping up the necessary isles. I hate to admit it but I almost ran over the same man twice, and he was a middle aged dawdler, and cranky at that. I might have been short tempered too if I was nearly clipped twice by some fanatical woman, even if she was damned good looking. If the powers that be knew what I was actually thinking while I’m at the grocery store, if they could see the visions and fantasies in my head they would put me out on the street and ban me from coming back.

Well, that may be an exaggeration because just today when I checked out at the local Kroger I didn’t have my keys with my little Kroger Card on it. Subsequently the cashier instructed me to punch my phone number in and the key pad said “Welcome back loyal Kroger customer”. Then when I discovered I had my purse (alias handbag or pocketbook depending on what region of the country you live in) but no wallet (with my credit cards). What to do now, after we rung up a whole bunch of groceries and I’ve got no ID, no credit card? It’s times like this that I’m lucky no one could telepathically read my mind or they really would exile me.   

Anyhow, I dug around the bottom of my purse and found a wrinkled up check. My score on my loyal customer card must be really good because they said, no problem Mayor, just go ahead and write us a check. Really? So I filled out the check and paid for my groceries and practically skipped out to the parking lot. I love walking out to the parking lot and loading my bags into my car when the weather is nice. It just makes me feel so good because I know soon enough here in Michigan I’ll have to trek out in freezing weather when winter arrives too soon.

The funny thing is that I am not really a loyal customer. Just don’t tell Kroger. I confess right here and now I am a shopping for the best price whore. Or shopping at a store because it’s on my route back home from where ever I’m coming from kind of gal. In reality I’m a very fickle hooker shopper. I shop where I feel like shopping, where it’s expedient for me that day or maybe because I happen to know an item I like is on sale. I know, it’s a kind of if you can’t be with the one you love, honey, love the one your with attitude that could be seen as slutty disloyal.

I’m sure all the grocery stores in a 2 mile radius of my home think I have an undying love for them because I buy a lot of food. If they only knew I possess frequent shopper cards from several other states (Chicago, North Carolina, Texas) because I tend to get around and I usually cook when I do. Above average sized family + kids friends + official foodies means we require an extraordinary amount of raw materials. Very simple. The problem I have with this task that eats up a lot of my time each week is that you find a lot of idiots at the store who tend to impede my progress.

There is such a thing as unspoken grocery store etiquette. In case you didn’t innately internalize this information while accompanying your parents shopping when you were young, I’ve compiled a few tips:

• Unless you are getting a large order, grab the smaller sized grocery cart. We call it tiny cart. they are much more maneuverable.

• While cruising the isles, stay to one side of the lane while making your choices. You don’t want to be known as a lane hog, your indecisiveness is precluding the passing of more competent customers.
• If you are an average or above average height person and you see some short stumpy individual stretching and straining to reach a desired item on the top shelf for God’s sake help them out and pluck the thing down for them.
• The elderly, avoid getting behind them at all costs if you’re in a hurry. They are probably going to be slowly counting out cash or writing the dreaded check. Yes, I realize that is an ageist and bitchy attitude, but I’m on a mission and I don’t need to make new friends in the checkout line.
• When unloading your cart onto the check out belt, use the divider if they have one. It prevents mix ups that can cost you a lot of time.
• Avoid getting in line behind someone with those coupon organizing filofax things, that’s a bad sign. That’s a problem in the making so just avoid the situation.
• If you are the person in line with coupons, fine, I respect that. But can we not argue with the cashier over the validity of the coupon or send the bagger running to the back end of the store because it says buy 2 get one free and you didn’t pick up the extra.
• When you enter the line when I’m at the keypad conducting my business don’t crowd me with your basket. Stay in your space. I really don’t like being hit with the cart and don’t pretend you don’t see me because I’m short.
• If it’s busy and there’s no bagger on your isle, get your big butt down there and start bagging your items. I actually like to do this because it really expedites things and I can move on to my next task more quickly.
• If you are one of the elderly, get with the program. Use a credit card or a debit card, swipe that thing and be done with it. Now I feel guilty because I realize in 20 years I’ll be the white haired lady with a hump counting out my change one coin at a time.
• When you’re done with your cart, if possible take it to the cart return. It saves a lot of dented cars and it’s part of responsible citizenship. There are exceptions to this rule: if you have a baby with you and the cart coral is a ways away or if you have to pee really, really bad.

Now you know how to competently get through a grocery shopping expedition properly, happy eating. If you happen to see me hunting and foraging (and I’m not pushing tiny cart at warp speed) don’t be afraid to wave or say hi. You’ll be able to tell right away if I’m in the mood to motor or chit chat because I don’t have a poker face. There are plenty of days when my approach is more laid back and not so...um, postal. So far, I’ve only lost control and terrorized other shoppers in my head (except the unfortunate dude I clipped with tiny cart) which is a good thing for the local economy.

A Day In The Life....

Of a multi-tasking stay at home mom. To many of you this will feel oddly familiar since you've been there or it's where you're headed. Let me warn you it's a tedious account of my day last friday:

12:15 a.m. I slip into bed early knowing I need to be up at an ungodly time.
4:55 a.m.  Get up, get ready, have coffee, get dressed, put on make up since I know I may not have time later.
5:35 a.m.  Gather computer bag and book. Join husband in car and drive to ambulatory surgery center.
6:00 a.m.  Tell him to go check in, settle in with my stuff for a wait, dig out the insurance card for him.

6:30 a.m.  I remind him why I like to be on time, or a little behind, but never early. Because now we wait.They call him back to pre-op. I get to stay waiting room for now, yippee, so I fire up I-Photo and start editing pictures. There was a time I would have had to oversee everything from which vein they were choosing for the IV to what brand of tape they were using but I’ve decided to wean my family off it’s over reliance on me. 

7:15 a.m. They call me back to sit with him as he waits. I nose around his curtain area, watch his vital beeping, inspect his Normal Saline IV. We begin patient watching, guessing who is having which procedure. Joke with the various staff members who come in.

7:40 a.m. They take him back for his procedure. Why do men look so helpless laying on that cart in the ridiculous hospital gown.
7:41 a.m. Crack open that lap top and get back to some serious editing. I never look up once because I am behind on this task.

8:25 a.m. They call me back to post op. Raymondo is looking goofy, eating Lorna Dune cookies and sipping pineapple juice.
8:35 a.m. The Doctor comes to chat. All results were great and he can wait 5 years to come back. He tells him there is no need for him to be anal anymore. HaHa.

8:45 a.m. The nurse instructs me to pull the car around back. I get sidelined on the way by an awesome display of Revo sunglasses. If the Stiletto Mom is a shoe whore, I am a sunglass whore. Bet you didn’t know that about me. They can wait right? I shop around the optometry department a few minutes, then remember my mission. I promise the ladies I’ll be back because the retail outlets haven’t been carrying much if any Revo’s.

8:56 a.m. Drive around to ramp, out they come with Raymondo. We are on our way home and I don’t fool around. Non of this poking around driving. He feels great, wants to stop for
breakfast. Sorry, I got stuff to do. Just because you are giddy now doesn’t mean your normal. They told you no driving or making decisions for 24 hours.

9:05 a.m. Home again home again jiggity jig. Order Raymondo upstairs. No conference call until 4 pm or you’ll make a fool out of your self.
9:20 a.m. Take up a bagel, chicken noodle soup and lemonade to Raymondo who is upstairs in bed giggling.
9:30 a.m. Get girls stuff ready for the day. Make them a chore list. Throw a load of laundry in.
9:33 a.m. On computer, finish documents needed for a sweet young couple brave enough to buy a house in Michigan.
10:00 a.m. Freshen up make up, curl hair, brush teeth, pack bag with computer and papers I need, let Big Black Bastard out to go potty.
10:15 a.m Wake up girls, give instructions. Check on Raymondo, sleeping like a baby.
10:45 a.m. Leave house, stop and get gas for car which is on empty. Second tank this week after picking up #4 child from camp yesterday.Text kids in Chicago that their dad’s tests
went fine.
10:50 a.m. On my way to meeting at Starbucks. Talk to my dad in North Carolina.
11:10 a.m. Get settled in Starbucks, order a latte, grab a table and organize papers
11:15 a.m.  Conduct our business. Yes, they are still sure they want to take this plunge after being warned housing is still dropping in value. Everyone’s excited.
11:35 a.m. Drive, heading to office. Stop for car wash.
12:00 p.m. At office, organize and review all numbers, documents and data. Still waiting for last document. Call daughter at home, her dad is still sleeping like a baby.
1:30 p.m. Display my talents with my computer to co-workers, see, this is why you should buy a mac. Look at these graphics.
2:00 p.m. Phone call to listing agent. Fax all the pages to other agency. Head towards home. It’s a beautiful day out.
2:30 p.m. At grocery store. I’m starting to drag, I’m tired. Maybe I won’t have to go back out.

3:00 p.m. At home, salivating over the thought of a chilled glass of Pinot Grigio
3:35 p.m. In car against my will, taking daughter to friends house. She agrees not to call me to ask if she can spend the night, friends mother will drive her home.

3:50 p.m. In kitchen, tidying up. Get email from listing agency, missing documents for offer. Sh**!
4:15 p.m. Recreate documents again, send another email, spend 30 minutes syncing scan option back up on computer.

4:45 p.m. Glass of white wine is feeling fine. Start cooking dinner. Why am I having such a hard time focusing?

4:49 p.m. Meet mother of girl spending the night with child #6, she looks familiar. Repeat her name to myself 3 times so I can remember it. Text son back in Chicago. At least we have
a witty exchange, some anal humor at Raymondo’s expense.

5:15 p.m. Another email, phone call, I am tired. Tell girls to keep the noise down while Raymondo is on a conference call, he’s back in the saddle.

5:35 p.m. Back to finishing dinner. Call girls in to get washed up and set the table. They seem like nice girls, no picky eaters or special requests. Push touch up on clothes dryer.
6:05 p.m. Almost ready to eat. Get the laundry out of dryer before it is wrinkled beyond recognition.

6:40 p.m. Done eating, girls split outside after rinsing off their plates, cleaning up kitchen. Trash out, sweep up of all the minutia Big Black Bastard (120 pound dog with paws that
double as swiffers) has drug in from outside. I can’t stand the feeling of grit beneath my bare feet.

7:40 p.m. Phone call with couple buying house. Admire kitten the girls bring in a crate but convince them it can’t live here. I’s cute, but I hate cats.
8:00 p.m. Working on computer. Phone call with daughter in Chicago. She had a great day at work today. We make plans for vacation in 10 days.

8:40 p.m. Listen to Raymondo effusively enjoy watching “So You Think You Can Dance” finals. He says the same thing every time he sees this show.Make sure he’s rehydrating
himself with water. No you can’t have wine until these drugs are out of your system.
8:50 p.m. Get Raymondo ice cream with hot fudge on top. Announce that I am officially done catering to Raymondo for the day, he’s milked this thing for all it was worth.
9:30 p.m. Fold another load of laundry while looking for something on tv. Spray girls down with bug spray so they can go back out on the trampoline.
10:00 p.m. Read email and catch up on my blog reading. Raymondo announces he is worn out and going to bed.
10:20 p.m. 17 year old comes home from loafering around all day since it’s her only day off work after coming home from journalism camp. I non-chalantly sniff her, observe her
pupils and demeanor. Results inconclusive since she came home from a bonfire.

11:00 p.m. Supervise sleepover girls making milkshakes and God Bless them they actually clean up the mess before they go back out on the trampoline. I remind them it’s getting getting late and they convince me they can stay out longer since school is closing in on us. I relent.
11:40 p.m. Still reading on computer. 24 year old daughter comes home and fills me in on her Pastry Chef interview in Chicago that she thinks went really well. She staged at the  restaurant on Wednesday. She was really impressed with the place and the head chef, praying for a good job offer.
 

11:50 p.m. Laughing my self silly at some of her peers chatting on facebook. Why are your friends so funny I say. Come on share it with me so she does. Her friend is horrified that she to find out she has shared what they were chatting about with me. Now we invite him over for dinner Sunday to brainstorm a stage name for his fall back career as a male stripper in Windsor. He’s worried he may have failed his written exam for EMT. Everyone knows the Mayor is big on having a plan B.
12:10 a.m. Call the girls in from outside. You must come in, really. I am going to bed! Help them settle their sleeping arrangements. Admonish them to keep it quiet, no more soda, no running up and down the stairs, absolutely NO sneaking outside. I take my Ambien. Continue reading and responding to the blogosphere.

12:30 a.m. I review in my mind what kind of a day I have had. And how it’s not really atypical by all that much. When you don’t have a regular 9-5 job and the time boundaries that are normally erected seem not to exist. There is no end to the expectations I have of myself or that others have of me. I think I better jot this down while I’m in the mood.
12:45 a.m. Open up my writing application and start listing my day. #3 child is back downstairs making a snack. She says why are you still up crazy lady?

1:00 a.m. I’ll finish this tomorrow, I have been up 20 hours now and I’m sure this qualifies as foolishly blogging after Ambien. Go upstairs, beg girls to think about going to sleep. They are at least being quiet. Quickly get ready for bed.

1:10 a.m. Pull the covers up, get my pillow right, close my eyes and silently murmur my bedtime prayer. I can feel sleep clouding over me, turning off my thoughts.

1:12 a.m. Feel a hand caressing my back. Someone whispers, “I feel so much better now, like a new man.” My eyes pop open and I think, are you kidding me??? I murmur and scoot closer to the edge of our king sized bed. He keeps talking, asking questions and I don’t answer. Finally I say Shhhhhhhh! I whisper, very very softly, “if you get me awake now I will most certainly kill you.”