The Rock that Launched a Dozen Ships

Or as one might also title this 

"A Romantic Evening Cruise with Chuck & Brian"

Oddly it seems that we are rapidly approaching the "half-way" point of summer.  (Which I cannot quite believe, looking at the thermostat it seems we're half-way to the thresh-hold of hell.)  Odder still, dear husband and I have yet to enjoy one of last summers favorite activities: The Sunday-Sunset Cruise.  Finally this past weekend, we determine that this is the day.  We start re-arranging the stable to free the boat from it's wintering spot and ready it to head out that evening.

Sounds simple, right?  Not exactly.  You see, every year that darling watercraft seems to collect about 8 years of dead bugs that require the shop vac and a pair of knee boots to properly dispatch.  And while going about this task (still in the garage mind you), yours truly jumps a little too quickly at a "bug back-draft" and was nearly knocked unconscious by the garage door opener.  We'll now call this "Sign #1".  Naturally, once I was done removing the bugs from the boat crevices, I got carried away and vacuumed their little carcasses from the entire garage.  

Then comes washing off a winters worth of sawdust, regular dust, drywall spackling compound, and potting dirt.  I did manage to both avoid a concussion and also scrub the garage floor in the process.  That's what we like to call a double-win!  

Finally, we give the engine a test, fill the garage with enough exhaust fumes to kill any remaining bugs, and hook up the trailer.  We pause a moment to grease the fittings at which time we manage to blow out a fitting hose rated to 45,000 psi (in layman's terms, you should be able to re-route a fire hydrant through that thing).  We'll now call this "Sign #2".  

Eventually we are at the river, launched with no issues, and flying upstream grinning like kids and enjoying our "convertible sports car".  We do some donuts, scare some wildlife, irritate some gypsy farmer-fisherman, and make it nearly to our floating spot where the water is cool and clear and clean (er).  As we approach said location, I think to myself, "We're probably far enough..." Which we'll now call Sign #3.  Instead I say, "Looks pretty shallow..." at which point dear husband slows the boat down to an idle and it proceeds to hit the bottom and ingest rocks into the engine.  Game. Over.

I now know how fun it is to paddle a boat for 6 people with one oar.  It's, well, not.  Naturally, rocks don't generally belong INSIDE an engine and thus the engine is now far more useful as a boat anchor than our actual boat anchor.  So, we call for help.  After being transferred several times, we are told help is on the way.  About a half hour later, the Poolesville, MD Fire and Rescue team arrives.  Chuck and Brian.  They are polite and helpful and radio back that one boat will do nicely and they will take us downstream. 

So we tie the two boats together (which seems slightly odd to me and I'm a grandiose amateur) and down the river we go.  Seven. Miles.  All the while joking about how similar this is to one of those fancy Gondola rides in Venice, they just need a couple of hats and some fancy music.  Now, I've never been to Venice, but I'm pretty sure those fancy Gondola rides don't involve swarms of river bugs that could choke a lawnmower.  

At about the half-way point our cheeky friends with no singing voice are advised by the good folks on the other end of the radio that because they are a Maryland dispatch, they are to take us to the Maryland launch down the river instead of the Virginia launch.  It is lost on them that while they are nearly directly across the river, they are an hours drive apart.  And as the sinking feeling begins to set in we are treated to what it must sound like if you drag a fiberglass boat down a highway with giant rocks in it at 30 miles an hour.  It's going to be a really, really long night.

Not long thereafter, the motor belonging to our good friends Chuck and Brian begins to smell like a gas grill on the Fourth of July and I'm wishing I had a hot dog or some smore's as I'm starting to get pretty hungry.   Much finagling of the lines is done to now tow our little guppy directly behind them.  Did I mention that the engine was overheating?  And cruising just above an idle, the oxygen deprivation from the fumes took very little time to turn me into a complete babbling loon.  As I'm chattering on like a little kid hopped up on sugar who just watched a wookie and an alien ride up together on a dinosaur and ask me the way to Oz, the familiar sound of a helicopter can be heard in the distance.  

Sure enough, the Calvary has arrived.  The local police helicopter has come to provide additional lighting with their giant searchlight by circling around us for the last hour and a half or our little journey.  As if we weren't mortified enough by our unfortunate predicament, there's nothing like a helicopter with a searchlight to make sure the world knows it.

Finally we arrive at the Maryland launch.  We tie up the boat and climb to the shore.  Where there are no less than twenty of the County's Finest with rescue boats as far as the eye can see.  Bass boats, giant inflatable boats you could use for a beach invasion of Delaware, little rowing-style boats with motors as big as my car, and a canoe.  I was a tad disappointed that they didn't have a cabin cruiser or a hovercraft, but still, an impressive display.

Four. Hours. Later. We have been stuck in traffic on 495 (yes, even at midnight on a Sunday that sucker is backed up for miles), helped ourselves past the closed park gate to retrieve our vehicle and trailer, driven the hour back to Maryland, loaded our wounded soldier, driven the hour back home and stowed the thing back in it's garage spot without waking up the dogs or the neighbors.  This morning after sleeping for one hour and 45 minutes and driving dear husband to the airport, I came back home and for grins crawled underneath our little vessel.  

And retrieved this little wonder from the jet drive propeller:

The Rock that Launched a Dozen Ships

(It's going to make a nice paperweight anyway)

The Pros and Prose of a Real Live Christmas Tree

Ok, for those of you who have known where I live at any given holiday season over the last 12 years (I realize this is a moving target) can attest to the fact that I have typically sported a pretty dang snappy little fake tree.  That I can store with the lights on it.  A whopping 6' tall and barely 2' wide it is oh so convenient for storing, moving, and set up.  I bought that tree in 1998 (I kid you not) and hauled it home in the back seat of a 2-door Cutlass.  And for those keeping score at home, it has survived basements, flooding (at least twice), at least 4 dogs, and 14 moves.  And yes, it looks like it needs a cheeseburger.  Part of it's charm.

The love of my life, on the other hand, has never NOT had a real tree.  This being our first Christmas together, he was excited to kick off our fun old-fashioned Christmas by driving out to the country to embrace the frosty majesty of the winter landscape and select that most important of Christmas symbols.  The Christmas Tree.

So, on a sunny, windy, chilly Saturday after Thanksgiving off we went to find our perfect tree.

We arrived at what the Real Tree Fans (or the RTF's) call a Christmas Tree Farm.  It was amazing.  There were at least a zillion trees, half the population of the tri-county area, and many dogs (I was unaware they where helpful in the choosing of a tree).  Anyway, we were thankful that they gave us a map.  We hiked through about 400 acres of heavily wooded forest up hill (both ways) for hours. 

And then we saw it.  Our tree. 

The angels sang, we snapped a couple of photos and began the process of cutting it down and hauling it back down the hill.  And naturally by we, I mean Justin cut it down and hauled it down the hill.  He is my hero after all.  He even had a saw so we didn't have to dig it out by the roots!

Once we had it down the hill, excess needles removed, sent through the Christmas Tree Shrink-Wrapper for transportation purposes, measured, weighed and paid for we headed home with our big green treasure.

Upon arriving home, the fun began.  We bring the tree stand and a tape measure to the living room.  Which is about the time Justin starts laughing.  Apparently when you have a 9' ceiling, you should not have a 9'4" tree.  And we're back to the sawing.  (Thankfully none of the neighbors asked us where we were going to put a tree that size.)  After a good deal of prep work (and sap) we get the tree upstairs to the living room and in the tree stand.

 

Do you think there's room for the angel?  That's going to be tricky.  At any rate, I give you...

Our first Christmas Tree!  Little full... lot of sap. 


Clearly we did potentially underestimate the size of our living room.  The tree is huge.  And then the decorating begins!  I begged to use the old-fashioned big ceramic bulbs on the tree this year.  Justin happily accommodated my request and painstakingly put 960 watts of fantastic lights on the tree (which only took a couple of hours).  And for those keeping score at home, that's 8 strings of lights!

After a full day of fresh air and tree-searching-trimming-lighting we opted to decorate on Day 2 of the weekend.  We combined all of our ornaments, which took about 5 hours to hang.  Added candy canes, tinsel, the partridge, and a squirrel.  Five hours later...

That there is a honey of a tree!

The first year of a Real Live Christmas Tree is a great success!  It really has added to our enjoyment of the holidays :)

Road Testing Rental Cars

Given that my (one of my) dream job descriptions (other than a corporate auditor of Goldman Sachs) would be a writer for Road & Track please indulge me.

It is known that in my present position I find myself traveling a decent bit.  And while traveling I am often at the mercy of Budget Rental for getting me from the airport to my destination over a matter of days.  And most times the good people of Budget do rather well and I have a car that I fit in, my luggage fits in, and still fits in a parking spot.  On my most recent work-related excursion with the help of the rental car desk I had the distinct honor (insert sarcasm here) of spending 3 days with a 2010 Kia Optima LX.  It was black.  And shiny.

Mind you I drive a 2000 Jeep Cherokee.  With 250,000 miles.  She is flirting with "Catastrophic Brake Failure" (or so I'm told) and on occasion she is a cranky old broad.  The Jeep and I have been together for nearly 8 years and it shows.  I know what every sigh, wheeze, and "I'm fine" really means and I have a tab with my mechanic (who is also "on-call" 24/7)

That being said, it's nice once in a while to drive something newer, faster, shiny-er and less dog hairy-er.  

So in a sea of grey 4-door mid-size sedans that appear to be government fleet leftovers, I'm assigned this lovely looking full-size sedan with satellite radio, brand new brakes, and more trunk space than a full-size pickup truck.

Unfortunately this was the end of it's good qualities.  With 175 horsepower and an inline FOUR (yes, four.  You can count the cylinders on one hand!) it accelerates best in a downhill application.  You get 0-60 in about 2 minutes or so (no risk of spilling your beverage).  However as soon as you reach your first 0.04% grade the beast down-shifts, howls, protests, flips you the bird and crests the top (26 feet later) 10 mph slower than where you started at the bottom.  Let me tell you what, the Appalachian mountain foothills were a riot!  I think we got passed by a kid on a scooter, my great aunt in her walker and a pack mule.

Another lovely thing we noticed anytime we managed to break 55 mph was the decided lack of insulation.  Not only was she slow, but Sweet Grandmothers Spatula she was loud!  We were able to identify the aggregate content of every type of pavement we encountered.  When we did encounter a tad bit of gravel it sounded as though we were off-road.  And not "park-on-the-grass-while-tailgating-at-a-home-game-off-road" but "racing-though-the-desert-past-lizards-rally-race-style-off-road".  

While the interior was nicely appointed, the ventilation system lacked what those of us with any common sense would deem "good design".  On a warm day your best shot for some cool air was to drive at night with your head out the window as the vents on the drivers side were blocked by the steering wheel no matter what you did to adjust the wheel, the seat, the vents, or your head.  We contemplated just removing the steering wheel altogether (since the stereo controls were also so touchy every time you turned left you tuned in a live session of congress) we ultimately decided we might have better luck getting home with the darn thing attached.

We also came to the conclusion that this car was not designed for road trips.  Unless you spend your days sitting on aluminum bleachers.  After 90 minutes of sitting we were numb from the waist down.  This could be a low cost alternative to an epidural for any woman in labor, just ride around for a couple of hours and you won't feel a thing!

On the up-side, it had great brakes.  Compared to a 2000 Jeep with 250,000 miles on it on the verge of "Catastrophic Brake Failure" (or so I'm told).

Overall, the radiator did not explode, the tires did not blow out, and no one stole it.  C-

(Pretty sure the background is moving... this car doesn't go this fast)

Thankful...

Ahhh, Thanksgiving morning.  The dogs let me sleep in a little, it's peaceful, quiet, almost sunny, and lovely.  I whipped up toaster waffles and some "Betcha-Can't-Believe-it's-not-Bacon" for breakfast while streaming a little of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade from Times Square (with no chance of any silly-sappy commentary from Jim Nantz) and sat down with my cup of coffee.  (This is almost the definition of a perfect morning according to my version of Webster.)

Thanksgiving is one of my favorites.  Having a whole day to just be thankful is a real gift.  And the food isn't bad either!  One of my favorite Thanksgiving celebrations was being able to make a dinner for friends one year.  Three turkeys, 11 side dishes, 4 or 5 pies, and 12 pounds of mashed potatoes later it was a terrific day with lots of laughter in the company of some 30-40 terrific people.  Which is the whole point really.  Spend a little time with the people you care about, that's where the magic is.  And be Thankful!  And while Thanksgiving these days seems to require not much more than a pie from my kitchen, it still gives me the opportunity to reflect on how blessed I am.

True to form, I started thinking about what I was thankful for last night while in pie-making-mode for 3 hours.  I'll share with you the short list:  Thankful for the ability to get what I need to make a pie.  Thankful I have a job and people I work with that I enjoy most days.  Thankful that I'm on day 1 of a 4 day weekend with no chance of snow in the forecast.  Thankful that I like to make pie in the first place.  Thankful that I have a kitchen with enough room to contain that kind of mess.  Thankful for the patience and strength it takes to wrestle 2 cups of flour and 2 sticks of butter into a pie crust.  Thankful for the laugh provided by Jake stealing apple peel with the tenacity only found in the certainty that this is some kind of most-amazing and special treat.  Thankful that my dogs beg for fruits and vegetables and leave my "Betcha-Can't-Believe-it's-not-Bacon" alone.  Thankful that when I wake up in the morning I have 4 little eyes and 8 furry legs that are just overjoyed that I'm awake!  Thankful for the friends and family to share a pie with.  Thankful that my brother-in-law likes pie more than anything I could possibly ever purchase at The Sharper Image.  Thankful that when God handed out families I got a two-for-one deal with best friends too.  Thankful for girlfriends to laugh with and cry with and talk with and sit with.  Thankful for new friends and old friends.  Thankful for the joy in each of their lives.  Thankful for the chance to be a friend to each of them.  Thankful that my family is healthy.  Thankful that my friends are healthy.  Thankful that I'm healthy.  Thankful, Thankful, Thankful.  And oh so very Thankful  for you.

Wishing you a Happy Thanksgiving!

May Your Day be Overflowing With Blessings (and Pie)!

Cleaning out the Storage Unit

This is a little "deeper" than I usually dive and if you're not willing to don the scuba I'll understand.

November seems to be a tough month.  The days are shorter, it's dark now before I get home.  It rains more.  It's always feels to me like it's the darkest month of the year.  And it seems so fitting that this November I found myself facing all the crap I'd shoved into a storage unit that I really wanted to forget about and ignore for a while... quite frankly ignore forever thank you very much.

Mind you this is not just your average storage unit, it's the one that we all have a key to where we shove the junk that hurts.  The stuff the bully said on the playground when we were kids, the crappy review from our first employer that we took too personally, the little bits of hurt and pain that we collect over a lifetime.  And every so often we find that we've shoved so much in we can't get the door shut anymore.  (Or every so often some well meaning soul opens the door looking for an extra blanket for the guest room.)

Then we find ourselves taking stock of what we're holding on to and determine if we should pack it away or just let it go.

Well, my time to purge showed up in November.  It started coming on as a general funk, I've been on edge for weeks (grumpy, a little overly sensitive and overly judgmental, generally uncomfortable and more reserved than usual), and showed up with tri colored post-it notes labeled "KEEP, STORE, and TOSS" after hearing a message on relationships that hit so close to home that had it been a grenade I'd be living in a refrigerator box under a bridge tonight.

I then proceeded to purchase a book that came highly recommended by a good friend.  I read it and came to the following:

"...pain has a way of clipping our wings and keeping us from being able to fly.  And if it's left unresolved for very long, you can almost forget that you were ever created to fly in the first place."

And in that moment it all came rushing back.  All the "you are so stupid, you'll never learn", the "you're ruining my life", "you deserve to be alone", all the way to "this is all your fault" with all the horrible cuts and the horrible fear and the horrible guilt that came along for the ride.  I sat there and heard them all ring through my mind, watched my hands fall into my lap, and I wept.  And I knew in that moment that it was time.

For so long I'd held on to my last little bit of well-packed and sorted emotional collateral damage.  (Sure I had a little baggage left but it was at least a matching set and ridiculously durable.)  I'd stuffed it somewhere -behind several bridesmaid dresses and a pair of "skinny" jeans- in the back of a closet.  With a lock.  And a brick wall.  I'd held onto the belief that all the junk was true.  Held onto the belief that it was my fault.  Held onto the pain. 

There is a part of me that knows a little something about dealing with grief and managing pain.  And I believe that we cope with this in stages.  We are given what we can manage at the time we are able to handle it.  Over the last decade I've dealt with and managed more than I thought I could.  And now the worst bit that had been in the deepest place was being called up.  It was time.

In that moment, those words were the shock to my system I needed.  Over the next 48 hours I realized that over the last several weeks this moment had been orchestrated.  From the month to the book to the message that opened the door.  I made the conscious decision to lay it down and let it go.

What happened was nothing short of a crazy miracle.  As soon as I'd said it, the whole mess was gone, the hurt was gone, and I couldn't for the life of me manage to bring it back.  It's not that the memories are gone, but the shadows that came with the memories are gone.

The point in laying all of this out there is this:  I know there are a lot of people out there with the same storage unit that's a little overly-full at the moment.  The point is not to hold onto it and hide it have it be one more thing you move from place to place as you go through life.  Let yourself be open.  Be ready.  When it's time to lay it down and let it go, jump at the chance.

 And remember that you too were created to fly.

Great Surprises

So, my dad has finally retired.  And in an effort to avoid going completely stir-crazy in the first 10 days, my mother and he planned a trip to come and visit the sunny  south (or more specifically their offspring who live here).  The dates were finalized about 5 days prior to leaving when my brother was getting over his little visit from the H1N1 fairy and I was really looking forward to a quick visit with my parents starting Friday at about 4:30.

Naturally we talked a lot in the week leading up to their visit.  Updates on time-lines, where they're staying, how to get around the rockslide that closed the highway on the way to Tennessee.  Etc.  I even got an update from every state they passed through on the way down here, the flora and fauna from that region, approximate temperature and price of gasoline.  (Needless to say we all think that free mobile-to-mobile is a lifesaver.)

At any rate, after a Friday that felt like a Monday I was really looking forward to a little quality time with my parents.  Staying up late telling stories and enjoying quality Canadian beverages.  And, naturally,  thinking about how great it would be if everyone could be here and reminding myself that it's less than 6 weeks until Christmas (*insert collective gasp here*). 

So I get home a few minutes ahead of their arrival and went out with the dogs.  As I was walking back to the driveway, their car was there.  And as I came around the corner I heard the unmistakable shriek of "KIKI!!!!!" that only comes out of a very specific 4-year old little boy.

Apparently the look of shock was pretty priceless when Charlie launched himself at me like a Labrador.  I was about as speechless as I've ever managed to be (which clearly is a rarity).  Finding out that the whole family was in on it was just the best.  Even Charlie.  Having him inform me that every time "Grammy called I was verwy verwy qwuiet so you would be suprwised Kiki!"  was so fun!

Well anyone who knows me can tell you that I absolutely LOVE a good surprise.  I love surprises like a little kid loves a parade on their Birthday.  Even more than being the recipient of a good surprise I love creating good surprises.  The anticipation turns me into an instant 8-year old complete with the big grin and an infectious case of the giggles.  So for my family to work up getting Charlie to spend waaaaaaaaaay too many hours in a car, listen to him ask "are we there yet" for 14 hours, watch the Scooby-Doo DVD 12 times in a row, and dig raisins out of the back-seat for the next 3 months just to come and surprise me is really REALLY outstanding.

I got 24 hours with my parents and 24 hours of "Kiki, let's play catch.  Kiki, can I sleep next to your bed?  Kiki, I want to sit next to you.  Kiki, I want to ride in your car.  Kiki, let's race down the slide.  Kiki, let's run the bases.  Kiki, these fishsticks are reawlly reawlly good!"

And, the kid taught Jake (my no-patience-extra-determination-with-a-side-of-totally-lacking-self-control) to play fetch.  Talk about surprises!


Well, that's the news from here.  Off to plan the next great one :)

A Whole Lotta Happy - The State Fair Edition

The North Carolina State Fair is to North Carolina what Summer is to Michigan.  Lasts about 10 days with enough junk food to last 10 years, and hundreds of thousands of people who haven't seen the sun in months.

Mind you, my point of reference when it comes to fairs is generally what shows up in a strip mall parking lot on a random summer weekend.  Nothing my mother would ever let me go to no matter how much I begged.  By comparison, the North Carolina State Fair had perpetual sunshine and you could hear angels singing.  It was incredible!

It was suggested that a group of us go on a Digital Scavenger Hunt through the fair.  Look for mullets and poultry, that sort of thing (but not mullets with poultry or poultry with mullets).  So we started at 8 on a Saturday night and in about 90 minutes I witnessed the following:

I saw my first pig race.  Sponsored by Harley-Davidson.  With pigs named for NASCAR drivers.  Although technically I think they were piglets, they looked a little small compared to the huge blue-ribbon winning trash-eaters in the livestock arena.

I have it on very good account that the world's smallest horse is slightly bigger than a border collie, but smaller than a mastiff.  This is first-hand from a very observant 7-year old.  The world's largest snake had it's own tent.  (Which I did not go into.  I crossed on the other side of the street.  I don't do snakes. And we were looking for the world's largest alligator anyway)  As a side-note, thankfully these two exhibits were nowhere near each other.

The food hit all the finer points of "The Joy of Cooking - Redneck Edition":  Chocolate Covered Bacon (Pig Lickens), Cotton Candy, Hushpuppies, Deep Fried PB&J, Deep Fried Oreo's, Deep Fried Mac-n-Cheese, Deep Fried Banana Splits, Deep Fried Pickles, and my personal favorite - Deep Fried Pecan Pie (on a stick), Corn Dogs, Hot Dogs, Hot Fish, Elephant Ears, Pop Corn, Carmel Corn, Kettle Corn, and Roasted Corn on the Cob, Turkey Legs (had to weigh at least 4 pounds apiece), Steak Fries, Steak Bites, and Steak Sandwiches, Sno Kones, and, of course, fresh salad.  With a good breeze you can smell the fair all the way in Harnett County.

The State Fair gaming industry was also impressive.  You can play Bingo, Pin the tail on the donkey, Pin the tail on your grandma, Ring toss, Ping Pong ball toss, kid toss, and lunch toss (after the chocolate covered bacon eating).  People will guess your weight, birthday, name, favorite color and even your quest.  And the prizes for these mind-bending challenges?  Stuffed animals of every size, color, species, and genre.  I got hit in the head by a blow-up baseball bat and hit in the knees by a Star Wars Light Sabre (filled with glitter).  You can also win a set of screwdrivers (all the same size) with glow in the dark handles, a hula skirt, a confederate flag blanket for the bench seat of your pickup, an inflatable spiderman, or a basketball that is 36" in diameter. 

And the rides!  Oh, the rides.  The kind that roll in on the back of a 37 year old pick-up truck, assembled by a chain smoker in 45 minutes and operated by someone who hasn't slept in about 3 days.  There are ferris wheels (multiple), the same Himalayan and Twister that I rode as a kid, rides that will spin you around whip you upside down and make you wish you had skipped the deep fried ho-ho's (that soon become re-fried uh-oh's).

There was every animal you could ever hope to find on a farm.  Rabbits, chickens, geese, horses, cows, pigs, baby turkeys, ducklings, goats, goats, and more goats, sheep, llamas, baby donkeys, and a couple of camels.  Yeah, I know, camels.

And a demolition derby, magic show, tractor pull, RV parking, bike show, clowns, and MAGICAL POODLES!

So take that parking-lot-strip-mall carnival!  (And don't worry mom, I stayed off the rides & away from strangers!)

(Deep Fried Pie on a Stick - yum)