It's official. We're headed South at the beginning of May. Well, South-er. To the Lowcountry, the glorious Lowcountry. Andrew accepted an engineering job at WaterMissions International where he will lend his hand and heart in saving thousands of lives annually by providing potable water to many of our great globe's poorest of poor and to those in the midst of disaster. I am so. incredibly. proud. I couldn't be prouder.
This weekend we made like Elmer Fudd and went "hunting wabbit", so to speak, only our wabbit has a door and four walls and a 12 month lease. We were quite successful, if I do say so myself, and ended our huntin' day with a sizable catch: a little brick row house in the Old Village. We are so excited! We can walk to the Pitt Street bridge, ride our bikes to Sullivan's Island, brunch at the Village Bakery...ah. I can't wait!
It's a funny thing, going home. Although I will be moving back to my hometown, my mind understands that it really will never be the home of my childhood, even if my heart is still lagging behind a bit. Because when you get dropped off at college, it doesn't really register that it's the end. The end of childhood, the end of things being as they once were. The end of free and easy as you know it. And it's a good thing. It really is. Children are supposed to grow up and become independent, mature adults. They are supposed to move out, get married, move away, and start families of their own. But sometimes, I wish I could close my eyes and go back. Back to Christmas morning with just the five of us and Muffin, too. Back to the sound of the clanging triangle signaling time to come home. Back to pizza toast and grape Kool-aid and a treat before choir practice. Back to Cove Creek and Red Eye, Manhunt, Dodgeball and Red Rover. Just for a second.
But. [And there is always a but.] I know that I can't. I can only reminisce and thank the Lord for my parents and siblings and what a fantastic childhood I had. I am in love with the man of my mother's prayers and thank goodness and praise the Lord he agreed to marry me. I went to an amazing university (Go Tigers!) and fulfilled my 14 year-old dream of becoming a nurse. I don't want to go back, because if I did, I would be missing all of this. The goodness of what is happening right now at this time, in this moment in my life. And it is good, so good. And who knows what comes next?! Only God knows, ain't that the Truth. So here's to the future--the exciting, scary, delicious, romantic, rocky, hilarious, hectic, wonderful, adventurous, unknown future--here's to it.
Here's to a brick-front townhouse off of Center Street, a new job, another season of life. Breathe in, breathe out, say a thankful prayer and move forward.
Showing posts with label Weekend trips. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Weekend trips. Show all posts
4.10.2011
2.27.2011
Spring, come on down!
I know I have previously confessed to you my fatal flaw of willing the next season to hurry up and get here...well, let me just sheepishly raise my hand and mutter, "guuuiiiiiilty", because Spring has sprung, whether or not it's reflected in the calendar date or the weatherman's forecast. Spring officially begins March 20th. But who wants to wait for twenty.more.days? Not I, said the fly.
For some reason, with every first bloom of the Bradford Pear trees, I am compelled to paint my finger and toe nails a bright, sunny shade of something deliciously girly and happy. This year it's the old cheeky standby, Cajun Shrimp. My good man.
Of course, I have more selfish reasons to encourage the coming of Spring--only eight more weeks-ish of driving back and forth, back and forth. I am ready to be a full time wife again. I miss my hubby every day that I'm not with him. It's time to reunite for good. Period. End of story. Thanksverymuch. Take a bow. The End. Fin. I can hardly believe that we have been doing this for six months already. Time flies when you're on the highway two days a week. (That's not how the saying goes, but...still. Time flies.)
How'd we do it?? Well my first answer is I HAVE NO IDEA. But upon ruminatin' a little more, I would say, 1. iChat, 2. Free Audiobooks app on our iPod, 3. Prayer and compromise. (Number three's a two-fer, but four is just an awkward number for a list, don't y'all think?) iChat kept us sane--seeing someone while you're talking with them makes a huge difference. Free Audiobooks have improved my vocabulary and my education instead of allowing me to follow my compulsion to mash "scan" over and over again until I know the song on the radio. And prayer and compromise...well you can probably guess that being apart the majority of the time is tough cookies. Like old leather tough. You get selfish with your time--and when I say you, Reader, I mean I. All of those, and knowing it's not forever has helped me keep my head on straight. As opposed to it spinning off into orbit. We've come close, but--so far-- still attached.
Anyway, Happy Early Spring to you and yours. Regardless of the calendar, my attitude is of Springtime, my heart says it is so. So it must be. :)
For some reason, with every first bloom of the Bradford Pear trees, I am compelled to paint my finger and toe nails a bright, sunny shade of something deliciously girly and happy. This year it's the old cheeky standby, Cajun Shrimp. My good man.
Of course, I have more selfish reasons to encourage the coming of Spring--only eight more weeks-ish of driving back and forth, back and forth. I am ready to be a full time wife again. I miss my hubby every day that I'm not with him. It's time to reunite for good. Period. End of story. Thanksverymuch. Take a bow. The End. Fin. I can hardly believe that we have been doing this for six months already. Time flies when you're on the highway two days a week. (That's not how the saying goes, but...still. Time flies.)
How'd we do it?? Well my first answer is I HAVE NO IDEA. But upon ruminatin' a little more, I would say, 1. iChat, 2. Free Audiobooks app on our iPod, 3. Prayer and compromise. (Number three's a two-fer, but four is just an awkward number for a list, don't y'all think?) iChat kept us sane--seeing someone while you're talking with them makes a huge difference. Free Audiobooks have improved my vocabulary and my education instead of allowing me to follow my compulsion to mash "scan" over and over again until I know the song on the radio. And prayer and compromise...well you can probably guess that being apart the majority of the time is tough cookies. Like old leather tough. You get selfish with your time--and when I say you, Reader, I mean I. All of those, and knowing it's not forever has helped me keep my head on straight. As opposed to it spinning off into orbit. We've come close, but--so far-- still attached.
Anyway, Happy Early Spring to you and yours. Regardless of the calendar, my attitude is of Springtime, my heart says it is so. So it must be. :)
12.27.2010
Numbers One Through Ten
Feeling sad that Christmas is over? Here's a few things to 'chin up' about:
1. The brother and sister down the street zooming around on their brand new gender specific pink and blue motorized razor scooters. And the fact that, while they will come inside sweaty and stinky, they have actually burned no calories at all, only gasoline.
2. Gift cards!
3. The infinite supply of gum in my stocking(s).
4. New Year's is just around the corner. Bubbly, hoppin' john, collards, and a brand new start!
5. It snowed in Charleston. For the second time. In one winter.
6. Reminiscing about our well planned but poorly executed "igloo" in Hendersonville that I'm sure any Eskimo worth her salt would giggle at.
7. On the flip side of the ghastly and depressing task of un-decorating for Christmas, is the delight of simplifying your surroundings for January.
8. The two Hallmark driven "holidays" between now and Easter keister: Valentine's Day, and St. Patrick's Day. One's about love, the other's about the love of the Irish. And about how everyone you know claims a liddle bit o' brogue they can't disguise.
9. America.
10. On January 1, the countdown begins again. Merry, merry!
1. The brother and sister down the street zooming around on their brand new gender specific pink and blue motorized razor scooters. And the fact that, while they will come inside sweaty and stinky, they have actually burned no calories at all, only gasoline.
2. Gift cards!
3. The infinite supply of gum in my stocking(s).
4. New Year's is just around the corner. Bubbly, hoppin' john, collards, and a brand new start!
5. It snowed in Charleston. For the second time. In one winter.
6. Reminiscing about our well planned but poorly executed "igloo" in Hendersonville that I'm sure any Eskimo worth her salt would giggle at.
7. On the flip side of the ghastly and depressing task of un-decorating for Christmas, is the delight of simplifying your surroundings for January.
8. The two Hallmark driven "holidays" between now and Easter keister: Valentine's Day, and St. Patrick's Day. One's about love, the other's about the love of the Irish. And about how everyone you know claims a liddle bit o' brogue they can't disguise.
9. America.
10. On January 1, the countdown begins again. Merry, merry!
11.08.2010
I didn't have to pee in the woods. But I would have if it came down to it.
My life is straight-up bananas right now. So sorry if my lack of blogging has messed up your morning routine. But I'm not going to tell you a sob story about how busy I am. 'Cuz I don't have time for that.
So. Andrew and I both grew up camping every summer and sometimes fall. Ironically enough, my family went from the beach to the mountains, just minutes from Andrew's parents' house and Andrew's family went from the mountains to the beach, a few hours north of my parents' house. We probably passed each other on the highway. Good thing we didn't meet back then though. I was pretty squirrely. Like I'm not now. Right.
Anyway, Andrew and I decided to take our first fledgling camper steps as newlyweds last weekend, at a state park only a half hour from our apartment. We kept it simple--tent, stove, sleeping bags--got everything in the car and headed out Friday afternoon to spend the night in the woods. (Which has always been kind of been an enigma to me. But whatever.)
We got to the campground just as the sun was setting--we tried and tried to get there before dark, but Ranger Rick and his Girlscout assistant gave us a site that already had someone in it so we had to go back to their little hut and switch sites. We ended up pitching our tent and starting the fire during the wee twilight hours of the evening. (This has nothing to do with vampires, for those of you who's hearts just skipped a beat).
We decided to be super low maintenance in the grub department: hot dogs, baked beans, and s'mores for dinner and coffee and biscuits on a stick for breakfast, granola bars while we were ABSOLUTELY DYING for our biscuits to get done. Easy peasy lemon squeesy. I can't say much for the nutritional value of these meals, but who counts calories while they're camping? You look like a swamp creature anyway, (remember you forsook your nice warm bed to sleep on a leaky air mattress in the middle of the woods that happens to be less than two miles from the highway. And BONUS, it's frickin' freezing Mr. Bigglesworth.), so who cares if you feel a bit squidgy around the middle, too. Right? Right. I love camping.
I know what you must be asking yourself: what on earth is a biscuit on a stick??? Well, Reader, they are only the most delightful, if just a hair troublesome, camping breakfast foodstuff that will ever cross your lips in the pale blush hours of the morning.
What you need:
Biscuits
Sticks
Fire
Critical Thinking Skills
Our first solo camping trip was a great success--we enjoyed ourselves immensely and might even do it again sometime. Heh, heh. Although if I had to choose camping or Christmas, I'd choose Christmas.
So. Andrew and I both grew up camping every summer and sometimes fall. Ironically enough, my family went from the beach to the mountains, just minutes from Andrew's parents' house and Andrew's family went from the mountains to the beach, a few hours north of my parents' house. We probably passed each other on the highway. Good thing we didn't meet back then though. I was pretty squirrely. Like I'm not now. Right.
Anyway, Andrew and I decided to take our first fledgling camper steps as newlyweds last weekend, at a state park only a half hour from our apartment. We kept it simple--tent, stove, sleeping bags--got everything in the car and headed out Friday afternoon to spend the night in the woods. (Which has always been kind of been an enigma to me. But whatever.)
 |
| Plastic bins always get the job done. |
 |
| I built the fire, Andrew pitched the tent. Contraptions are not my thing. |
I know what you must be asking yourself: what on earth is a biscuit on a stick??? Well, Reader, they are only the most delightful, if just a hair troublesome, camping breakfast foodstuff that will ever cross your lips in the pale blush hours of the morning.
What you need:
Biscuits
Sticks
Fire
Critical Thinking Skills
 |
| Acute hunger makes men do crazy things. |
 |
| YUM! |
 |
| We filled ours with grape jelly, but you could use honey, butter, strawberry jam, chocolate...oh, the possibilities! |
Speaking of Christmas!...I started decorating this weekend. I KNOW! My obsession is out of control. But I just love it. Pictures will follow forthwith!
10.10.2010
Hearth & H o m e
Staring down the barrel of the monthiversary of my auspicious employment, I will say it has flown by. As well as, dragged on. Lord, help us get through this year. But not just get through it. To savor it. Because as I have learned the Lesson of who I Am, somewhere between the Holy City and the City on a Hill, I will [am] learn[ing] where, exactly, my Home is. And one thing is for sure, for real: home is not a place, a house, an apartment, a city, or state. It's a feeling. It's an easy breath. A place of belonging. Peace. Comfort. Restfulness. Security. Trust. And I only know One place like that.
Today, the tenth of October. Sunday night. The fuzzy place between weekend and workweek. Laundry is done, scrubs are ready. I still need a fabulous picture of Andrew and me for my locker. I'm thinking towards all of the humdrum and all of the excitement this week holds. Which is how it should be. We're not quite ready to digitally reveal our newest home [little "h"] but here's a sneak peak at the front door:
Potential. Other than the "lead paint" clause in the contract, it's nearly perfect. ;) That is to say, it has character. I'm heading up on Wednesday to push full-steam ahead and try to "finish" it by the time I leave for work next week, so hopefully, we'll have pictures to post sometime in the near future. And by "we" I mean me. It's an illusion of my own design that Andrew has anything to do whatsoever with this blog. Other than, of course, he is many times the subject matter. Bless him. And as far as the Big Reveal goes, this isn't Extreme Makeover--it's our same ol' stuff in a new-to-us place. So while you're holding your breath, I won't hold it against you if you cheat and breathe through your nose a little bit.
Today, the tenth of October. Sunday night. The fuzzy place between weekend and workweek. Laundry is done, scrubs are ready. I still need a fabulous picture of Andrew and me for my locker. I'm thinking towards all of the humdrum and all of the excitement this week holds. Which is how it should be. We're not quite ready to digitally reveal our newest home [little "h"] but here's a sneak peak at the front door:
9.27.2010
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...
Except this ain't Paris.
I don't believe in the mountaintop--valley undulation of life. I believe that there are always good things and hard things happening in a person's life at the same time. There are always things to be thankful for. And things to pray fervently for. Things to cry about. Things to laugh about. The principal drivers of this concept, however, are perspective and disposition. You can always look at the bright side, denying that any wrong ever overtook you. Or you can be Debbie Downer and latch on to the negative aspects of any situation and deem your scenario doomed from the start. I hope to be neither, but with God's grace and wisdom, praise Him for the blessings and ask for strength and perseverance during trials and tribulations. Yes, Lord and Amen.
Of course. Here I am, two weeks in to my new job and nomadic lifestyle, missing my husband and my old, "comfortable" life terribly. I understand now, why God was so frustrated with the Israelites for wanting to go back to Egypt. They had forgotten all that He had done and all of the promises He fulfilled. Yes, three days after witnessing the miraculous parting of the Red Sea, having nothing to drink, they looked at each other in dismay and said, "What shall we drink???" I think God may have said something along the lines of, "what the...?"
Two weekends ago, (which seems like an eternity!), Andrew and I packed up our apartment and moved 15 minutes up the road to good ol' Chapel Hill. Sounds simple, right? WRONG. It's amazing how much CRAPOLA one can accumulate in a year. All occasion cards and seasonal decorations. Bills and coupons. Office supplies and camping gear. Not to mention furniture. Oy vey! It was just the two of us and because of my schedule we had basically 36 workable hours to get everything packed, moved, and unpacked to a livable state. Friday night, Saturday day and evening, Sunday morning and early afternoon. It was hellacious. There's no other word. We were both tired to begin with and we just didn't realize how much stuff we had. Plus, since we hadn't seen each other in a week we really just wanted to relax and hang out. And I had a bad attitude. Whoops? Sorry, Andrew. Anyway, we did get everything done, just in the nick of time. We even got our monstrous couch in the narrow front door by removing the screen door, the front door, the couch legs, and pushing and pulling like freakin' lumberjacks with one of those big ol' toothy saws! YEAH! A big ol' toothy saw! Ahem. We got the couch in without [really] damaging anything. Much.
So, we moved from here to there, from hither to thither. When I get off of work on Thursday, I will be going home to hopefully put our little bungalow to rights, so that we have a comfy, cozy, albeit teensy-weensy, apartment to call casita. Pray for us.
In other news, Brad and Cory got hitched this weekend in a beautiful, God-filled ceremony in Hendersonville, NC.
Yay for weddings and yay for marriage! Cowabunga, dudes. I gotta go to sleep.
I don't believe in the mountaintop--valley undulation of life. I believe that there are always good things and hard things happening in a person's life at the same time. There are always things to be thankful for. And things to pray fervently for. Things to cry about. Things to laugh about. The principal drivers of this concept, however, are perspective and disposition. You can always look at the bright side, denying that any wrong ever overtook you. Or you can be Debbie Downer and latch on to the negative aspects of any situation and deem your scenario doomed from the start. I hope to be neither, but with God's grace and wisdom, praise Him for the blessings and ask for strength and perseverance during trials and tribulations. Yes, Lord and Amen.
Of course. Here I am, two weeks in to my new job and nomadic lifestyle, missing my husband and my old, "comfortable" life terribly. I understand now, why God was so frustrated with the Israelites for wanting to go back to Egypt. They had forgotten all that He had done and all of the promises He fulfilled. Yes, three days after witnessing the miraculous parting of the Red Sea, having nothing to drink, they looked at each other in dismay and said, "What shall we drink???" I think God may have said something along the lines of, "what the...?"
Two weekends ago, (which seems like an eternity!), Andrew and I packed up our apartment and moved 15 minutes up the road to good ol' Chapel Hill. Sounds simple, right? WRONG. It's amazing how much CRAPOLA one can accumulate in a year. All occasion cards and seasonal decorations. Bills and coupons. Office supplies and camping gear. Not to mention furniture. Oy vey! It was just the two of us and because of my schedule we had basically 36 workable hours to get everything packed, moved, and unpacked to a livable state. Friday night, Saturday day and evening, Sunday morning and early afternoon. It was hellacious. There's no other word. We were both tired to begin with and we just didn't realize how much stuff we had. Plus, since we hadn't seen each other in a week we really just wanted to relax and hang out. And I had a bad attitude. Whoops? Sorry, Andrew. Anyway, we did get everything done, just in the nick of time. We even got our monstrous couch in the narrow front door by removing the screen door, the front door, the couch legs, and pushing and pulling like freakin' lumberjacks with one of those big ol' toothy saws! YEAH! A big ol' toothy saw! Ahem. We got the couch in without [really] damaging anything. Much.
 |
| The chaos. PS, Thanks, Ulta, for all the boxes. And a great summer. |
In other news, Brad and Cory got hitched this weekend in a beautiful, God-filled ceremony in Hendersonville, NC.
 |
| The newly minted Coopers! |
9.08.2010
Labor Day is an opposite day, cuz no one goes to work.
Except me. I had to work on Labor Day. At the ungodly hour of six am, so in light of that sitch, Andrew and I celebrated our holiday on Sunday. We went to the Eno River State Park and frolicked around the historical sights and had a picnic on the riverbank. And wished we had a puppy. Nonetheless, we still had a fun time in the perfectly temperate weather learning some history about this place we call home.
We really had a very relaxing time, hanging out, poking around the park, eating our PB&J picnic lunch, tossing the frisbee, and leaving all of our cares behind. :) State Parks are very under appreciated in mi opinion.
Moving on, quite literally. It's starting:
Sadly, not everything we have will fit into our new apartment. Given, we haven't actually tried to fit everything in there yet, however, we're quite sure that the space we're dealing with leaves no room for things that we hardly use, are keeping for sentimental reasons, or can't use yet because we don't live in a house, etc. So, we're going through everything, (and by "we" I mean me), and either getting rid of stuff for good, or boxing things up to store with the 'rents for the next ten-ish months. And they thought they were done with us and our ubiquitous stuff! Muahahaha! That means books, storage bins, "extra" instruments, extra tables and chairs, my old computer and printer, summer clothes, (sob!), and much more has to be taken to my parent's casa with me this weekend. I don't know if all of that can be crammed into Stella's spacious trunk and backseat, but goshdarnit I will try. She'll just have to suck in when I shut the doors.
Honestly, September is going to fly by and I'm not at all sad about it. It's already the eighth and sometime between now and next weekend I've got to start my job and move all in the same chunk of time. We're trying to get situated before Brad and Cory's wedding weekend, (the 25th), because of our timeline of getting out of here and into there: we have to move sooner rather than later which plants our migration right smack in the middle of my two-ish week orientation at the hospital. SWEET. My logic is as follows: because of the move, the job, the wedding, etc, September will be over before I know it and it will be October and officially FALL, which I can hardly complain about. :)
Thank you for reading the above psychobabble that is tumbling around in my head. Basically, I'm ready to get the show on the road. I've got places to go, people to see, and things to do. And I love Fall.
 |
| Looking over the river. |
 |
| Avoiding poison ivy. |
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| The Old Mill. Put "Old" in front of anything and you can charge people to come see it. |
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| A Mechanical Engineer's dream come true. |
 |
| Happy as a clam! |
Moving on, quite literally. It's starting:
 |
| Rows upon rows of cardboard boxes. |
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| Boxes o' books. |
Honestly, September is going to fly by and I'm not at all sad about it. It's already the eighth and sometime between now and next weekend I've got to start my job and move all in the same chunk of time. We're trying to get situated before Brad and Cory's wedding weekend, (the 25th), because of our timeline of getting out of here and into there: we have to move sooner rather than later which plants our migration right smack in the middle of my two-ish week orientation at the hospital. SWEET. My logic is as follows: because of the move, the job, the wedding, etc, September will be over before I know it and it will be October and officially FALL, which I can hardly complain about. :)
Thank you for reading the above psychobabble that is tumbling around in my head. Basically, I'm ready to get the show on the road. I've got places to go, people to see, and things to do. And I love Fall.
7.28.2010
A few days in Charleston: Episode Three--A "Hair"-brained scheme
Oh, hey Bieber, what's up? Oh, you want a haircut?? OKAY!
Step right up!
Hey, quit stealing all my hair rubber bands.
This one I fondly dubbed, "Friar Tuck/Overjoyed Sumo Wrestler".
And this one is "Rod Stewart".
This one is "I just got out of prison and I ain't never seen a cell phone."
If I hadn't grabbed it from him at just the right time he would have shaved off his eyebrows.
Nearly there!
He's BAAA-ACK!!!
Ah. Thank ya, JESUS. Y'all's prayers must've worked. ;)
7.27.2010
A few days in Charleston: Episode Two--The Pawn Shop
Of course, if I am in Charleston, I'm going to carve out some time to see my ~*gurlies*~, one about to be flung to the far east, and one about to be flung into jewelry design fame. No, seriously. Kelly a.k.a Stinks is going to China to be a missionary. Used to be she might've said you couldn't get me to be a missionary in a foreign land for all the tea in China...and now she just might get to find out exactly how much tea they're talking about. Lauren a.k.a La or Raren is just tapping into the amazing world that is gemology and metalsmithing and is about to take Two Blue Stripes to the next level-like, woah!
And I am lucky enough--no, blessed enough--to call them dear.
Thursday afternoon the three of us convened at Lauren's house, both Kelly and Lauren pleasantly surprised that I was in town, to catch up, ogle Lauren's latest creations, and exclaim that Kelly just purchased her plane ticket to the ends of the earth. It was a glorious reunion, I have to say. It always is.
After an hour or so of chatter, we set out to see if we might find Lauren some "scraps" at a local pawn shop. She'd been dying to go and check it out, but needed reinforcements because, well, it's a pawn shop. Sketchy doesn't really cover it. None of us had ever been into a pawn shop before, and had only envisioned it as a place that burglars frequent to exchange their loot for cash, or that divorcees go to cash in on their dissolved marriages and turn in their rings. But what we didn't imagine was that this pawn shop was a cleverly disguised arsenal with guns of all makes and models lining the walls and glistening behind the fingerprint riddled glass cases. SCARY.
Unfortunately, we left empty handed, astonished at the overpriced junk jewelry but ready to get the heck out of dodge. Good story, huh? Hey, a blogger's got to blog about something, right?
Anyway, we met at Chic-fil-a the next morning to put our Bridge Run Free Chicken Biscuit coupons to good use and then Kelly went to work and Raren and I went to the beach with some peeps. Great day in the mornin'.
If you're totally disillusioned with my story-telling abilities, just wait until Episode Three. There are pictures and they are funny. I'll give you a hint: it's been a long time comin'.
And I am lucky enough--no, blessed enough--to call them dear.
Thursday afternoon the three of us convened at Lauren's house, both Kelly and Lauren pleasantly surprised that I was in town, to catch up, ogle Lauren's latest creations, and exclaim that Kelly just purchased her plane ticket to the ends of the earth. It was a glorious reunion, I have to say. It always is.
After an hour or so of chatter, we set out to see if we might find Lauren some "scraps" at a local pawn shop. She'd been dying to go and check it out, but needed reinforcements because, well, it's a pawn shop. Sketchy doesn't really cover it. None of us had ever been into a pawn shop before, and had only envisioned it as a place that burglars frequent to exchange their loot for cash, or that divorcees go to cash in on their dissolved marriages and turn in their rings. But what we didn't imagine was that this pawn shop was a cleverly disguised arsenal with guns of all makes and models lining the walls and glistening behind the fingerprint riddled glass cases. SCARY.
Unfortunately, we left empty handed, astonished at the overpriced junk jewelry but ready to get the heck out of dodge. Good story, huh? Hey, a blogger's got to blog about something, right?
Anyway, we met at Chic-fil-a the next morning to put our Bridge Run Free Chicken Biscuit coupons to good use and then Kelly went to work and Raren and I went to the beach with some peeps. Great day in the mornin'.
If you're totally disillusioned with my story-telling abilities, just wait until Episode Three. There are pictures and they are funny. I'll give you a hint: it's been a long time comin'.
7.26.2010
A few days in Charleston: Episode One--Liar, liar.
Tuesday evening Andrew and I set out on a mid-week trip to Charleston, one, to spend time with my lovely sister, Jessica, and two, to pull off an epic surprising of my mother who was completely unawares of Jessica's imminent arrival.
First, we fleeced our own mother. We lied. Oh, man we told big fat falsifications and prevarications--by hook or by crook, we lied the whole two weeks before just to make sure Mama was totally in the dark.
Lie #1. Andrew had a meeting with WaterMissions on Wednesday, so we needed to come on Tuesday.
Lie #2. I had to work on Tuesday evening but they were going to let me off early, oh, around eight o'clock.
Lie #3. Jessica wasn't going to be able to come home this summer for lack of funds.
First, we made sure we had a mole planted on the inside to watch Mama's every move. The mole: my father. An ex-Army Seaman, this guy knows his stuff. The stealth factor is unlimited, not to mention his iron emotions when faced with probing questions.
Then we chatted with her, but no too often so as not to cause alarm or suspicion, and nonchalantly planted the "meeting with WMI" seed, noting a noncommittal day and time of the meeting, and reiterating the "we're not sure, but we'll let you know" right down to the last second.
Once we recovered Jessica's flight information via email reconnaissance, we launched Operation No Jessica Left Behind and planned to use my retail job as a cover--a likely story--so that we were unable to get home until around 12:30.
Mama's clock put us getting home late, when in actuality we would arrive at the Charleston International Airport just in time to meet Jessica at midnight, gather her belongings and arrive when Mama expected us. We hmmed and hawwed via text message about the "traffic" and our "arrival time", but in reality, we had left a little after seven, stopped at Chic-fil-a to pick up rations, and were on our way much earlier than expected.
When we walked in the front door, as expected, Mama was a-snoozin' in the bed, but Daddy was posted on lookout by the computer monitoring system he had rigged up using his MacGyver-Army training picked up back in 'Nam. Jessica military crawled it into the dining room as Mama sleepily came down the stairs. Andrew and I hugged and kissed all around and when we were about to head into the kitchen, BOOM! Jessica pounced on Mama like a cat on a mouse! You shoulda seen my mother's face! PRICELESS. Jaw to the floor, bug-eyed, and totally agog. (AGOG--look that one up and put it in your word bank. Cha-ching!)
Ah, sweet success. And that was only the beginning.
First, we fleeced our own mother. We lied. Oh, man we told big fat falsifications and prevarications--by hook or by crook, we lied the whole two weeks before just to make sure Mama was totally in the dark.
Lie #1. Andrew had a meeting with WaterMissions on Wednesday, so we needed to come on Tuesday.
Lie #2. I had to work on Tuesday evening but they were going to let me off early, oh, around eight o'clock.
Lie #3. Jessica wasn't going to be able to come home this summer for lack of funds.
First, we made sure we had a mole planted on the inside to watch Mama's every move. The mole: my father. An ex-Army Seaman, this guy knows his stuff. The stealth factor is unlimited, not to mention his iron emotions when faced with probing questions.
Then we chatted with her, but no too often so as not to cause alarm or suspicion, and nonchalantly planted the "meeting with WMI" seed, noting a noncommittal day and time of the meeting, and reiterating the "we're not sure, but we'll let you know" right down to the last second.
Once we recovered Jessica's flight information via email reconnaissance, we launched Operation No Jessica Left Behind and planned to use my retail job as a cover--a likely story--so that we were unable to get home until around 12:30.
Mama's clock put us getting home late, when in actuality we would arrive at the Charleston International Airport just in time to meet Jessica at midnight, gather her belongings and arrive when Mama expected us. We hmmed and hawwed via text message about the "traffic" and our "arrival time", but in reality, we had left a little after seven, stopped at Chic-fil-a to pick up rations, and were on our way much earlier than expected.
When we walked in the front door, as expected, Mama was a-snoozin' in the bed, but Daddy was posted on lookout by the computer monitoring system he had rigged up using his MacGyver-Army training picked up back in 'Nam. Jessica military crawled it into the dining room as Mama sleepily came down the stairs. Andrew and I hugged and kissed all around and when we were about to head into the kitchen, BOOM! Jessica pounced on Mama like a cat on a mouse! You shoulda seen my mother's face! PRICELESS. Jaw to the floor, bug-eyed, and totally agog. (AGOG--look that one up and put it in your word bank. Cha-ching!)
Ah, sweet success. And that was only the beginning.
6.27.2010
There's a snake in my boot!
Just saw Toy Story tres with my lovely amiga Abby. If you're wondering why I'm inserting occasional palabras de espanol, you'll just have to see the movie to find out. It was quite precious, actually. Aside from the little girl behind us asking if every character was sad in almost every scene, and the infant crisis down in front, it was quite a care-free and enjoyable movie-going experience. I highly recommend it.
Now. If my allergies would just take a chill pill, I might be able to tell you about the beach. There's just nothing quite like a span of two or three days of soaking up the salt air and the sound of the crashing waves. As much as the beach comes with it's own innate set of unpleasantries, (you know, the sweating, the repetitious sunblock application, the sand in the crotch of your bathing suit that is amazingly on the inside of the lining), it really is one of God's greatest masterpieces. Andrew and I drove down on Sunday morning and met the whole clan at the campground--everything was in it's place, the "mamas" had each site laid out to be most organized and user-friendly, but to also provide the most community fostering atmosphere--the "git-the-sand-off-ya" showers were rigged up, and the shared mini fridge was stocked with waters, juice, and just about anything else cold and wet. The sun was shining bright and the only thing between us and the edge of America was a quick costume change. The next handful of days were filled with games, (Corn-Hole, Sequence, Cranium, and Fishbowl, to name a few), laying out, playing in the water (or cooling off), going out to eat, hangin' around the campsite, cheering on the Tigers, and an assortment of brownies to tempt even the most disciplined of dieters. It was quite the vacation.
On this week's docket, there's laundry, grocery shopping, work, sleep, and sweating off the brownies. Oh, and I almost killed my plants again while we were away. Leave it to me to abandon my garden on the hottest span of four days this summer. I'm still willing them to live.
In other news, next weekend is the Fourth of July!!! My second favorite holiday next to CHRISTMAS, of course. I don't know, there's just something about America that just makes me smile from the bottom of my heart. There's a part of America that's trademarked by tiny flag pens on expensive lapels, million dollar campaigns, I'll-scratch-your-back-you-scratch-mine and then there's a part that's more jorts than Jaguars, more "count on me" than count my votes, more nose to the grindstone than nose in the air--that's the part I'll sing about with my hand over my heart. God bless America, land that I love.
And with that, I leave you this.
Now. If my allergies would just take a chill pill, I might be able to tell you about the beach. There's just nothing quite like a span of two or three days of soaking up the salt air and the sound of the crashing waves. As much as the beach comes with it's own innate set of unpleasantries, (you know, the sweating, the repetitious sunblock application, the sand in the crotch of your bathing suit that is amazingly on the inside of the lining), it really is one of God's greatest masterpieces. Andrew and I drove down on Sunday morning and met the whole clan at the campground--everything was in it's place, the "mamas" had each site laid out to be most organized and user-friendly, but to also provide the most community fostering atmosphere--the "git-the-sand-off-ya" showers were rigged up, and the shared mini fridge was stocked with waters, juice, and just about anything else cold and wet. The sun was shining bright and the only thing between us and the edge of America was a quick costume change. The next handful of days were filled with games, (Corn-Hole, Sequence, Cranium, and Fishbowl, to name a few), laying out, playing in the water (or cooling off), going out to eat, hangin' around the campsite, cheering on the Tigers, and an assortment of brownies to tempt even the most disciplined of dieters. It was quite the vacation.
On this week's docket, there's laundry, grocery shopping, work, sleep, and sweating off the brownies. Oh, and I almost killed my plants again while we were away. Leave it to me to abandon my garden on the hottest span of four days this summer. I'm still willing them to live.
In other news, next weekend is the Fourth of July!!! My second favorite holiday next to CHRISTMAS, of course. I don't know, there's just something about America that just makes me smile from the bottom of my heart. There's a part of America that's trademarked by tiny flag pens on expensive lapels, million dollar campaigns, I'll-scratch-your-back-you-scratch-mine and then there's a part that's more jorts than Jaguars, more "count on me" than count my votes, more nose to the grindstone than nose in the air--that's the part I'll sing about with my hand over my heart. God bless America, land that I love.
And with that, I leave you this.
6.19.2010
The Saturday Morning Post: take 2
Andrew is finally HOME!!! Oh, you didn't know he was gone? That's because I didn't tell you. Want to make sure and keep the creeps out. Anyway, he's HOME HOME HOME from Ecuador--and I spent what was probably the longest week of my life alone here in good ol' 'baccy country. Except my mama came for a few days. But other than that I was alone. Destitute. Heart-broken. And not even a puppy dog to keep me company. Okay, okay. It wasn't that bad. But it was.
ANYWAY. While mama mia was here we went to see two movies: Killers (LAME), and Letters to Juliet (CUTESY).
See 'em if you wanna. Your life would still be complete if you skipped them, but if you're at a loss and don't really feel like seeing Splice or some other freaky-deaky dutch sci-fi movie, then go right ahead and purchase your ticket with your semi-current college ID. (I mean, you still feel like a college kid, right? right.) And Andrew and I watched Nine (THEATER/MUSICAL) last night.
Depends on who you are/what you like, but I thought it was good. Lots of chicks in underwear/bustiers, which I didn't quite understand--in all honesty, Chicago and Moulin Rouge were way better, but I will say that Daniel Day-Lewis (Last of the Mohicans, There Will Be Blood) is a great actor. And he is in Nine. His character's name is Guido Contini. And they sing about a million songs with his name in it. It gets in your head.
ANYWAY. We're going to the beach tomorrow! Yippee! A whole three days of oceanside delights. I am making this to take with us. Don't be jealous. I'll have to take 64 walks every day to counteract the calories in this thing. But that's ok. It's vacation. Vacation is code for "pig-out". Which is a hilarious saying.
ANYWAY. When Andrew got home from Ecuador, I made the most American dinner I could think of: hamburgers, corn on the cob, fruit salad, and brownies. Martha has an excellent "recipe" for grilling corn and it goes a little something like this: submerge ears of corn in husks in cold water for one hour. Grill in husks for 20 minutes, let cool, remove husks and silk, and serve with salt and pepper and butter. And floss. (I added the floss part. I think it's a necessary addition). It's delish. Last night I also made raspberry sorbet, (also from Martha). It's super duper easy and a great summertime dessert! All you need is a food processor, 12 oz bag of frozen raspberries (or three cups fresh berries, frozen), 1/4 cup sugar, 1/4 cup water; and 1/2 cup whipping cream and another tablespoon of sugar. To make your sorbet, pulse frozen fruit in processor until just chopped, stir water and sugar together in a bowl until sugar is dissolved, then pour into processor. Puree until you've got an ice-cream-like consistency, then transfer to airtight container and freeze for 30 minutes. When 30 minutes is up, whip your 1/2c cream and tablespoon of sugar until stiff peaks form. Serve in cute, summery glasses! YUM! drop a few blueberries on top and you've got yourself a 4th of July dessert that's sure to be a crowd pleaser. God bless America. I would add a picture of the sorbet--it's so pretty!-- but I don't have one and I can't find one online. All I know is that it's in the July issue of MS Living. Check-ch-check-check-check-ch-check it out.
ANYWAY. Now, I've got to go climb Mt. Kilimanlaundry so we can pack, head 'em up and move 'em out. And by the way, only 188 days until CHRISTMAS!!!
ANYWAY. While mama mia was here we went to see two movies: Killers (LAME), and Letters to Juliet (CUTESY).
See 'em if you wanna. Your life would still be complete if you skipped them, but if you're at a loss and don't really feel like seeing Splice or some other freaky-deaky dutch sci-fi movie, then go right ahead and purchase your ticket with your semi-current college ID. (I mean, you still feel like a college kid, right? right.) And Andrew and I watched Nine (THEATER/MUSICAL) last night.
Depends on who you are/what you like, but I thought it was good. Lots of chicks in underwear/bustiers, which I didn't quite understand--in all honesty, Chicago and Moulin Rouge were way better, but I will say that Daniel Day-Lewis (Last of the Mohicans, There Will Be Blood) is a great actor. And he is in Nine. His character's name is Guido Contini. And they sing about a million songs with his name in it. It gets in your head.
ANYWAY. We're going to the beach tomorrow! Yippee! A whole three days of oceanside delights. I am making this to take with us. Don't be jealous. I'll have to take 64 walks every day to counteract the calories in this thing. But that's ok. It's vacation. Vacation is code for "pig-out". Which is a hilarious saying.
ANYWAY. When Andrew got home from Ecuador, I made the most American dinner I could think of: hamburgers, corn on the cob, fruit salad, and brownies. Martha has an excellent "recipe" for grilling corn and it goes a little something like this: submerge ears of corn in husks in cold water for one hour. Grill in husks for 20 minutes, let cool, remove husks and silk, and serve with salt and pepper and butter. And floss. (I added the floss part. I think it's a necessary addition). It's delish. Last night I also made raspberry sorbet, (also from Martha). It's super duper easy and a great summertime dessert! All you need is a food processor, 12 oz bag of frozen raspberries (or three cups fresh berries, frozen), 1/4 cup sugar, 1/4 cup water; and 1/2 cup whipping cream and another tablespoon of sugar. To make your sorbet, pulse frozen fruit in processor until just chopped, stir water and sugar together in a bowl until sugar is dissolved, then pour into processor. Puree until you've got an ice-cream-like consistency, then transfer to airtight container and freeze for 30 minutes. When 30 minutes is up, whip your 1/2c cream and tablespoon of sugar until stiff peaks form. Serve in cute, summery glasses! YUM! drop a few blueberries on top and you've got yourself a 4th of July dessert that's sure to be a crowd pleaser. God bless America. I would add a picture of the sorbet--it's so pretty!-- but I don't have one and I can't find one online. All I know is that it's in the July issue of MS Living. Check-ch-check-check-check-ch-check it out.
ANYWAY. Now, I've got to go climb Mt. Kilimanlaundry so we can pack, head 'em up and move 'em out. And by the way, only 188 days until CHRISTMAS!!!
6.11.2010
Shake, shake, shake, shake-uh-shake it!
I should take a shower. But I'd rather blog. I've had about 87 cups of cranberry juice this afternoon, so I'm really hopped up on the Q. Or hyped up on the Q. (What is Q, by the way? I hope it's nothing bad...) Either way, I'm pretty sure my urinary tract is in tip-top shape. My glomerular filtration rate must be off the charts. I mean, but still good. Moving on to another drink, however. Anyone ever heard of a Queen's Park Swizzle? Anyone know what a swizzle is? Yeah, it's not a dance move or something a rapper uses to cleverly rhyme with words he made up and then trademarked to go on to make millions and influence thousands of unsuspecting young children. It's not. I didn't know what a swizzle was either until a few weeks ago when I went home to see my brother, Noah, who had flown in to visit my parents for a few days down in the Chuck. By definition, a swizzle is "any of the various tall, frothy mixed drinks made usually of rum and lime juice and sugar shaken with ice" or "a tall, traditionally rum based cocktail filled with crushed ice. A stirring rod or swizzle stick is quickly rotated between the palm of the hands to form a frost on the glass." Now, I'm no lush, but... it's AWESOME.
Granted, we were working in less than perfect conditions with less than all of the proper tools, but we made do. Noah taught me how to make a Queen's Park Swizzle and a Bourbon Smash. Annnnd boy did we make some super sippers. They dance on the tongue and sing in the belly. I'm talking about my fav, though. The QP swizzle. I'm no NYC bartender, but through my research I've discovered that a perfect Queen's Park Swizzle would be in a Collin's glass, (tall and skinny, like me. Not.), with true Demerara sugar syrup or "sugar in the raw"--not the white stuff you plop in your tea--a nice 8 year rum, (like a nice sea bass), fresh squeezed lime juice, fresh mint leaves, real crushed ice, (think Sonic ice), and a few dashes of Angostura bitters. {Bitters is "a distillation of aromatic herbs, barks, roots, and plants, steeped in alcohol." It's approximately 45% alcohol, so not something you want to drink outright, but just used in small amounts to add flavor to a drink or food. Much like vanilla extract. Angostura is made from roots. And some other stuff. It's good, don't worry.}
So. First things first. Equipment: tins, jigger, muddler, swizzle stick, Collin's glass or the next best thing, straw. Ingredients: crushed ice, lime juice, mint, Demerara syrup, 8 year rum, Angostura bitters, magic. Numero uno, you have to make your syrup. Two parts sugar to one part water, and depending on how many people you're planning on serving, adjust accordingly. Stick that puppy on a stove top and give it a good stir until all the sugar has dissolved and you've got, well, syrup. It keeps in the fridge, so don't be afraid of making too much.
Next, yank a bunch of mint leaves off your stalk, wash them well and shake off the excess water. Drop 'em in the bottom of your tins, (you know, the shaker thingy). Measure 3/4 oz of your Demerara syrup in your jigger (excuse me?) and pour it in. Don't worry if all of it doesn't go in. You'll be pouring in lime juice next so it will get the rest of it out. Now. This step is very important. At this point all you've got is mint leaves and syrup in the bottom of your tins. You need to muddle the mint leaves so as to bring out the peppermint oils and infuse the syrup with the flavor of the mint. I said muddle not crush into oblivion. So. Take your muddler and gently, but firmly, press down on the mint leaves. There. Now you've done it. Next, measure 3/4 oz of lime juice in your jigger (say what?) and pour that into the tins. See? Got all the leftover syrup. Then measure 2 oz of rum in your jigger (who dat?) and pour that sucker in. Now, close up your tins and shake the ever-living life out of that thing. You should feel it in your triceps. If you don't break a sweat, you're not doing it right. You're basically trying to incorporate everything into one delicious, inseparable liquid--like pouring two cylinders of sand into a box during a wedding ceremony. Except not. So, then, you grab your Collin's glass with your swizzle stick at the ready, pour in the drink from the tins, making sure to get all that delicious mint out, fill that glass up a little over halfway with ice, stick your swizzle stick down in the ice (pardon me?) and quickly rotate it between the heels of your hands until a frost forms on the outside of the glass. Once you're there, now you've REALLY done it. Add more ice to the top of the drink, three or four dashes of Angostura bitters, a sprig of mint and a sexy black straw and you are good to go. Seems complicated? Do it a few times and you'll be taking orders in no time. Or getting mentioned in the New York Times. Ahem, Noah, ahem.
Here's mine. Disclaimer: this was probably the second one I've ever made, it was not in the proper receptacle, and the straws were more like Coca-cola-in-a-glass-bottle straws instead of swanky-NYC-bar straws. Oh. freakin'. well. It was still delicious.
Granted, we were working in less than perfect conditions with less than all of the proper tools, but we made do. Noah taught me how to make a Queen's Park Swizzle and a Bourbon Smash. Annnnd boy did we make some super sippers. They dance on the tongue and sing in the belly. I'm talking about my fav, though. The QP swizzle. I'm no NYC bartender, but through my research I've discovered that a perfect Queen's Park Swizzle would be in a Collin's glass, (tall and skinny, like me. Not.), with true Demerara sugar syrup or "sugar in the raw"--not the white stuff you plop in your tea--a nice 8 year rum, (like a nice sea bass), fresh squeezed lime juice, fresh mint leaves, real crushed ice, (think Sonic ice), and a few dashes of Angostura bitters. {Bitters is "a distillation of aromatic herbs, barks, roots, and plants, steeped in alcohol." It's approximately 45% alcohol, so not something you want to drink outright, but just used in small amounts to add flavor to a drink or food. Much like vanilla extract. Angostura is made from roots. And some other stuff. It's good, don't worry.}
So. First things first. Equipment: tins, jigger, muddler, swizzle stick, Collin's glass or the next best thing, straw. Ingredients: crushed ice, lime juice, mint, Demerara syrup, 8 year rum, Angostura bitters, magic. Numero uno, you have to make your syrup. Two parts sugar to one part water, and depending on how many people you're planning on serving, adjust accordingly. Stick that puppy on a stove top and give it a good stir until all the sugar has dissolved and you've got, well, syrup. It keeps in the fridge, so don't be afraid of making too much.
Next, yank a bunch of mint leaves off your stalk, wash them well and shake off the excess water. Drop 'em in the bottom of your tins, (you know, the shaker thingy). Measure 3/4 oz of your Demerara syrup in your jigger (excuse me?) and pour it in. Don't worry if all of it doesn't go in. You'll be pouring in lime juice next so it will get the rest of it out. Now. This step is very important. At this point all you've got is mint leaves and syrup in the bottom of your tins. You need to muddle the mint leaves so as to bring out the peppermint oils and infuse the syrup with the flavor of the mint. I said muddle not crush into oblivion. So. Take your muddler and gently, but firmly, press down on the mint leaves. There. Now you've done it. Next, measure 3/4 oz of lime juice in your jigger (say what?) and pour that into the tins. See? Got all the leftover syrup. Then measure 2 oz of rum in your jigger (who dat?) and pour that sucker in. Now, close up your tins and shake the ever-living life out of that thing. You should feel it in your triceps. If you don't break a sweat, you're not doing it right. You're basically trying to incorporate everything into one delicious, inseparable liquid--like pouring two cylinders of sand into a box during a wedding ceremony. Except not. So, then, you grab your Collin's glass with your swizzle stick at the ready, pour in the drink from the tins, making sure to get all that delicious mint out, fill that glass up a little over halfway with ice, stick your swizzle stick down in the ice (pardon me?) and quickly rotate it between the heels of your hands until a frost forms on the outside of the glass. Once you're there, now you've REALLY done it. Add more ice to the top of the drink, three or four dashes of Angostura bitters, a sprig of mint and a sexy black straw and you are good to go. Seems complicated? Do it a few times and you'll be taking orders in no time. Or getting mentioned in the New York Times. Ahem, Noah, ahem.
Here's mine. Disclaimer: this was probably the second one I've ever made, it was not in the proper receptacle, and the straws were more like Coca-cola-in-a-glass-bottle straws instead of swanky-NYC-bar straws. Oh. freakin'. well. It was still delicious.
6.09.2010
As SK would say, "YEAR WON!"
As some of you might've noticed, whether in pictures or in person, my dear husband's hair is getting rather long. As in Huckleberry Finn/Tom Sawyer long. As in Justin Bieber long. As in he desperately wants a certifiable ponytail before his youth has waned and the sun has set on the "it's my steez" excuse long. Why? I assure you I cannot figure that out. I tease him and try to embarrass him into shaving his head, but he will not have it. I think this might be one of those "pick your battle" moments. At least he bathes regularly.
Last weekend, Sunday to be exact, was our ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY! Hip, hip hooray! Whew. And what a year it's been! Many ups and downs, highs and lows, but we wouldn't trade a day.
{Photograph: Brian Tropiano} Here we are, June 6, 2009. What a blessed day. So. In light of our Bob Cratchit finances, we were blessed with some hotel points from Mike and were able to take a mini-vacation for one night to a fancy hotel. In Raleigh. That's right. 30 minutes away. Hey, vacation is a mind-set, people. We had it all figured out: we'd leave straight from church, have lunch, go to the hotel and act like we just arrived in the Florida Keys. It was SO MUCH FUN! And just for the record, when I walk in to a hotel room, I run around into all the areas of the room exclaiming over how great everything is. And then I tamp down the urge to drop everything and jump on the bed. And BONUS, ol' Robert, the concierge, UPGRADED us to a SUITE that went for $500 a night. (Um, thank you Lord?) That's more than 2/3 of what it costs us to rent our apartment for a month. Yowza. Needless to say, we were totally stoked out of our minds.
Sittin' on the couch. Yep, it's a self timer. Documentation is my purpose in life.
The living room area. Soaking up the square footage.
The bathroom was bigger than my kitchen and had his and hers sinks, a huge jacuzzi tub, and a shower with approximately 87 shower heads. And a TV behind the mirror in front of the sinks. Yeah. I know.
The bedroom area--behind me was the balcony to the front of the hotel, and, obviously, the bathroom was connected to the bedroom as well.
The screen behind the mirror. I know it looks weird--but the mirror is in a frame if that helps to see. The picture was faint, (like it was behind a mirror, doiii), but it had great sound and it was easy to change the channels and everything. Snaaazzzyyyy!
I meannnn, you can't go on vacation without snacks.
The view from the balcony to the front of the hotel. Please, do me a favor and scroll up and compare Andrew's wedding hair to his current hair. Pray for me.
I'm a little bit shiny, and a bit winded, but it's probably because I had just finished running around the room and jumping up and down. {Dress: Target; Belt: J.Crew; Necklace: Buckar/my amazing, thoughtful, loving, doting, extravagant husband!}
Right before the rain, walking back to the hotel after dinner and ice cream. Perfection.
Last weekend, Sunday to be exact, was our ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY! Hip, hip hooray! Whew. And what a year it's been! Many ups and downs, highs and lows, but we wouldn't trade a day.
{Photograph: Brian Tropiano} Here we are, June 6, 2009. What a blessed day. So. In light of our Bob Cratchit finances, we were blessed with some hotel points from Mike and were able to take a mini-vacation for one night to a fancy hotel. In Raleigh. That's right. 30 minutes away. Hey, vacation is a mind-set, people. We had it all figured out: we'd leave straight from church, have lunch, go to the hotel and act like we just arrived in the Florida Keys. It was SO MUCH FUN! And just for the record, when I walk in to a hotel room, I run around into all the areas of the room exclaiming over how great everything is. And then I tamp down the urge to drop everything and jump on the bed. And BONUS, ol' Robert, the concierge, UPGRADED us to a SUITE that went for $500 a night. (Um, thank you Lord?) That's more than 2/3 of what it costs us to rent our apartment for a month. Yowza. Needless to say, we were totally stoked out of our minds.
Sittin' on the couch. Yep, it's a self timer. Documentation is my purpose in life.
The living room area. Soaking up the square footage.
The bathroom was bigger than my kitchen and had his and hers sinks, a huge jacuzzi tub, and a shower with approximately 87 shower heads. And a TV behind the mirror in front of the sinks. Yeah. I know.
The bedroom area--behind me was the balcony to the front of the hotel, and, obviously, the bathroom was connected to the bedroom as well.
The screen behind the mirror. I know it looks weird--but the mirror is in a frame if that helps to see. The picture was faint, (like it was behind a mirror, doiii), but it had great sound and it was easy to change the channels and everything. Snaaazzzyyyy!
I meannnn, you can't go on vacation without snacks.
The view from the balcony to the front of the hotel. Please, do me a favor and scroll up and compare Andrew's wedding hair to his current hair. Pray for me.
I'm a little bit shiny, and a bit winded, but it's probably because I had just finished running around the room and jumping up and down. {Dress: Target; Belt: J.Crew; Necklace: Buckar/my amazing, thoughtful, loving, doting, extravagant husband!}
Right before the rain, walking back to the hotel after dinner and ice cream. Perfection.
6.03.2010
Rain "Orr" shine, they tied the knot!
Looorrrdy do. I've got to sit down. The last six days have been a crazy whirlwind. Andrew and I have been to Hendersonville, Clemson, and Charleston--all in the name of fidelity, family, and friendship. The first leg of our trip was to Hendersonville, to crash for the night and to see Zach's new digs, (and what shiny and spacious digs they are), and catch up with old pals that we haven't seen since I-don't-know-when. Andrew and I went our separate ways on Saturday morning--him to Lake Wateree for another friend's nuptials, me to Pendleton for a sweet, sophisticated bridal luncheon with Jamie and Friends. I left with moments to spare and only took one wrong turn, (even though I had the GPS--hey, sometimes you can't really tell where the purple line is. Geez). Still, I had to shimmy out of my shorts and into my skirt on the road, tempting the Fates and testing my flexibility and concentration. I made it in time for mimosas and excited chatter and the powers that be were none the wiser of my tardiness.
Saturday afternoon, sans husband, the Girls 'n' I made our way to the amphitheater at the Botanical Gardens at Clemson, just in time for the first raindrops to splat on the stones and drive us inside to the Madren Center to rehearse for the Big Day. We dined in style at The Galley with friends and family surrounding Jamie and Kent with kind words, encouragement, laughter, and advice. I'm pretty sure anyone with a propensity for tears was boo-hooing, Yours Truly included. I just can't take it when grandfathers, dads, or brothers get choked up, man! And then, of course, Steph with her life altering friendship with Jamie--I was a goner. For sure. It was one for the books. And for a few, one worth a "To-Go" box.
Sunday fun-day was Wedding Day and all the girls convened in the Bridal suite at the Martin Inn, dresses, shoes, and earrings in hand. Oh, and bobby-pins, hairspray, and waterproof mascara, too. It was a morning of finger foods and up-do's, cameras clicking and champagne glasses clinking, peals of laughter and a few crocodile tears, too. A quick change of ceremony venues because of the deluge outside--not without careful consideration--and we were set to see Jamie and Kent get hitched in a few short hours. The ceremony was beautiful--heartfelt and bursting with Truth, reminding us of our purpose, marriage's purpose, and Christ's heart of love for his people. Jamie was absolutely. STUNNING. I'm so serious. I've seen some beautiful brides in my time, but Jamie was just magazine picture perfect! We partied the afternoon away, and saw the freshly minted Orrs off with Clemson orange pompons (yes, I mean "pompons". Look it up.) and glow-sticks lighting their way.
Then. Andrew, Chris, and Jennigray and I began the arduous journey back to Charleston. Jennigray rode with me until Orangeburg and we giggled and chatted until she had to make the switch. The rest of the way home, I had to blast the radio and slap my leg in time to keep myself awake and alert to make it home. I was "le tired", as the French say. Andrew and I made it home safely, a little after one AM, and were greeted by my parents and my Big Brother, Noah, who is a hot-shot bartender in New York City. No, really. He is. We all hung out for the first part of the week until I had to get back yesterday. Noah taught us how to make some yummy cocktails, but more on that later.
Last night as I was driving back to the Triangle, a hurricane whipped up right above Stella and me and dogged us for about 50 miles. It was terrifying, to say the least. To say the most, I could not see but a few feet in front of my car, (there's a reason they call it "blinding rain"), water covered the road, and Lightening reached her bony, spindly fingers into our atmosphere every few minutes, with booming Thunder as her hair-raising side kick. I wanted to pull over and ugly-face cry. But I didn't. I gripped the steering wheel and squinted into the distance, cursing every 18-wheeler that sped by me, totally disregarding Stella's and my fragile state. We made it, though. A bowl of Multi-Grain Cheerios later and I was in bed, a-snoozin' away.
And I will leave you with this...moments before becoming Mrs. Jamie Blackwell Orr!
Saturday afternoon, sans husband, the Girls 'n' I made our way to the amphitheater at the Botanical Gardens at Clemson, just in time for the first raindrops to splat on the stones and drive us inside to the Madren Center to rehearse for the Big Day. We dined in style at The Galley with friends and family surrounding Jamie and Kent with kind words, encouragement, laughter, and advice. I'm pretty sure anyone with a propensity for tears was boo-hooing, Yours Truly included. I just can't take it when grandfathers, dads, or brothers get choked up, man! And then, of course, Steph with her life altering friendship with Jamie--I was a goner. For sure. It was one for the books. And for a few, one worth a "To-Go" box.
Sunday fun-day was Wedding Day and all the girls convened in the Bridal suite at the Martin Inn, dresses, shoes, and earrings in hand. Oh, and bobby-pins, hairspray, and waterproof mascara, too. It was a morning of finger foods and up-do's, cameras clicking and champagne glasses clinking, peals of laughter and a few crocodile tears, too. A quick change of ceremony venues because of the deluge outside--not without careful consideration--and we were set to see Jamie and Kent get hitched in a few short hours. The ceremony was beautiful--heartfelt and bursting with Truth, reminding us of our purpose, marriage's purpose, and Christ's heart of love for his people. Jamie was absolutely. STUNNING. I'm so serious. I've seen some beautiful brides in my time, but Jamie was just magazine picture perfect! We partied the afternoon away, and saw the freshly minted Orrs off with Clemson orange pompons (yes, I mean "pompons". Look it up.) and glow-sticks lighting their way.
Then. Andrew, Chris, and Jennigray and I began the arduous journey back to Charleston. Jennigray rode with me until Orangeburg and we giggled and chatted until she had to make the switch. The rest of the way home, I had to blast the radio and slap my leg in time to keep myself awake and alert to make it home. I was "le tired", as the French say. Andrew and I made it home safely, a little after one AM, and were greeted by my parents and my Big Brother, Noah, who is a hot-shot bartender in New York City. No, really. He is. We all hung out for the first part of the week until I had to get back yesterday. Noah taught us how to make some yummy cocktails, but more on that later.
Last night as I was driving back to the Triangle, a hurricane whipped up right above Stella and me and dogged us for about 50 miles. It was terrifying, to say the least. To say the most, I could not see but a few feet in front of my car, (there's a reason they call it "blinding rain"), water covered the road, and Lightening reached her bony, spindly fingers into our atmosphere every few minutes, with booming Thunder as her hair-raising side kick. I wanted to pull over and ugly-face cry. But I didn't. I gripped the steering wheel and squinted into the distance, cursing every 18-wheeler that sped by me, totally disregarding Stella's and my fragile state. We made it, though. A bowl of Multi-Grain Cheerios later and I was in bed, a-snoozin' away.
And I will leave you with this...moments before becoming Mrs. Jamie Blackwell Orr!
5.25.2010
Cloudy with a chance of [Swedish] meatballs. And a side of rice.
Rain, rain go away little MaryGene wants to go to the pool.
Not quiiiite as catchy as the original, but it shall suffice. What the heeeeeck is up with this weather lately?? Huh? I thought it was "April showers bring May flowers" not "April sunshine gives you a tan too early for wedding season and then storms in May leave you pasty as a Martha Stewart white gourd in October." (Also not as catchy as the original, but it, too, shall suffice.) Good golly, Miss Molly. Geez, Louise.
Firstly, my last post on skin care and lotion and all that jazz?? I felt like it was SUPER LAME when I posted it and y'all generated the most comments I've received, EVER! Six whole comments. Thanks for letting me know I'm not alone. :) Hehe. Now, back to the post at hand.
Last weekend we ventured to Charlotte to meet Mom and Pop Armstrong to pick up Brother Barrett at the airport from his Mediterranean adventures in Greece and Turkey. We also, conveniently, made a stop at Ikea, a haven of Swedish made home goods, and meatballs and egg/shrimp open-faced sandwiches. Weird, Sweden. Weird. How about a couch? No? A meatball, then? Sven, get the meatballs! Their marketing scheme totally worked me over, however, because I left with a throw pillow and three awesomely retro Stacy-Peralta-Zephyr-skateboards-esque juice glasses. (For fiddy-nine cents each!! Heck yes.) I will say, though, that just thinking back on the moola I shelled out for my Pottery Barn throw pillows really irked me when I realized that the pillow from Ikea was going to set me back a whole $12. Seriously. The 20x20 insert at Pottery Barn alone will get you almost three entire pillows at Ikea. My advice?? Buy the 20x20 feather inserts at Ikea (around $6) and then buy your covers at Pottery Barn (if you've found some you love love love and just can't live without them). I AM SO SMART. My IQ must be, like, way up there. ;)
So, like any good blogger would, I read Pioneer Woman's blog almost every day, and last week she posted briefly about a website called freerice.com. And now I am addicted. You know my "I heart words" column (see upper left corner)? Yeah, well if you visit freerice, you'll know why I can't seem to x out until my bowl has at least 100 grains of rice in it. At least. Just try it. You will freak. out. I just went to the site to set up the hyperlink...and I played until I got 1100 grains of rice. YEAH.
This weekend is Kent and Jamie's wedding--Andrew and I are SO excited and can't wait to celebrate and see people we haven't seen in eons. And, of course, to visit our Alma Mater, the place we met and fell in love. Quite fitting to take part in a wedding and visit our old stomping grounds right before our anniversary. It's gonna be a bang up time.
Ta-ta for now!
Not quiiiite as catchy as the original, but it shall suffice. What the heeeeeck is up with this weather lately?? Huh? I thought it was "April showers bring May flowers" not "April sunshine gives you a tan too early for wedding season and then storms in May leave you pasty as a Martha Stewart white gourd in October." (Also not as catchy as the original, but it, too, shall suffice.) Good golly, Miss Molly. Geez, Louise.
Firstly, my last post on skin care and lotion and all that jazz?? I felt like it was SUPER LAME when I posted it and y'all generated the most comments I've received, EVER! Six whole comments. Thanks for letting me know I'm not alone. :) Hehe. Now, back to the post at hand.
Last weekend we ventured to Charlotte to meet Mom and Pop Armstrong to pick up Brother Barrett at the airport from his Mediterranean adventures in Greece and Turkey. We also, conveniently, made a stop at Ikea, a haven of Swedish made home goods, and meatballs and egg/shrimp open-faced sandwiches. Weird, Sweden. Weird. How about a couch? No? A meatball, then? Sven, get the meatballs! Their marketing scheme totally worked me over, however, because I left with a throw pillow and three awesomely retro Stacy-Peralta-Zephyr-skateboards-esque juice glasses. (For fiddy-nine cents each!! Heck yes.) I will say, though, that just thinking back on the moola I shelled out for my Pottery Barn throw pillows really irked me when I realized that the pillow from Ikea was going to set me back a whole $12. Seriously. The 20x20 insert at Pottery Barn alone will get you almost three entire pillows at Ikea. My advice?? Buy the 20x20 feather inserts at Ikea (around $6) and then buy your covers at Pottery Barn (if you've found some you love love love and just can't live without them). I AM SO SMART. My IQ must be, like, way up there. ;)
So, like any good blogger would, I read Pioneer Woman's blog almost every day, and last week she posted briefly about a website called freerice.com. And now I am addicted. You know my "I heart words" column (see upper left corner)? Yeah, well if you visit freerice, you'll know why I can't seem to x out until my bowl has at least 100 grains of rice in it. At least. Just try it. You will freak. out. I just went to the site to set up the hyperlink...and I played until I got 1100 grains of rice. YEAH.
This weekend is Kent and Jamie's wedding--Andrew and I are SO excited and can't wait to celebrate and see people we haven't seen in eons. And, of course, to visit our Alma Mater, the place we met and fell in love. Quite fitting to take part in a wedding and visit our old stomping grounds right before our anniversary. It's gonna be a bang up time.
Ta-ta for now!
5.10.2010
Absence makes the heart grow fonder
So, you're all really fond of me, right? Since I haven't been writing, right? Right? It has been many moons since my last post, and even more moons since I wrote about something worthwhile, methinks. This might just have to be a list post.
1. Let's just get this part over with: I did not get the job that I interviewed for back in March. It's a long story that I won't tell because I'm tired of hearing myself say it. Found that out about 2 1/2 weeks ago. Fun times. But, I did get a part time job that starts tomorrow, (and has nothing to do with medicine), that will give me the chance to get out of the house, put my hands to something, and make a little moola. Me likey moola. After all this, I think I'm going to be one tough broad. Not tough as in chewin' 'baccy and foregoing measures of personal hygiene, but tough as in "onward and upward", "keep on keepin' on", "if it doesn't kill you it makes you stronger". Basically, once I get a "real" job, you should keep your distance. ;)
2. My heart was wrapped in Clover--North Carolina, that is. A few weekends ago we celebrated the upcoming wedding of Jamie and Kent at a little bachelorette soiree involving delicious food, sun, gorgeous lingerie, and lots of laughter. And speaking of weddings, many congratulations to Cory and Brad--engaged at last! Love is in the air, my friends. Or something's in the water.
3. Andrew and I have been tearing up the road in the last week. At least tearing up I-95 and I-40. Like ten times. That's what it seems like. But we spent a great Mother's Day weekend with the Armstrongs in Hendersonville, just hanging out and enjoying each other's company. We drove all over the place, saw the fam, played doubles tennis (or tried), and celebrated the goodness of mothers everywhere.
4. Bless your pea-pickin' heart! My friend Grace and I have signed up for a farm share. But we're sharing it. So, we're doing a farm share share. The fancy name for it is "Community Supported Agriculture", or CSA. Basically, we paid Brinkley Farms a flat amount for a summer/fall share, (but we're splitting it since we don't know exactly how much food it is), and every week we pick up a box of our requested fresh-from-the-farm produce at a drop-off location of our choice! They offer 50 different kinds of vegetables, some fuit, fresh eggs, farm raised pork and beef,(no hormones or other craziness added in to "beef" them up, heh heh), and it comes down to about $15 a week--which we spend that much on produce at the grocery store anyway! Not only are we supporting a local farm, but we're getting fresher food, (thousands of miles fresher), and foregoing all the chemicals and other junk sprayed all over grocery store foods. Sounds like a deal to me! Do yourself--and your community--a favor and do a quick google search of farms that offer a CSA program near you. DO IT. You know you want to.
5. I may or may not have killed my Basil. I left it for four days. It is very shriveled and sad looking. I've watered it three times already today in attempt to revive it. I may have to start CPR and mouth to mouth soon. Things are getting hairy. But I mean really. Am I going to ask my neighbor to come over and water my high maintenance Basil while I'm gone? I don't think so. Suck it up, Basil. No, really. Please suck up all the water I've poured over you in the last few hours. Please? Find the will to liiiiiive!
I'm sure there's more. But I've been out of practice for so long it may take a few posts to limber up, if you will. And I will. Oh, I will.
1. Let's just get this part over with: I did not get the job that I interviewed for back in March. It's a long story that I won't tell because I'm tired of hearing myself say it. Found that out about 2 1/2 weeks ago. Fun times. But, I did get a part time job that starts tomorrow, (and has nothing to do with medicine), that will give me the chance to get out of the house, put my hands to something, and make a little moola. Me likey moola. After all this, I think I'm going to be one tough broad. Not tough as in chewin' 'baccy and foregoing measures of personal hygiene, but tough as in "onward and upward", "keep on keepin' on", "if it doesn't kill you it makes you stronger". Basically, once I get a "real" job, you should keep your distance. ;)
2. My heart was wrapped in Clover--North Carolina, that is. A few weekends ago we celebrated the upcoming wedding of Jamie and Kent at a little bachelorette soiree involving delicious food, sun, gorgeous lingerie, and lots of laughter. And speaking of weddings, many congratulations to Cory and Brad--engaged at last! Love is in the air, my friends. Or something's in the water.
3. Andrew and I have been tearing up the road in the last week. At least tearing up I-95 and I-40. Like ten times. That's what it seems like. But we spent a great Mother's Day weekend with the Armstrongs in Hendersonville, just hanging out and enjoying each other's company. We drove all over the place, saw the fam, played doubles tennis (or tried), and celebrated the goodness of mothers everywhere.
4. Bless your pea-pickin' heart! My friend Grace and I have signed up for a farm share. But we're sharing it. So, we're doing a farm share share. The fancy name for it is "Community Supported Agriculture", or CSA. Basically, we paid Brinkley Farms a flat amount for a summer/fall share, (but we're splitting it since we don't know exactly how much food it is), and every week we pick up a box of our requested fresh-from-the-farm produce at a drop-off location of our choice! They offer 50 different kinds of vegetables, some fuit, fresh eggs, farm raised pork and beef,(no hormones or other craziness added in to "beef" them up, heh heh), and it comes down to about $15 a week--which we spend that much on produce at the grocery store anyway! Not only are we supporting a local farm, but we're getting fresher food, (thousands of miles fresher), and foregoing all the chemicals and other junk sprayed all over grocery store foods. Sounds like a deal to me! Do yourself--and your community--a favor and do a quick google search of farms that offer a CSA program near you. DO IT. You know you want to.
5. I may or may not have killed my Basil. I left it for four days. It is very shriveled and sad looking. I've watered it three times already today in attempt to revive it. I may have to start CPR and mouth to mouth soon. Things are getting hairy. But I mean really. Am I going to ask my neighbor to come over and water my high maintenance Basil while I'm gone? I don't think so. Suck it up, Basil. No, really. Please suck up all the water I've poured over you in the last few hours. Please? Find the will to liiiiiive!
I'm sure there's more. But I've been out of practice for so long it may take a few posts to limber up, if you will. And I will. Oh, I will.
4.30.2010
I ain't dead, just busy.
A Haiku.
Shopping at the mall
Panties for the Bride to Be
Party all night long
I'll let you guess what my weekend plans are. ;) (Bow-chicka-wow-wow!)
Shopping at the mall
Panties for the Bride to Be
Party all night long
I'll let you guess what my weekend plans are. ;) (Bow-chicka-wow-wow!)
4.05.2010
Look it up in your Funk & Wagnalls
Apparently, before the days of wikipedia, Funk & Wagnalls used to be a publisher of dictionaries and encyclopedias, with it's last issue going out of print around 1997. But more on that in a minute.
This weekend, Andrew and I headed way down south, where the wisteria drips off the trees like jewels on a royal's necklace. The weather was spectacular--not too hot and not too cold--sunny skies and a slight ocean breeze. Just magical. On Saturday night, my mother whipped up an amazing passover spread, complete with lamb and mint jelly and topped off with blackberry cobbler and creamy vanilla ice cream. Yummm. During our dinner conversation, with our lovely guests Dane and Meghan, my father began a discussion about something that, apparently, was quite incredulous, because we started saying things like, "huh?", "are you sure?", "really??", and he responded with, "yeah! Look it up in your Funk & Wagnalls!" *cricket, cricket*. Except it didn't sound like "Funk and Wagnalls", it sounded like "funkin' wagnalls" which sounded like something else. You can imagine the guffaws and side-splitting laughter that ensued. And I'm pretty sure I'm going to try to use the phrase, "look it up in your Funk & Wagnalls" at least once every day.
Easter morning, we dragged ourselves out of bed to beat the traffic to Boone Hall for St. Andrew's annual Easter celebration. Every one of the 4,000 chairs had a bum in it and there were people standing in the back. The children's tent was packed out. It was an awesome, awesome time of celebration and thanksgiving! I didn't take pictures until after the service, however, because we were busy chit-chatting with people, but I think I still got some good ones!
The celebration tent, nestled between the river and the "cotton field".
The annual, obligatory family phooootoooo! Minus two siblings and a sibling-in-law. We're looking quite natty in our Easter duds, if I do say so m'self. ;)
The flowered cross this year was a leeetle chaotic, (usually you bend the stems or cut them off prior to sticking them in the mesh), but our good friend Todd was in charge of it and his lovely wife, Elizabeth, was home with two sick cutie-patootie kiddos. So, we'll cut him some slack--this year. ;)
Every year, there's myriad carefully selected songs for pre-service music and for the service itself--this year, one of the opening songs was a Hillsong selection called Mighty to Save with the first lines of the chorus declaring Saviour/He can move the mountains/My God is mighty to save/Mighty to save, words borrowed from Matthew 17. As I was belting out this song with the other 4,000+ people in attendance, I got the feeling that Jesus wasn't necessarily talking about geographical feng shui. I think He was talking about people. Who in your life do you perceive as an immovable mountain? Who's heart is so hard that you have an inkling of doubt that even the One who cheated and pummeled death couldn't handle them? Well, he can. He is so mighty that His love and grace can move even the most stalwart of your friends or family to turn to Him and know the He is love. He is truth. And He is yours and mine--and theirs.
Happy Easter, everyone. And may we celebrate every day what Christ has done for us all.
3.12.2010
Here, there, and back again
Whew. I just flew in from Charleston and boy are my arms tired! Seriously though, we drove. Beeecause flying would be a little extreme. Last Thursday I returned to our home sweet home in Durham only to unpack, launder, and repack my clothes to head off to Hendersonville for the weekend. And what a weekend it was! Gorgeous weather, precious family time, and yet another spectacular fitness event. We also filed our taxes, but then, so did you, right? Right. Sunday we made the trek back down to Charleston to visit with my parents and so that my Engineer could meet with the folks at Water Missions International about his summer internship. Yes, that would be South Carolina. Yes, we are in North Carolina. Talk about Engineers Without Borders. I married one.
Anyhoo, something I have been begging my Daddy-o to take on over the last, say, 10 years is mapping out our family's genealogy. And he's finally done it. He started his anthropological investigation about a month ago and since then I have been helping a little bit here and there when I am in town. I know it sounds super dorky, but genealogy is SO FUN! Finding ancestors and branches of your family you didn't even know existed is quite a thrill. And it also opens things up for creative family baby names (*wink wink* ...don't panic--no babies here. Just keeping mental notes)! So far we have an Addelaide, Quinlan, Blair, Asa, Josslyn, Imogene (totally the best), O'Neal, Hines, Whitner...but we also have Lazarus, Abraham Moses, Pheobe Magnus, and other grotesque combo platters. The list goes on and on. It's exciting! And this is only my family--not Andrew's--so obviously our kids will have a whole other section of their tree. Coolio. Everyone should do genealogy. Aside from learning how to spell "genealogy", you learn a lot of things. Hey, I bet we're related, you 'n' me.
So, I haven't really told y'all this, but Andrew and I are doing the 2010 Cooper River Bridge Run this year. I have done it a handful of times before but I will be the first to tell you that I am not a runner. A runner I am not. But apparently, this month, I am. The aforementioned fitness event?? Running around the track and Andrew's high school alma mater, (which in Latin means "nourishing mother". No, we did not jog around Andrew's mom. In case you were confused) . Training, if you will. It's a 10k/6.2 mile race with a half-mile uphill portion, i.e. the bridge. (Hence, the name of the race.) I ran five miles on Saturday around the track in Hendersonville, and then in Charleston from the starting line of the race in front of Moultrie Middle School (word) to the apex of the bridge and back, which is also five miles, more or less. Wanna know which one was harder? Yah. The bridge. Oy vey. And that, plus another mile. When we were on the slant side of the bridge, I seriously thought my heart was going to pop off of it's arteries like a water balloon pops off the spigot when it gets too full. Yowza. I'm still going to do it. Andrew says, I just need to get my head right. Mind over matter. Mmm-hmm. More like gravity needs to take a mini-hiatus while I'm running up the bridge. Anyway, it's in a coupla weeks. I'll let you know how it goes. Chances are, if you're a Clemson Tiger, a Charlestonian, or somewhere in the vicinity of the lowcountry, I might see you there. And if I'm on a stretcher please refrain from pointing and laughing.
In other news, I planted my herb container garden just now and will be filling you in soon! I've got mint, basil, thyme, and rosemary. I just pray that somewhere in my ancestry there was a talented farmer whose "growin'" chromosomes got passed down. Here's hoping!
Anyhoo, something I have been begging my Daddy-o to take on over the last, say, 10 years is mapping out our family's genealogy. And he's finally done it. He started his anthropological investigation about a month ago and since then I have been helping a little bit here and there when I am in town. I know it sounds super dorky, but genealogy is SO FUN! Finding ancestors and branches of your family you didn't even know existed is quite a thrill. And it also opens things up for creative family baby names (*wink wink* ...don't panic--no babies here. Just keeping mental notes)! So far we have an Addelaide, Quinlan, Blair, Asa, Josslyn, Imogene (totally the best), O'Neal, Hines, Whitner...but we also have Lazarus, Abraham Moses, Pheobe Magnus, and other grotesque combo platters. The list goes on and on. It's exciting! And this is only my family--not Andrew's--so obviously our kids will have a whole other section of their tree. Coolio. Everyone should do genealogy. Aside from learning how to spell "genealogy", you learn a lot of things. Hey, I bet we're related, you 'n' me.
So, I haven't really told y'all this, but Andrew and I are doing the 2010 Cooper River Bridge Run this year. I have done it a handful of times before but I will be the first to tell you that I am not a runner. A runner I am not. But apparently, this month, I am. The aforementioned fitness event?? Running around the track and Andrew's high school alma mater, (which in Latin means "nourishing mother". No, we did not jog around Andrew's mom. In case you were confused) . Training, if you will. It's a 10k/6.2 mile race with a half-mile uphill portion, i.e. the bridge. (Hence, the name of the race.) I ran five miles on Saturday around the track in Hendersonville, and then in Charleston from the starting line of the race in front of Moultrie Middle School (word) to the apex of the bridge and back, which is also five miles, more or less. Wanna know which one was harder? Yah. The bridge. Oy vey. And that, plus another mile. When we were on the slant side of the bridge, I seriously thought my heart was going to pop off of it's arteries like a water balloon pops off the spigot when it gets too full. Yowza. I'm still going to do it. Andrew says, I just need to get my head right. Mind over matter. Mmm-hmm. More like gravity needs to take a mini-hiatus while I'm running up the bridge. Anyway, it's in a coupla weeks. I'll let you know how it goes. Chances are, if you're a Clemson Tiger, a Charlestonian, or somewhere in the vicinity of the lowcountry, I might see you there. And if I'm on a stretcher please refrain from pointing and laughing.
In other news, I planted my herb container garden just now and will be filling you in soon! I've got mint, basil, thyme, and rosemary. I just pray that somewhere in my ancestry there was a talented farmer whose "growin'" chromosomes got passed down. Here's hoping!
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