Bird-Spot

The Promise

2011-11-21T12:02:00.004-05:00

November 19, 2011

Dear Grace and Johnny,

I know you both think I talk way too much, so I'm writing you a letter, the kind I used to write to you on a somewhat annual basis, until my life became unmanageable. I've missed writing, and I'm going to do it more regularly. I've found that I'm usually best at expressing my thoughts and feelings through the written word.

For you, Grace, your feelings may come out through singing, dancing, watching Justin Bieber videos 10, 15, 100x a week, asking lots of questions, drawing pictures, and being the silly Grace that you are.

For you, Johnny, you may express your feelings through playing with your friends, skateboarding, playing the drums, drawing, reading.

You both may do all of these things or none of these things, in the days, weeks, months, and years to come. And that's ok. There's no 'right' or 'wrong' way to feel. You're going to see me cry. You've already seen me cry. You may cry. And that's ok. If the crying makes us uncomfortable, we can say, "Have another glass of milk."

We're still going to laugh--a lot. We already have been. We always have, and we always will. We're going to sing and dance and act very, very silly. We're going to have 'home jokes' that are supposed to stay at home, within our family. But, I know some of these jokes and wild adventures we've had together are going to be shared with others. Like, at your school, with your friends and teachers. I know this because you're kids and kids tend to do that kind of stuff. And you already have. It's ok.

We're still going to have family dinners where we go around the table and either play "What was your favorite day?", "Would you rather...", and "Who would you rather dance with?"

We'll still have sleep overs, and I'll take you to Dollar General where you'll each get to pick out your favorite candy.

We'll still have, or should I say, start back up, Saturday morning clothes sort parties, and every little once in awhile, I'll buy you, Johnny, a new pair of shoes, and take you, Grace, to the nearest DQ, for a dipped cone.

I know you miss Daddy. I miss Daddy too. I miss him so very much. But he is still with us in so many ways. I think of Daddy when the owl tells the main character in the story I read to you last night, There's No Such Place as Far Away, "If you want to be with Rae, aren't you already there?" If you want to be with Daddy, aren't you already there?

Daddy died because he was sick. He died because alcoholism is an illness--a family illness. We did not cause it, we couldn't cure it, and we couldn't control it. We can move forward now--with hope. With the hope and help of Al-Anon and Al-Ateen. And with the help and love from all of our family and friends. And most of all, with the promise that God made to me 21 years ago. I was sitting on my bed in my room in Boone. I was 18 years old. I'd always believed in God, but on that day, God sent me a message--a promise. The promise was, and is, quite simple: You are going to be ok. At that time I didn't have any reason to believe that I wouldn't be ok. I understand that promise much better now. God made a promise kind of like I do to you both. And when you're not quite sure if I'm going to keep my promise you often ask me to 'pinky swear,' and I do.

Daddy was on a journey, and I believe he's finally found his way home. His forever home. We are also on a journey--of living, loving, laughing, and growing into the people that God wants us to be.

I am so super-proud of both of you. And I love you so very much--just for being you. I will always love you. And you both will be ok too. I promise.

Love,

Mommy

The Next Right Thing

2011-06-16T15:14:00.004-05:00

I'm sure many of my Facebook friends woke up this morning expecting to see a posted "Victory Dance" video on my page. We did dance this morning and it was recorded. David and the kids are now in charge of if/how/when the video gets posted. I eventually had to turn it over and do the "next right thing."

Last night's 11th hour (literally) "Facebook raise-a-thon" was an experience like no other. I'll never forget it and will be telling the story for years to come. Wow! I couldn't keep up with you all who rallied to my call and cause. Donations were coming in faster than I could keep up with, and they continue to come in. I just checked, and I'm at 109% of my goal! Just, wow.

I needed to sleep last night, and I fell asleep with a smile on my face around 1:00 AM. Some time after that, I heard Grace get up to go to the bathroom. I got out of bed and shared with her the fantastic news! I said, "Grace! I met my goal! I met my goal, and I'm going to Hawaii!!" She squealed, grabbed my waist and gave me the most authentic, genuine hug I've ever received. She told me she was proud of me, and her emotional response was appropriate. She crawled in bed beside me, waiting to fall back asleep and said, "I'm sorry I threw my goggles at you, Mommy." Yesterday afternoon as I was completing tasks on my "next right things" to-do list, the kids were ready for swimming before I was. I needed to finish a before starting b, and the kids just wanted to go swimming already. In a classic mode of poor coping with disappointments, Grace threw her goggles at me hitting me in the face. Perhaps at that point I should have called the whole swim trip off. But, no, I couldn't, because it was going to be the only time left that I'd be able to get any exercise in for me.

The kids and I went, and I tried to balance the kids' unbridled enthusiasm with enforcing rules such as no splashing directly in people's faces, no running, and no dipping feet into the hot tub while I did my four laps. Johnny seems to break all the rules unwittingly, and Grace more than not knows exactly what's she's doing. When the kid swim time had officially ended, I gave them explicit directions about what to do and where to sit while I did four quick laps. Did they stay in their chairs? No. Did Johnny continue to ask me if he could just dip his feet in the hot tub? Yes.

I paused from swimming my laps and responded to a middle-aged man in the hot tub who commented, "Boy, you kids are tough," as Johnny looked at me while dipping his left big toe into the hot tub. "Are they tough, or am I weak?" I asked. Johnny shot back, "You're weak, Mommy!"

"Get back in your chair, now, Johnny. Right now." He did. I finished my laps.

The kids don't understand the issues that grown-ups, their grown-ups, have to contemplate, deal with, solve. They shouldn't have to--they're kids. While I do understand, it's been harder for me over the last few years to stay focused on their grown-ups' issues, or at least this grown-up's issues, like paying the power bill today and making sure the check I wrote for summer school tuition wouldn't bounce.

Today's "next right thing" included an interview at an agency that will possibly be where I am placed as a social-work intern this coming academic year and a board meeting where I am currently employed.

As joyful as I am about the generosity of so many of you who helped me personally as well as a cause much bigger than any of us as individuals, reality still bites sometimes. It's a little hard to do the happy "Victory Dance" once I learned that a friend's father died last night, that my cousin continues to suffer from socially unacceptable diseases, and that the partner of a Team Challenge "Crohnee" (who is going to Kona!) had not raised the funds necessary the last time I checked so is probably not going to go to Kona.

Life is hard, and people close to me are in physical and emotional pain, financial crises, and uncertainty about how to make it all come together to work. I know, because I'm in (some) physical and emotional pain, personal financial crisis and am uncertain about how to make it all come together to work.

What I do know? I don't have to have it all figured out right now, right this red-hot minute! I need to take a deep breath (inhale, exhale), and just do the "next right thing."

And that is to thank everyone reading this who has publicly and/or privately rooted for my family and me in any way during our darkest and most joyful times.

To that, I am again smiling and doing a victory dance in my cluttered little head.

Now, my "next right thing" is to log off, pack up, go pee, and get to work.

Top 10 List From Last Week's Trip to VA

2011-06-08T07:53:00.004-05:00

10. I got the kids disposable cameras and told them that once their pictures were all taken, that was it. Ok? Did they understand? Grace? I told her that meant to take pictures of really interesting things, and not, say, one wall of the condo's living room with the corner of a blank tv-screen. We just got the photos back. What was Grace's first picture? A picture of one wall of the condo's living room with the corner of a blank tv-screen.

9. Kids riding the Metro for the first time. But what did they call it? The "Metronome." Of course.

8. Trying to explain the difference between Washington, DC and Washington state. Repeatedly. (You'd think Nana Kathy woulda grasped the concept the first time) ;)

7. Trying to explain the differences between US Presidents George Washington and the two George Bushes.

6. Telling Johnny to stick with us. Repeatedly. Telling Grace when we were going to get ice cream. Repeatedly.

5. When we finally got to the day's Agenda Item: Get ice cream or frozen treat before getting on the Metro heading back to the condo before the Team Challenge Pasta Party, Grace took one bite of her watermelon shaved ice and said, "I'm finished. When are we getting on the Metronome?"

4. Late-Night back at the condo after the Team Challenge Pasta Party: All hands on deck either helping whip up homemade 'after-run' peppermint sugar scrub, decorating Good Luck signs to put on the doors of my mentees, or cutting strips of orange and blue tissue paper used to decorate the mentees' doors.

3. Getting to the finish line, seeing the sea of orange, and sharing in the after-party glory of finishing a first, seventh, or umpteenth Team Challenge 1/2 Marathon and raising money and awareness for the Crohn's and Colitis Foundation of America. And having Johnny and Grace immediately say, "We're hungry. Where can we get some food?"

2. On the drive back to NC, we decided it was a good idea to pull out the 3rd row of seats so Johnny and Grace could be separated. And after a very fair and deliberate method of figuring out that Johnny would sit in the 'way back' first, Grace chimed in, "No, I want to sit in the way-back first!"

1. Realizing, without an ounce of guilt, that while I got involved with Team Challenge for my daughter (and son), there's a good reason (many, actually) that I'll be traveling to Kona, Hawaii in two weeks without my children.

I Can Pogo, Can You?

2011-04-05T07:32:00.007-05:00

This week is the 5th week of my 16-week 1/2 Marathon Training Program. As excited as I am about raising awareness and money for the Crohn's and Colitis Foundation of America, I am just as excited about my weekly training schedule including calls with my National (and Canadian!) teammates. Every Monday we have a training call covering a specific topic as we build towards crossing the finish line in Kona, Hawaii as best prepared as we can possibly be.

Rule #1 in training for endurance events is proper-fitting shoes. I know that, and I know so much more about myself as a runner now than I did this time a year ago when I was training for the 1/2 Marathon in Boston. Shoes, shoes, shoes! Happy feet! Comfy socks! No nigglies! I've taken all of the information that I've gleaned from this program and have tried to follow all the rules when buying my newest pair of running shoes (that I purchased at Fleet Feet in Raleigh on March 15th). Fleet Feet employees in Raleigh and in Carrboro are informed, thorough and seem to be my partners in helping me find the dream shoes my feet are looking for. We're getting closer, but still no cigar. I've missed the last two 'long runs' these past two weekends due to not wanting to cause any injuries.

Instead, this past Sunday, I swam at the gym, at least keeping the consistency of my weekly cardio routine in tact. And what a beautiful Sunday it was here in Chapel Hill! We had spent most of the day outside, David making stilts and a boomerang out of bamboo, kids jumping on the neighbors' trampoline and fun, normal stuff you do on nice Sunday afternoons.

When I drove home from the gym, all showered and refreshed, I saw my kids and David talking to two men. A closer look revealed that they weren't men, they were neighborhood 'boys' that we hadn't seen in about 2 years!! I've blogged about these tweens before, here, and here, but now they were full-on teens! In High School! The skateboarding gear, bikes, scooters, rollerblades, now new bamboo stilts, and a pogo stick were easily alluring to teenage boys. One of the boys, who happens to excel in speed rollerblading, couldn't get the knack for staying on the pogo stick past 5 or 6 boings. His cousin, though, made it up to 75. The Challenge center of my brain fired up and I blurted, "I bet I could beat your 75." Could I though? I wouldn't have said that if there wasn't a deep-seeded confidence somewhere that thought I could do it. I told them to let me change out of my flip flops and skirt and that the Challenge was on.

While I was changing, however, the pogo-er had increased his PB (personal best) to 258! Rats! Was that what I was supposed to beat? I said, "But I'm only trying to beat 75, right" "Right," the boys agreed. We agreed I'd get a turn or two to get used to the very stiff pogo stick, and when the count was on, it was ON! When I quickly got into my groove, I knew I'd surpass 75, so I kept going, counting each boing in my head and each 10-20 boings out loud until I hit 260! I did it! They couldn't believe it, and I couldn't either. My lungs were burning and I started to cough. I recovered with sufficient powerade, but as I was wrapping the unexpected visit up and giving my kids the 5-minute warning before calling them inside for the evening, Pogo Boi announced that he'd made it to 448. Ah, another challenge. But for another day.

Family Fun

2008-12-30T21:57:00.004-05:00

Giving Thanks

2008-11-29T21:11:00.009-05:00

I'm Not Crazy but My Psychiatrist Is

2008-11-17T20:53:00.005-05:00

So I go into see my psychiatrist today for a "med check." It's my third visit with him since he diagnosed me with ADD on August 20th. Each visit goes a little smoother and I'm able to keep the appointment to 30 minutes as I'm not only feeling better but I'm able to express the symptoms that do linger much more succinctly.

I think this man is a genius. Cocky, yes, but totally astute when it comes to understanding the delicacy of the interactions between the mind and body affecting one's mental and physical health. What sold me on his theory and approach was the way that instead of dismissing my distressing symptoms over the last five years (low-grade depression, extreme fatigue, serious brain fog) as being "all in my head" as I often read other psychiatrists do, he helped fill in the blanks by attributing these unresolved yet treated symptoms as residual effects of undiagnosed and untreated ADD.

The Background

In a nutshell, his theory is that my brain's blueprint at birth included some faulty wiring but it (my brain) was strong enough to compensate with the neurotransmitter detour for 31 years pretty well. Increasingly, year after year, my brain and body had to work harder to compensate for undiagnosed and untreated ADD, but it worked away until it couldn't work that way anymore. Year 2003 came along when my mom died in March and Johnny was born in July. Those two major life events happening within 5 months of one another were basically my bird brain's last straws. That's when the symptoms started.

According to my shrink, the physical and psychological stress that a birth and a death caused me, flipped my natural disease-fighting system (immune system) into fight or flight mode. I fought. My brain couldn't get its neurotransmitters the same way it had for 31 years the detoured way, but it was fighting, so it started looking to other systems in my body, namely my endocrine system. My adrenals became taxed; my estrogen and progesterone became unbalanced; and my thyroid started attacking itself. My body and brain were under attack (undiagnosed ADD, psychological pain of losing my mom, physical stress of having a baby) but couldn't detect a foreign invader (like a virus, bacteria, etc.) to fight. What did it do? It started fighting itself, hence my autoimmune thyroid disease.

Ok, so repeated lab tests have shown that I have an under-functioning thyroid, burned-out, barely functioning (alas, not even detectable) adrenal glands, and whacked out levels of progesterone and estrogen. And I've been treated for the three-legged endocrine monster for over four years. Treated, but ineffectively. Why haven't these treatments worked? Because my ADD hasn't been treated.

At my first visit with my shrink, he validated and indeed connected all of my symptoms over the
last four years to my ADD that he thinks I've had for life. He put me on a treatment regimen for all of the above that I've been following carefully since Aug. He said that if left untreated, the effects ADD on my brain and body would eventually catch up to me and create in me a state of being that no matter how much fight and determination I have, it wouldn't do me any good and I would likely become bed-ridden. This is what he told me. I believed him and I've been doing exactly what he says to do. (And I've been feeling better).

The Funny Part

Today at the end of my appointment, my doc is sitting at his desk with my chart open, reviewing my scripts. He asks me how the Ambien is working. Confused, I tell him I have never taken Ambien. Actually, let me tell you the story this way:

Dr. X: How is the Ambien working for you?

Me: Ambien? I haven't been taking Ambien. Did you prescribe it to me on the first visit?

Dr. X: (Looking at my chart) Yes I did. Did you lose the prescription? I'll write you another one.

Me: (Getting the Prescription) I guess I did lose it. I seriously don't remember you prescribing me Ambien because I haven't really had any trouble sleeping lately. Oh, but "Vitamin Z?" Yeah, that worked really well and I'd like to keep taking that if it's ok.

Dr. X: Vitamin Z? I didn't write a prescription for that, did I?

Me: Yeah, you did. You wrote it on Oct. 23 and I got it filled on Nov. 10. See? It says it right here on the bottle.

Dr. X: I must have called that one in to the pharmacy because I don't have a prescription here.

Me: (confused and feeling a little crazy) Yeah, I definitely remember you giving me a prescription for Vitamin Z because I just got it filled a week ago. It says here on the bottle I have 5 refills left.

Dr. X: (seemingly a tad confused). Hmm. Ok. So in addition to the Ambien, I'm writing you a new prescription for Adderall. The insurance companies are crazy and they don't like to approve medications taken 3x a day but I want you to start taking it 3x a day. I'm going to write it that you should take 1-2 in the morning and 1 in the afternoon, ok?

Me: Ok. So, is it going to be the same overall dosage I've been taking now spread out 3 times a day, or is the 3rd dose actually going to be an additional dose?

Dr. X: It's going to be an additional dose, 5, 5, and 5.

Me: (a little confused as I look at my bottle that's currently filled that says 15 mg taken twice a day). Ok, but I've currently been taking 15 mg twice a day for a total of 30 mg a day.

Dr. X: (very confused, looking at my chart and the scripts he's written over the last several appointments). You have a very strange pharmacy.

Me: Huh? I go to CVS...one in Chapel Hill and one in Morrisville.

Dr. X: Well, apparently, they can't read prescriptions very well. Clearly I've written your scripts for 5 mg at a time, and they've filled it at 15 mg.

Me: Oh, My God! Am I over-dosing on Adderall? And here you were going to up my dosage?? Do you think the people at CVS maybe mis-labeled my prescription and I'm really taking 5 mg per dose even though the bottle says 15 mg? What did you prescribe me earlier at my first visit?

Dr. X: (still looking at my chart): No, CVS didn't label it wrong, they read it wrong.

Both of us at this point clearly confused. What the Hell have I been taking? And is he still going to increase my dosage (which I hope he does) even though he thinks he's only been giving me 10 mg a day and I've been taking 30 mg???

Dr. X: I do have one question though. Is your last name *Littlejon or Cooley?

Me: Littlejon? My last name is Cooley. My maiden name is Lightfoot...(me then looking over his shoulder at "my" chart. And my first name isn't *Susan! It's Sarah!!!

Dr. X: (pauses, then chuckles) That explains it then. I grabbed the wrong chart.

Me: Here's the prescription for Ambien back. I thought for a minute I was going crazy. I was right, you never prescribed Ambien to me.

Dr. X: (fumbling with my correct chart) You're right. I think maybe your doctor needs a little dose of that ADD medication you're taking.

Me: I was thinking the exact same thing. You said it though. (we both laugh). I'm glad I was paying attention. So, for me, 45 mg of Adderall per day is ok?

Dr. X: Yes. We can even go up to 60 mg if we have to. (Sheepishly) Thanks for straightening me out.

Me: No problem. I'll mail you your bill.

Dr. X: Mail me some of your leftover ADD meds while you're at it!

The End.

Moral of this true story: Be an advocate!! Double-check everything! Apply a healthy dose of skepticism to even those you trust the most!!

**And don't call me Susan Littlejon!! (name changed to protect the innocent)

It's all about the toys...

2008-11-05T09:48:00.003-05:00

Last night David didn't get home until about 9:30 PM. I was in charge of getting the kids bathed and put to sleep. I told them both that we would have an "Elections Results" party and eat popcorn and drink juice in the living room and that they could stay up as long as they wanted.

Grace rebelled at this notion and just wanted to go to sleep already. So? I let her. She was fast asleep before 8:00 PM so that left Johnny and me to party. I admit, I was manic-acting all last night from about 8:00 PM until I went to bed around 12:30 AM. A friend on Facebook had commented on Monday that it felt kind of like the day before Christmas, and on Monday I agreed. The difference is, that we didn't wake up on Tuesday with immediate "gifts." We had to wait until the gool ole' polls in California closed to seal the deal.

Anyway, even though I let Johnny camp out in the living room with me eating popcorn, and drinking juice and told him he could stay up as late as he wanted watching the election returns with me, his Kindergarten body crashed a little after 8:30 PM. At this point, we still didn't know who our president was going to be. (We did, but we didn't). So then:

Me: Go ahead and go to sleep. It's kind of like Christmas Eve. When you wake up, you'll have a new president.

Johnny: Yeah, but I wish I would get a toy.

Sarah: I bet there are Obama action figures out there somewhere and even if I can't get one in your grubby little hands tomorrow, I'll see if I can find one.

Johnny: Ok, but I want one of John McCain too.

Quotes

2008-11-02T09:52:00.003-05:00

You know those blank books with fancy covers? I guess they're supposed to be journals? Well I have tons of them around my house and each one is only partially filled. I found one that I got on my birthday in 1992 and all that's written in it are 8 quotes that I wanted to record around that time. I'm posting them here so I can do something else with this "blank book."

July 21, 1992:

"It is awfully easy to be hard-boiled about everything in the daytime, but at night is another thing." ~ Ernest Hemingway, "The Sun Also Rises" (This is my favorite book of all time, btw)

July 23, 1992:

"You're not going to die of a broken heart," Gemini said, "You're too smart for that."

"I don't think it has anything to do with being smart," Michelle said.
~Judy Blume, "Smart Women"

September 12, 1993:

"How may a man in smart
Find matter to rejoice?
How may a woeful heart
Set forth a pleasant voice?"
~Sir Thomas Wyatt, Marvel No More (a poem)

October 12, 1993

"Change is our friend." ~ Bill Clinton, UNC's Bicentennial Day

October 27, 1993

"Death is the mother of beauty." ~ Wallace Stevens

November 2, 1993

"All are but parts of one stupendous whole,
whose body nature is, and God the soul;"
~ Alexander Pope, "An Essay on Man"

November 7, 1993

"A better understanding of our differences permits a better understanding of our commonalities." ~Deborah L. Rhode, "Theoretical Perspectives on Sexual Differences"

November 17, 1993

"Before I know myself seek not to know me." ~ William Shakespeare, line 525, "Venus and Adonis"

The Freaks Come Out at Night

2008-10-31T18:31:00.009-05:00

Good Times, Good Times

2008-10-28T10:21:00.002-05:00

From right to left: Jim Peacock, PhD., me, Tift Merritt, Tift's dad.

The 2008 Raleigh Medal of Arts was a wonderful event and it was worth it even if it means I get a crappy grade on the paper that was due that week.

Before or After?

2008-10-27T21:19:00.006-05:00

For those of you who are not participating in this poll on Facebook, I invite you to play here.

Which do you prefer, before or after? (David did the haircut himself). Oh, and if you're not on Facebook, get on it immediately and friend me. FRIEND ME!

Lurking Variables

2008-10-21T20:41:00.003-05:00

I miss, you, blog. There are so many lurking and confounding variables (see that, research prof? These terms are finally sinking in) that have affected my blogging these days but I will get back to it when I can. The run down:

1. My hero died last Saturday. Knowing her changed my life and also my ability to deal with her death.

2. I DO seem to have ADD; stimulants DO seem to help; I HAVE lost weight (about 10 lbs); 2 of 3 symptoms are better (the brain fog and the fatigue) but the depression and/or anxiety remain.

Also, in exchange for a healthier mind, my body is compromised. I haven't been to yoga in about 3-4 weeks and when I try poses at home, my once strong, now feeble, legs shake. I'm often jittery, very unstable walking down steps, and the ringing in my left ear has gotten worse. When I lie down at night I can actually hear my heartbeat in my left ear. It's strange but other people have it too. Google it. I did.

3. I love my internship and classes in general. I was born to do this kind of work, and I'm enjoying learning how to do it better.

4. Johnny loves learning too and he tells me that every day. I've been volunteering with his class and will help out at their school's Fall Carnival on Friday. Grace is reading at grade level and is having more sophisticated conversations these days.

5. The other day at a "Women of Western Wake" luncheon, one of the recipients gave some advice to working mothers with young children. She suggested finding ways to blend the different roles we occupy as best we can. I'm trying to figure out how to do that, because I believe that's a good idea. I don't think it's meant just literally, like by taking your kids to work, to classes, etc. To me, it means, having a common denominator in all I'm doing and trying to accomplish. My current paying job helps keep food on the table and allows flexibility for me to go on field trips; My classes get me closer to my degree where I can hopefully gainfully earn and have more time with my kids during the week; they're also teaching me how to become effective in practice; my internship is based on helping children and families become healthier overall; this all affects my mothering and my mothering affects all of it. A lot of my current life seems to be compartmentalized...but I'm trying to find ways to make it less so.

I'm trying to keep my eye on the prize for me, my family, and for those I touch. That prize has become clear: balance, a sense of peace, and wellness of body, mind, and spirit.

Concert to Benefit the Place Where I'm Interning

2008-10-14T21:56:00.002-05:00

Hi, all.

I'm doing my first-year social work internship at a dynamic, growing organization called Carolina Outreach, which provides local children and families with a variety of mental health services. The Carolina Outreach Foundation supports the work of CO. This Friday is the 3rd Annual Carolina Outreach Foundation Benefit Concert. I will be "working" at the event while earning field hours doing something I like to do anyway and that is hear new, live music. So, check out the deets below and please come out if you've nothing better to do this Friday.

3rd Annual Benefit for the Carolina Outreach Foundation

Friday, Oct 17th
Broad Street Cafe in Durham
8:30 pm
$10 at the door

Dinner available throughout the evening, with Broad Street Café’s expanded menu: wood-fired pizza, excellent burgers and salads, 15 beers on tap and full bar.

Performers begin at 9:00pm

9:00 - 9:45 The Water Callers (fun, folksy duet with a good local following)
10:00 - 10:45 Adrian Duke Projek (soulful, R&B/Blues, a la Ray Charles)

11:15 - 12:00 Potato Gun Project (Power Pop/Punk) (One of CO's co-directors plays in this band...)

Magician Josh Lozoff throughout

Door Prize Raffle before and between musical sets!!!

==================Carolina Outreach Foundation====================
The Carolina Outreach Foundation is a non-profit organization based in Durham, NC whose mission is to work with children with behavioral, emotional, and mental health disabilities to provide them opportunities for recreation, vocational internships, and academic support.

I really should be studying...

2008-10-06T21:20:00.007-05:00

I'm gonna have to post in short clips. Sorry.

I took the kids to the first-ever Jordan Lake Music Festival on Saturday, an event to raise money to "clean up Jordan Lake." It was a blast at first. We saw a woman singing and playing guitar atop an old-fashioned fire engine and the woman was a gal I went to undergrad with. We'd bumped into each other at a Whole Foods in Raleigh about 9 months ago and did the whole, "Oh my gosh, it's been so long since I've seen you, you haven't changed much, what have you been doing for the last 14 years, we should get together sometime." Sometime was Saturday, and she nodded in recognition as my kids and I waved and clapped.

The festival was great fun and well worth the money, until I lost a bunch of what I had left to spend. It must've fallen out of my pocket while Johnny and I went on this crazy bike ride that was quite tricky until we landed in the open helicopter field.

Yes, I was bummed about losing about $35 dollars, but I was more disturbed by how an employee of the Chatham County Sheriff's Office lectured me repeatedly about how I should carry money in public places like this, ya know, for the future. I should, according to this guy, walk around at things like this with a fanny pack with my belongings securely zipped in, or even a pouch you wear around your neck that you can wear under your shirt instead of in sight. Gee I wonder how I made it this many years without those very helpful tips from this bored Sheriff's Office employee (who knew good and well the only reason I engaged him in conversation was because he had a uniform on and I'd just lost something).

Speaking of Sheriffs, I spent a couple of hours tooling around in downtown Raleigh today hand-delivering tickets for special seating for tomorrow night's Raleigh Medal of Arts Ceremony, hosted by Tift Merritt!!! Lucy Daniels, for whom I work, is one of this year's recipients, and it's going to be an evening full of celebration, arts, and I actually get to attend and don't think there will be much work involved. So anyway I delivered my second to last ticket and was walking back to my car that was parked by a meter that was pre-paid (yay!) on some street I'm not even familiar with. Next thing I know, there is this sea of black and gray pant suits walking my way, led by a short man with a reddish face, flanked by two women he was holding hands with. My mind raced, "Is this some sort of political statement? Some type of protest?" About 4 journalists were taking pictures of the hand-in-hand lollipop gang that were followed by taller, and grayer men in dark suits. I motioned a young photographer over and said, "What's going on?" She said, "It's the Brunswick County Sheriff. He just got sentenced for embezzlement and stuff like that. He's holding hands with his wife and mother."

Never a dull moment.

Updates

2008-09-30T08:57:00.004-05:00

Hello blog readers. I'm sorry I've been neglecting you. For anyone that is still tuning in, here's a quick rundown:
Grace: Loves 1st grade even though her class is "officially" overcrowded. She's rockin with reading and has no problem learning her sight words week to week. Writing and fine motor planning and execution cause her the most trouble. When she can't write or button her pants or pull on a shirt, for example, she reacts and takes it out on others. In the form of pulling Johnny's hair, pinching me, and telling David he makes her want to vomit. Every Friday when the class gets assessed on how well they can read and write that week's "high-frequency" words, Grace's resource teachers (aka special ed teachers) bring a laptop into the classroom and let Grace type out her words. It's been working great.

Johnny: Loves Kindergarten. It helps that his teacher looks a lot like me. Or I look a lot like her. I think she's a couple of years older. He loves learning and we love the kinds of things he's doing at school. He brought home a picture he did in Art class that showed bodies moving and it was an exercise done to introduce the kids to Keith Haring's work. Isn't that great? Johnny beamed when I went to our bookcase and pulled out a book on Keith Haring. It was like, "Wow, my parents are cool."

He's still my cuddly baby, though, who still hasn't gotten his "r's" yet (meaning, he still says, "My favorite centoe at school is the sand centoe.") And he still has dimples on his hands. My baby.

David: Hanging in, kicking ass at work, and really working through some tough things.

Me: I think I'm getting my second life. What I'm about to say deserves an entire blog post so you can understand the reasoning, the science, and the reality behind the fact that I've recently been diagnosed with ADD. In a nutshell, ADD came first. I was born with it and compensated for it for 31 years. In 2003, my body and mind couldn't compensate any more with the physical, emotional, and psychological stress that came with losing my mom and giving birth within a five month period. My adrenal, thyroid, and other systems were forced to take action and now they're depleted. It's all so very fascinating. I have a superb psychiatrist who is providing medication maintenance and I wanted to kiss his feet when he said to me last Thursday that what I've been experiencing is damn real, and that if I don't support my brain and physical systems, I could end up bed-ridden where no amount of my self-determination would do me a bit of good. I'm sticking with this guy.

Work, school, internship, being a mom, a wife, a friend, a sister, a daugther, I'm doing it all. And things are finally looking up.

ZZ Top

2008-09-21T10:19:00.003-05:00

Taken at the ZZ Top concert on September 6. Someday I'll blog about it, someday.

Has it really been 10 years?

2008-09-19T07:00:00.001-05:00

Happy 10th, David!

A Literary Hero Fallen

2008-09-14T17:37:00.006-05:00

I was shocked and sad to read that David Foster Wallace hanged himself on Sept. 12 in his home in California. My feelings, though, don't come from what DFW means to me, but what he means to David. One of the few positive things David's dad passed on to him as a child was a love of books, and from the day I met him, he's always had his nose in one (or two or three). DFW is David's favorite writer, his literary hero, and now not another word will be written by this dazzling talent.

I've never read anything by DFW, and I'm not sure that I ever will, but David was hooked the first time he read some of Wallace's (and Donald Antrim's) work in a fiction edition of the New Yorker several years ago. He laughed out loud for days, and told lots of people about this complex, postmodern, original, and don't forget, funny, writer. David gobbled up Infinite Jest , all with its 1000 plus pages and 100 pages of footnotes, and from then, it seemed, made it a mission to read everything DFW had ever written.

I read about the publishing of DFW's latest collection, Oblivion, even before David did and was thrilled to buy it and give it to him on Christmas Day a few years ago and to see David's genuine surprise and satisfaction with a gift I knew he'd love.

I've read that Wallace's characters are multi-multi-multi-dimensional, zany, incomprehensible, nonsensical and just plain weird. They also lead dark lives full of addiction, suicide, and madness, and one can't help but assume that many of DFW's personal demons came to life for his readers on the page.

Sounds like Wallace was brilliant and that his mind served both as his liberator and captor. Who knows what made him kill himself, but it's scary to digest when it happens to someone who you identify with, whose complex characters you identify with, who you consider a genius with words and thoughts, and who you assumed had it together enough to keep this type of tragedy at bay.

I'm the one who broke the news to David, just hours ago as I read it online. In that first moment of shock and awe, trying to make sense of losing someone who's meant so much to you, David said something that I interpreted as, gosh if that can happen to someone as talented and smart as he was, what's to keep the rest of us with similar personal demons from sharing the same fate? To make us both feel better, I said, "David, don't worry, you're not that smart."

I'm so sorry for your loss, David, I really am.

Ouch!

2008-09-14T09:20:00.002-05:00

Half of us obviously enjoyed this ride down the slide. The other half didn't.

PS: Click on the image to enlarge it so you can appreciate all four facial expressions.

Mothers and Mothering

2008-09-12T21:45:00.004-05:00

Admittedly, this is a rather "lame" blog post b/c it's just a comment that I wrote on someone else's blog, but if you read the post here, what comes below will make more sense.

Fourteen years ago this December my mother wept quietly in the back of the van as my family drove home to NC from KY after attending my mom's mother's funeral. My grandmother lived a long, rich life into her 80's, and I always suspected that the main reason my mom was crying on that long drive was because she (my mom) had recently been diagnosed with non-Hodgkins lymphoma, and her own mother had died without knowing this or being able to help with this.

My mom lost her battle to cancer 5 1/2 years ago, the day before my 31st birthday, while I was 5 months pregnant with my second child. I think about and miss my mom every day, especially when I'm sad and sick (in other words, a lot lately), and my son always says, "Your mom is right here with you, Mommy. She's right here. You don't need to be sad." It's such a beautiful sentiment and I do believe it.

You're right about going through life with different mothers. I've been going to yoga classes regularly for about 2 years now, and it's there, in yoga class, with a male instructor, no less, when I feel the most "mothered" these days.

There's something about girls losing their mothers (at any age) that warms me, haunts me, confuses me, makes me feel guilty about all I said (and didn't say) to my own mother, and at the same time comforts me in a way that is hard to explain but feels something like being part of a special club to which members are either daughters or mothers to daughters, or both.

I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but what I gain through reading your posts, I feel that in a way, you're mothering me.

Talk Before Sleep

2008-09-11T21:17:00.001-05:00

Me to Grace: I love you.

Grace to Me: Same you.

I needed that.

Overkill?

2008-09-02T10:41:00.006-05:00

The kids and I ate dinner this past Sunday at a Ruby Tuesday. When our debit card slip came back and needed a signature, Johnny really wanted to sign his name. On the back as well as the front. Do you think he got his point across?

Invasion of My Privacy and My Fridge

2008-08-28T18:37:00.006-05:00

So I was just enjoying a leisurely 10-minute shower as the first step in getting ready to go join my family for A's b-day celebration when I thought I heard knocking at the door. Couldn't be, must have been my ears playing tricks on me. A few seconds later, knocking. And more knocking. And banging and then some more knocking. I didn't cut my shower short because I was in the middle of a leg shave, but when I did hop out, I yelled out (at this point knowing it was probably the neighborhood tween boys that stop by periodically to 1.) play with Grace's and Johnny's toys and 2.) nab our stash of sugary drinks), "HANG ON! I'M IN THE SHOWER!" I've started buying these 8-pack citrus punch drinks at ALDI every week for (I kid you not) $1.69 per pack. Yes, that's 8 8-oz servings of punch that I buy every week just for $1.69 and just for these tweens. Grace and Johnny don't even drink the punch (I guess they agree with me--too much sugar!) and when they see them in the fridge they routinely ask me when the boys are coming over for their drinks.

Well they came over tonight and in my Carolina-blue bath robe and toweled-up hair, I stood at the door and doled out 3 bottles each, like it was Halloween or something. They told me I could save the last two for Johnny and Grace but I told them they don't drink them and that the last two would be waiting for them the next time they came knocking. I also added that I only go to ALDI once a week and if they slurped up the weekly supply before Monday, then, well, they'd have to just settle for water. Kids.

Let's Chill

2008-08-26T22:30:00.003-05:00

If last year's party stuck out because of the people I recognized from the year before, then this year will stick out for the caliber of music I heard. I'm talking about ChillFest VI, the annual pickin' party tucked away in the hills of Appalachia that I've been going to in August for the last three years. That's right, different name but same great taste. The annual shindig has evolved, somewhat organically, into a happening that is more than the sum of its parts, not unlike our entire weekend spent in and around Boone a couple of weeks ago.

For the last two years I have driven with a friend specifically to attend what was then called SwillFest, but this year ChillFest was but one of our "must-do" activities in a weekend full of what I consider the High Country's best. When a friend mentioned his interest in visiting Boone and asked when a good time might be to go, I could think of none other than the weekend of ChillFest VI. What used to be a kid-free overnight getaway for a girlfriend and me turned into a two-night, balanced blend of hanging out with my kids and extended family and adult-only (David, me and another couple) time in a gorgeous cabin while the kids slept at Aunt Kate's.

I purposely reserved a cabin that was only a few miles down the road from ChillFest, and every time we passed Ben and Cherie's driveway, I felt like I was sharing a special secret with myself as I was the only one in the car who knew what lay ahead on Saturday in their backyard.

We arrived at ChillFest after 8:00 PM, but before dark, and I had just enough time to greet the hosts, set up our chairs, and scan the surroundings for a sense of who was there and what the mood was like. Like last year, there were kids, dogs and tents sprinkled liberally up the grassy bank, through the wooded path, and in front of the expanded deck-turned-stage. None of the listeners perched their chairs or blankets right up front, though, intimating less of a concert performance atmosphere and more of a laid-back talk-amongst-yourselves environment.

Even so, I was more engaged with and tuned into the music this year than I seem to have been the last two. Upright & Breathin' sounded hotter, tighter, more versatile, more confident and definitely more polished than last year. The foursome's synergy was palpable, (especially during the give-it-all-ya-got fast-paced finger picking), and I just felt like these guys have come into their own. Apparently the local bluegrass community thinks so too or you wouldn't see their names on music festival bills with the likes of Sam Bush and Jerry Douglas. I have to admit that my bluegrass ear is not sophisticated enough yet to discern whether the instrumentals played were originals or covers, but when lyrics were sung, I found myself filling in more gaps and making more connections than I'd done in the past. Like for instance, when they played one of my favorite traditional tunes-- Shady Grove--I wondered if the lyrics in their version "going back to Harlan" referred to Harlan, KY, the region I studied last fall as I researched the life and work of Katherine Pettit, a social worker who practiced settlement work in the mountains of eastern KY in the early 1900's.

If imitation is the best form of flattery, I was impressed by the ways Upright & Breathin' and Co. chose to flatter some of my favorite musicians. Their up-tempo version of Gillian Welch's "Tear My Stillhouse Down," unique delivery of the Stones' "Sympathy for the Devil," and unsuspected rendition of The White Stripes' "Now, Mary" all succeeded in venerating these originals while at the same time putting something new into the world through their individual and collective musicianships. I was further pleased when I heard Ben's nephew singing an Amos Lee tune and sounding pert near as good as Mr. Lee himself!

This year I noticed more people in the crowd vying to get on stage at any cost. When Ben came to speak to me during a set break, I overheard him talking with a tatooed, mohawked, listening fan. This guy wanted a chance to get on stage and show the crowd what he could do. With the extraordinary interpersonal skills of, say, an insurance agent, I heard Ben explain with kind firmness (or firm kindness) that the evening's musical performance line-up was already off schedule and there was no way he'd be able to fit another act on stage. The tatted guy persisted. He said he played the harmonica and would be so happy as to just get on stage and play back up with U & B. Ben added--with great panache--that his band is what it is and communicated that what it isn't is a band whose sound would easily accommodate a back up harmonica!

That's right, Ben. Once again, ChillFest was what it's always been: a great party full of southern hospitality, Appalachian mountain glory, kickin bluegrass music, and laid-back chilling for the young and old. I was proud to share this experience with my friends from the Triangle area and definitely think that it's earned a rightful spot on the top-ten list of fun things to do in Boone on a weekend in mid-August. Oh, and one more thing: My mom used to always say you didn't have to be drunk to have a good time at a party. You know what? She was right!

J-Dog's First Day of Kindergarten

2008-08-26T09:24:00.004-05:00

Happy Birthday, Grace!

2008-08-24T20:52:00.002-05:00

Cracking the Code

2008-08-13T15:26:00.003-05:00

The most exciting thing going on in our house these days is that Grace is learning to read. Scratch that...last year she was learning to read. Grace is reading! I cannot even find the words to express how major this is. If I could find them, I'd write them down. And then you could read them. Once she is reading fluidly, worlds will open to her of which she currently is not a part. If she can read, she can learn to cook. If she can read, she'll never be lonely, even if she doesn't have many friends. If she can read, it will bring her endless joy, knowledge, and wisdom. This really is huge. It's huge for any child, but it's extra huge for Grace.

She can't ride a bike, but she can read. She can't tie her shoes, but she can read. She can't write her first and last name, but she can read. She can't button a button, but she can read. She can't catch a ball, but she can read. She's socially awkward and gets on her peers' nerves, but she can read. She's not wired like many of us are and faces great difficulties just making it through each day, but she can read.

Grace is an example of how integrating three techniques of learning how to read really work: memorizing high-frequency sight words, sounding out words based on the sounds that the letters make (phonics) and using context clues to figure out a word that might be baffling apart from a particular sentence.

Grace reads everything she sees these days and the louder I sing praises, the madder Johnny gets. He'll come around, because he'll be reading before you know it. Grace has a long way to go to become fluid and a really good reader (she exhibits signs of Lysdexia fairly often)---but what's she's already learned will never be taken away from her and away she'll go from here.

A Tip Towards Childhood

2008-08-11T19:08:00.003-05:00

I just got back from Target where I bought Johnny and Grace new backpacks. Grace has used her Dora backpack for four years, and it was time to get a new one. It has a hole in the bottom of it, and I had visions of her walking down the hall with important papers trailing behind. I'm sure you know my kids well enough to know there's no way I'd get off without getting Johnny a new backpack also. Especially since it's his big year entering Kindergarten. David gave me a stern talking-to last night when I told him where I was going today. He made me promise I wouldn't come back with gaudy character-splashed backpacks with the likes of Diego, Hannah Montana, Disney Princesses or super heroes of any kind. He wanted the kids to enter this school year a little more grown up, a little more refined, with personal styles a little more sophisticated.

I was all for it until I started thinking about it on the way there. Just after I told them that they could only pick a "plain" backpack, one with no characters on it, I realized how silly that must sound to a five and almost seven year old. That would be like David having to go into one of his favorite stores, like JCrew, and only being able to pick out a shirt that had baby dinosaurs on it. Ridiculous. I then said, "You know what? You can pick a backpack with characters on it. You can pick any backpack you want (as long as it's under twenty dollars)."

They both went pretty wild when they saw the selection: Hannah Montana, High School Musical, Batman, Superman, Hello Kitty, My Little Pony, Dora, Diego, stuff like that. Johnny picked up a black "plain" pack that was pretty cool--even had a separate zipper for the cell phone he doesn't own. It had cool bungee zippers and compartments and I thought for sure David would approve. I asked him if was sure he wanted that one and he was certain. Certainty lasted only until he spied the Spiderman backpack with wheels. A backpack with wheels is what he really wanted, so I let him get it. I couldn't interest Grace in anything except the oversized My Little Pony backpack with a special brush to use to brush the sparkly pink pony hair attached to the back. In my mind it was a little juvenile for her, but she had eyes for nothing else. I did think about the other kids in her first-grade class that might snicker that she carries a My Little Pony backpack, the idea being that Little Ponies are for babies and kids under three. That's just my thinking, I guess, because both Johnny and Grace assured me they weren't just for babies.

I came away just glad my kids are still the ages where things as simple as backpacks with pictures on them make them happy inside.

Good News and Bad News

2008-08-07T09:23:00.001-05:00

Doctor: The good news is that your kidney/adrenal gland ultrasound report came back and no lesions or tumors were detected.

Me: And the bad news?

Doctor: Your adrenal glands weren't detected.

Me: You're telling me that I don't have adrenal gland lesions because they CAN'T FIND MY ADRENAL GLANDS??

Weirdos, High-Tops, Secret Obsessions

2008-08-01T11:41:00.002-05:00

Johnny: Why did God make Grace into such a weirdo??

Grace: I'm a weirdo!!!

Uncle Daniel is about to become Johnny's favorite as I just got word that Daniel's b-day gift to Johnny is a pair of these.

Remember the game Tetris? Johnny's way behind on the video game curve with many of his friends because we don't have a Wii, we don't have a Nintendo DS, and I won't even splurge on a portable Leapster for the little guy. I did, however, buy him a hand-held Tetris game that he hasn't quite figured out. He's not going to get much of a chance to figure it out either, because I've re-discovered it. My college grades would have been way better if I hadn't played so much Tetris in the early 90's.

Happy Birthday Johnny 2008

2008-07-31T09:11:00.003-05:00

Dear Johnny,

Despite my begs and desperate pleas, despite my constant threats of wanting to put a brick on your head to keep you from growing, you defied me, you plowed ahead, you did what you were going to do against my wishes: you up and turned 5 today. 5 years old!!! As Daddy said this morning, "You've waited your whole life to turn 5," and you did it, Johnny, you did it!!

It's a grand day indeed, a milestone birthday in your life and in the life of our family. We no longer have babies around, your preschool days are seriously numbered and your official childhood (aka the school-age years) is just beginning. When we joined the pool earlier this summer and I saw you and Grace interacting with the other kids you knew from school, church, the neighborhood and even kids you'd just met, I had this thought that childhood for you two had officially begun. That might sound weird, like what's been going on for your five years of living and Grace's almost seven, a dress rehearsal for childhood? Not exactly. But seeing all ages of kids at the pool doing what kids do best--swimming, playing basketball and ping pong with their friends, standing in line at the snack bar ordering hot dogs and ice cream, skateboarding and riding scooters in the parking lot--and I guess the growing independence above all signified we've transitioned into a new phase in life, one that will continue for the next 13 years as you and Grace move through school.

You've developed an irrepressible spirit of wanting to do, play, and learn, and kids seem as drawn to you as you are to them. It's hard for me to say this, but you don't need me around as much anymore. You sometimes think you do, but you don't. Yesterday at the pool as you splashed with your best friend Christopher, you hardly noticed me sitting on the side talking with Grace. That's how it should be, me on the sidelines, watching and guiding with a little more distance. Even so, sometimes you're not ready for that yet. You've definitely got the physical strength, coordination and ability to hit, catch, and run in an organized baseball league, but you weren't quite ready to leave me on the sidelines this summer. Although you seemed to enjoy putting on your Rockies hat and t-shirt and grabbing your baseball glove, every Saturday you said you were "scared" and begged us not to make you play but instead allow you to sit with us in the dug out the whole time. We're learning too, Johnny. It's our first time having a boy on a sports team and not knowing whether the right thing to do is to make you get out there and play because your team is counting on you and you signed up for this, or stepping back and realizing you're only 4 after all, it's supposed to be fun, and you shouldn't be pushed into activities that you don't really want to do.

In about one more month, you'll be starting Kindergarten, and rightly or wrongly, Daddy and I have been pinning a lot to this important start date. "We'll pour your juice this time, but when you're in Kindergarten, you really need to start doing that yourself." "Kindergarteners need to keep up with their own toys." "No, I don't know where your shoes are. You need to look for them yourself. You're almost in Kindergarten, you know." And the biggest, most difficult one of all, "Ok, you can fall asleep in our bed today, but when you're in Kindergarten, you'll need to sleep by yourself in your room in your bed, like a big boy."

A couple of nights ago I'd finally had it. Five years of you either falling asleep with Grace and then coming in our bed, or insisting that you sleep with us from the get-go came to a sudden halt. And the truth is, if I had really wanted those sleeping arrangements to end, I would have worked on it long ago. Daddy and Mommy did things by the book the first time around, with Grace. By the time she was four months old, we let her cry it out in her crib and she was completely Ferberized in a matter of days. I was prematurely smug at our sleep training success and secretly looked down on my friends who regularly allowed their kids in bed with them past a certain age. They weren't trying hard enough, they weren't strong enough and disciplined enough, they were letting the kids make the decisions. Then you came along.

You came along on this day five years ago, only five months after your Grandmama died. I was dealing with those emotional wounds as well as the difficulties of caring for you and Grace while the incision on my belly healed. It did heal and we were managing as a family of four. Exhausted and desperate for sleep, after I nursed you in the middle of the nights, Daddy often took you out and slept with you where he could, on the floor beside you, sometimes with you even crawling on his back and sleeping for hours. He was trying to help me get the rest I needed. You were a different baby than Grace and we did what we had to do to get by.

We tried to Ferber you but maybe we didn't try hard enough. You definitely cried much harder and much longer than Grace ever did. The biggest difference though, is that you had to be nestled beside Daddy and me when you slept; you had to be cuddled, you had to be touching us. You loved that feeling and the truth is, we did too. I haven't outgrown that feeling five years later. It's still one of the greatest pleasures in life to wake up beside you with your increasingly longer arms and legs wrapped around mine in a tender embrace.

Just like you said you were scared going out on the baseball field alone, you said you were scared to sleep in your room alone. We talked about it for awhile and I asked you what exactly you were scared about. You then said you weren't exactly scared as much as you were lonely. I know, honey, but the time has come that you need to summon all of your newfound skills, independence, and courage and apply them to your sleep habits. Trust me, you'll be happier in the long run. We all will be.

And all along the way, I'll be on the sideline cheering you on, helping you figure out how to master this new big scary thing the best way I can. It's a wonderful thing being your mom and helping you figure out the world. And you know what? You're helping me figure things out too.

Love,
Mommy

David's Latest

2008-07-28T10:04:00.001-05:00

Untitled from David Cooley on Vimeo.

Saturday Stuff

2008-07-26T21:43:00.003-05:00

I love this shot of my family that I took today. Johnny looking tough, David looking handsome, and Grace doing her own thing. I've gotten over my traumatic summer school experience and am really enjoying the rest of my summer. Saturdays are spent going to birthday parties and the pool and I've found that I'm cooking more lately. I made chocolate chip cookies with the kids today, and I just finished cooking "the hell out" of a portion of ham that we'll eat tomorrow with homemade potato salad and squash casserole. I know my ham won't taste like my Aunt Sadie's, but her way of cooking all the water out of it (discovered accidentally) is the only way I'll eat ham anymore.

I do have adrenal fatigue and 10 mg of hydrocortisone daily hasn't seemed to boost my energy yet but I keep trying. Our schedules are going to change radically in the fall with Grace and Johnny both in school, me in class on Fridays plus a 12-hour internship plus still working, plus David's schedule. I recently worked out a 24-hour per week work schedule starting in Sept. that will be spread over 4 days (plus the internship, plus the classes). There really won't be much room in our lives not to be on a consistent, regular, schedule. David working late on Mondays while I hang with the kids. Yoga on Tuesdays. Family dinners and no other activities on Wed. Wild card Thursdays with the combination of kids' choir, Weaver Street after hours, me going to yoga and sometimes a work meeting. When school starts I'll check out and print out reading materials on the weekends and read for a couple of hours every evening. I'm committed to not staying up past 11:00 PM, because I need my eight hours of sleep each night. I'm also committed to being home during the bedtime routine as many nights as possible during the week and if I have engagements with friends, I either need to be home by 7:30 PM or go out (on Fridays and Saturdays) after 9:00 PM.

The next two years will be busier than ever with me finishing up my Master's requirements. I may not ever go back to working full-time or even more than 24 hours a week while the kids are in school because it's important for me to be involved with them and their after-school activities as we enter the school years full on. Certain aspects of family life are really important to me like eating together as a family as many nights a week as possible, no tv after a certain hour and adhering (even if very minutely at first) to a responsibility chart. We've started this somewhat complicated "good-chip" weekly chart whereby the kids have 35 "good-chips" at the start of the week and each time they do something wrong in one of 5 areas, they lose that chip for that day. At the end of the week, we count up how many good chips they have left and based on that number they get to pick a prize. 30-35 chips allows you to pick from the best prize box, 20-29, the next best, and 0-19 the least desirable. Kind of like a Chuck-E-Cheeses system. I always feel sorry for my kids who after getting what they think is a respectable 45 tickets at the end of a party only qualify for one lousy tootsie roll. We're two weeks into the system and it's somewhat working. David even gets prizes based on how well he adheres to the system.

Speaking of David, he really knows how to push my buttons. I had a load of professional clothes that needed to be dry-cleaned (2 pant suits, one dress suit, another dress, 3 pairs of slacks) and they ended up in the back of his car last weekend. We never got around to dropping them off at the cleaner's so all week he's been driving around with hundreds of dollars worth of my business clothes in his car. Finally, yesterday he reported to me that I'd be happy that he finally got around to taking my clothes in the back of his car to the Thrift Shop. He had me for a minute. Just like he had me a few weeks ago when I was waiting on him and the kids to meet me at the beach. What is supposed to be about a three-hour drive was taking more like 4, 5, almost 6 hours ,and about an hour after I figured they should have been there I texted him to ask him where they were. When he replied "50 miles away at a Denny's waiting on a coke," I was disappointed and surprised, but not as surprised as I was when he called 10 minutes later from the hotel parking lot asking me what room I was in.

David's ability to find ways to make me laugh at every-day situations that I find stressful actually make for a less stressful life.

July 25

2008-07-25T07:38:00.003-05:00

Today is my mom's birthday, and we used to go camping to celebrate her birthday. I've been really wanting to go camping (or at least to the mountains) lately, so today I'm going to reminisce about the good ol' camping trip days.

I grew up going camping with my family, even before we moved to NC. We had one of those big, army-green, industrial-strength canvas tents that all five of us slept in. That was a long time ago, when Kate was just a baby, when my mom would string up the hammock and place Baby Kate on her chest and rock away the day. When we moved to Boone we took at least one family camping trip to Huntington Beach, SC (with Western Otto and co.), but the trips I'm most fond of are the ones that occurred in my twenties...where Kate, David and I would escape the oppressive Chapel Hill heat and drive west, sometimes to Price Park between Boone and Blowing Rock, sometimes to Stone Mountain or Daughton Park near Sparta, NC, a couple of times up to the breahtaking Grayson Highlands in Virginia.

My mom would always get there first and scope out and claim the best camp sites. Otto would often pitch his tent next, and sometimes the two of them would enjoy a full 24-hours of quiet camping time before us young folk arrived. These were weekend, car-camping trips...no backpacking, no-heavy duty hiking miles in the woods before you found your site, always a bathroom with running water, sometimes a hot shower, sometimes not. It got to be where planning and looking forward to the weekend trip was a major part of the fun of it. Over the years my mom acquired big Rubbermaid storage bins and began organizing the camp gear according to her lists that included the essentials: pots, pans, stove, propane, plates, bowls, forks, spoons, paper towels, toilet paper, flashlight, tablecloth, trashbags, firewood, matches, poncho, camp chairs, food, rain tarp, beer, etc. Despite the well-intentioned lists and supposedly improved organization system each time we went, without fail, my mom always forgot something. Sometimes it was negligent, like the salt and pepper shakers, but sometimes it was a bigger deal. Like the time she forgot to pack her tent on our group camping trip in Colorado. Otto came to the rescue with his covered pick-up truck with a twin mattress in the back. Now that's roughing it.

I always loved arriving to the camp sites after my mom and Otto had already set up shop. It was like stepping into nature's living room with so many comforts and things to do and things to eat and drink, I often didn't know where to start. Did I want a cold beer or a glass of lemonade? Did I want to sit and read the Spectator or eat a cookie? Did I want to go on a hike or lie in the hammock? If we showed up at lunchtime, we had pimento cheese sandwiches, fruit, chips, cookies, etc. We'd pop up our dome tents (David and me in one, Kate and my mom in one, Otto in one) as fast as we could so the relaxing could begin. Many times it was just the five of us, but sometimes there would be others. We were careful and discerning about who we invited as we had a good vibe going and didn't want any incompatible personalities tipping the mood south. We almost always went on a hike or some type of walk in the afternoon and made it back in the early evening to snack and begin thinking about supper.

A good deal of time and energy was spent on what we were going to eat, preparing what we were going to eat, and then eating what we were going to eat. The food was so good. If it was a two-night trip, Friday night's supper was my mom's black bean chili chowder over brown rice with cheddar cheese and sour cream. Saturday's supper was something I looked forward to all year long, Otto's delectable pine nut pesto pasta. I wish I had some right now. The propane-powered double-burner camp stove allowed us to boil water for the rice and pasta in the evenings and to brew coffee and fry turkey sausage in the mornings. We cooked on the stove, but we gathered by the fire. Waiting for sundown, getting the fire going, sitting around the fire with a tasty drink and a satisfied belly was my favorite part. It's when the stories and the music started. The air was cool and we put on our jeans, flannel shirts, hooded sweatshirts and hiking boots. There were no cell phones to talk on or text on. No one had computers and this was before email, the internet, Blogger, MySpace, Facebook, and Twitter. This was also before we had kids. There was no where else we had to be or would rather be. There was nothing else we had to do other than sit, relax, and talk. My mom and Otto told stories of the past, funny stories, strange stories, sad stories. Stories that maybe we'd heard a hundred times and could hear a hundred more. When we got tired of talking and laughing, Otto played his guitar and sang some songs. It was wonderful. We could stay up late or turn in early. Whatever was our pleasure. We usually all went to bed early, after the beer and whiskey were gone, after the last fire log was stoked. But early to bed meant early to rise.

Whomever peeped first rekindled the fire and got the coffee water started. There's just nothing in the world like waking up (hopefully from a restful sleep), putting your layers back on and stepping out into the crisp mountain morning air. There's one particular trip that I'll never forget. It was the five of us plus Walter and his son. One evening we listened to a family play some music together at the common area and then went to a grassy field to stargaze. Later that night (after A got pretty badly burned...turned out ok, but not a good thing at the time) as we were all settled into our respective tents it began to rain. And it rained hard. (Not as hard as the last time we all tried to camp together...but that's a different story). It rained and rained and rained and then rained some more. Rain can truly ruin a camping trip, but not this time. Our tents were up and dry, we were cozy inside, and there was nothing to do except to listen, think, and drift off to sleep. It's one of my favorite memories of all time.

As I sit in my kitchen looking around at everything I need to clean, straighten, and put away, I long for a date with the simple life. Nature's living room full of trees and leaves instead of pictures that need to be dusted and floors that need to be swept. Maybe the allure, though, is that a weekend away from the trappings of plugged-in life is sweeter because it IS different and calm and special and relaxing and not the norm. Whatever it is, I wish I were there now.

Meaningful Music

2008-07-21T20:38:00.005-05:00

Last Thursday when Kate called and asked me what I was doing I told her that I was going to hear Grunt's daughter's fiance play the early show at the Cave. Kate relayed that to my dad, who was standing nearby, but he instead heard that Beyonce was playing at the Cave. He later told me that he thought about it for a second, kind of scratched his head and thought, wow, the Cave is really going downhill if they're booking acts like Beyonce. (It didn't seem to cross his mind that maybe it was Beyonce's fall from grace to accept gigs at the Cave). Ah, to live the muddled life of an aging drummer who refuses to wear hearing aids. It must be a strange and confusing existence.

Andy Brasher (Grunt's daughter's fiance) is who I heard and I can honestly say it in no way resembled a show that Beyonce would likely put on. After learning about the show via e-mail from Western Otto out in CO, I forwarded a loose invite to about 15 people, hoping to drum up a respectable local listening audience for our friends from Kentucky. Actually, I had never met Brasher and the last (fuzzy) memory I have of Grunt's daughter Ginny involves some presents, some cake and a girl turning ten. She's in her thirties now. Two of my friends slightly rearranged their dinner plans across the street to make it for about half of Brasher's set. That meant a lot to me, and it must have meant a lot to Andy and Ginny because they made up 2/3 of the respectable local listening audience. So he sang for the three of us (plus Ginny who's along for the tour) big deal. He sang with as much heart, soul, intensity and integrity as he would have had he been singing to a sold-out arena, a large audience that is more common for performers such as, say, Beyonce. Thank goodness it wasn't a sold-out arena, though., If it had been, I wouldn't have had the chance to talk with Ginny, a delightful, open, down-to-earth, lovely young woman with many exciting ventures awaiting her. Our fathers are long-time friends, and through that bond and those ties alone, we understood each other on an unspoken level before we even said hello.

My dad has a circle of friends (they're my mom's friends too) either living in KY, or stemming from KY, that strangely I'm keeping up with. Used to be, these were just grown ups who my parents were friends with, people we saw a lot during holidays and sometimes went on beach camping trips with, but we were kids and they were grown ups. They didn't want us urchins to be hanging around their heels when they were playing cards, and we didn't really want them paying too much attention to us while we were paying attention to the opposite sex. Now things are different. I consider Ginny's dad a real friend...someone who knows where I came from and what I've dealt with but has encouraging words to say to me about the present and even the future.

My mom was very close to Western Otto. When she died, W.O. didn't have a reliable way to drive all the way from CO to Owensboro, KY for her Memorial Service. His buddy in CO (who had met my mom but wasn't a long-time friend) knew how close W.O. and my mom were and said that he would drive him to the service because she was his best friend. Otto knew my mom had a lot of friends (and a lot of male friends in addition to female friends) and figured for sure he probably wasn't my mom's best friend. But when he thought about it, he couldn't think of anyone that was a better friend than my mom, so, yeah, that would make her his best friend. I'll never forget that he made the effort and was there for her Memorial Service.

For the last 5 years, W.O. and I have been communicating over the internet with the lone phone conversation and rained out camping trip sprinkled in. He sends me books, CDs and suggests movies I should watch. He unobtrusively suggests ways I could improve my writing and without fail reminds me to take care of myself and make Bird "numero uno." One time David asked me if I was "Toot" (my mom's nickname) to Otto; in other words am I her replacement to him now that she's gone? I don't think so at all. We have a friendship in our own right that continues to grow and never fails to surprise, amuse and nourish me. I think a lot about the phenomenon of being friends--real friends--with my parents' friends. Does it say more about the kind of people they are or the kind of person I am, or is that even relevant? I try to think who of my friends might Grace and Johnny be e-mailing 30 years from now...perhaps even after I'm gone? I can't even imagine. But I hope it happens.

It's cool to have these deep KY familial and friend connections that change and deepen the older I get and that exist despite how far and scattered we become. I immediately felt close to home listening to Andy Brasher sing with his raw, acoustic, southern-style talent. He has his sights set on Nashville, and I think he'll get there. Maybe he'll even fill arenas and out-sell Beyonce. Until then, the Cave is always open, if Otto suggests I go, I'll be there, and you and your family have a friend in Chapel Hill.

Dana Carvey Makes Me Laugh

2008-07-20T21:41:00.001-05:00

Dancing Fools

2008-07-14T22:22:00.000-05:00

This videopost is a day late and a dollar short (it was taken over a year ago), but I still think it's worth sharing.

Unexpected Day

2008-07-13T21:06:00.006-05:00

When I left for yoga today at 11:30 AM in my long black pants, red tank top and un-made-up face, I had no idea I'd be out all day, not to return until around 9:00 PM. It's good to live life unstructured enough to be able to accept social offers on a whim even though they weren't in the day's plans, especially in the summer.

We slept in and decided not to go to church. It was nice to be able to lie around in bed and be with the kids as they flowed in and out of my room asking me or showing me something. I got to physically stay in bed until I was ready to get out. As we were thinking of the day ahead, it was such a nice and rare feeling to not have anything we had to do today. Church would have been nice, but there's always next week. My kids were happy to be able to skip. David and I often start the weekend off or a weekend day off making sure we understand what the other one really wants to get done so we arrange our individual and family schedules accordingly. Of highest import to me was going to a yoga class and to David was getting some late afternoon work done. When I got the call from my friend GT suggesting we catch a noon yoga class followed by homemade granola, topped with fresh blueberries and peaches, and delicious, bold, French-pressed coffee, the day ahead began to take shape. I'd go to yoga while David hung out with the kids, we'd meet up mid-day for "whole-family" time, then I'd be with the kids while David did his work. That's pretty much what happened with a few unexpected twists and turns that lazy Sundays are all about.

The yoga class was great, taught by one of my favorite instructors, also a friend of GT's. He invited her over for post-class granola too so the three of us (plus his roommate) leisurely hung out while peaches were sliced, coffee was prepared and heaping bowls of granola were assembled. I have a standing telephone date with my dad every Sunday at 2:00 PM, and at 1:50 PM it was clear I'd still be enjoying my coffee with my friends for at least ten more minutes. I quickly called my dad and told him I'd call him at 2:30 PM. Even though I'd been there for over an hour, I still felt like I was eating and running when I hopped up at 2:30 PM to tell my unmarried, and childless friends I had to scoot. For all I know, they sat for another hour knowing too that they had nowhere that they had to go and nothing else today that they had to do.

I phoned my dad and began driving home. I went a back way and ended up in our friend's neighborhood where David and the kids and some other friends had gathered poolside for some swimming, sunning, and snacking. I just figured I wouldn't get in the water because I didn't have a bathing suit with me, but a couple of minutes in the hot sun watching my kids splash around, looking so refreshed, made me think it would be worth it to drive home to get my suit. Everyone talked me out of it and the next thing I knew, my friend who were were visiting (whose wife and kids are away for two weeks) had pieced together a swim top and unmatching exercise shorts that I borrowed. I knew I'd look about as glamorous as a tennis shoe beside a stiletto next to our size 0, olive-skinned Venezuelan friends, but I didn't care. Who was I trying to impress? When you're that hot and all you want to do is jump in the water and play with your kids, does it really matter what you look like? We swam, we nibbled, we drank, and it wasn't until around 4:30 PM that we realized our friend was expecting dinner guests at about 6:00 PM.

He didn't want us to go, and we didn't want to impose. David made it clear that he wouldn't be staying for dinner but the rest of us tried to tease out what to do: break the party up and each go our own ways, or pump the party up by cooking up enough pasta for all? You've heard the saying, "Mi casa es su casa." Well that's always how the Venezuelans treat us, so I was glad the overall mood was to survey what we had on hand, cook up what we could, and run out for anything we needed more of. I'm proud to say that before the dinner guests arrived, we all pitched in by either chopping the salad, sauteing the veggies, heating up meatballs, mixing up sauce, boiling the pasta, keeping the kids out of trouble, pouring the wine, and instead of one family man at home alone serving dinner to a senior couple on a summer Sunday evening, it turned into one family man, four very generous and capable-in-the-kitchen Venezuelan women, my two kids and me (all still looking like wet rats straight from the pool), working together to create a pleasant dining experience for the guests as well as ourselves.

All of a sudden we all became part of the family, at home in our friend's home, trying to put on a successful dinner with an older couple most of us didn't know at all. Some of us were better at making small talk with people we've never met. Others were happy to be assigned the role of watching over my kids, even if it meant eating their meals outside on the front step with their plate on their lap, as they supervised Johnny riding bikes and Grace asking lots of questions. We tried to do things right and sighed with relief when it was just the "family" again, able to talk and joke around not confined by the formalities of having company. It ended up being a wonderful meal and lovely day, and as I sit here and type this at 11:00 PM, I'm still in my yoga clothes, the outfit I left in almost twelve hours ago. I didn't know my day was going to unfold as it did, but I'm grateful that I didn't have a school assignment or essential errands that needed running, and that I could make the decision to hang out and yes eat formerly forbidden foods (like doritos and dessert...and even pasta!) with my family and friends that are so dear they feel more like family every day. I'm often sad and disappointed that David and I don't have family in town to hang out with and share Sunday meals with. It was nice to find out today that we, in fact, do.

Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda

2008-07-09T11:14:00.002-05:00

Shoulda posted by now about our wonderful, annual 4th of July weekend in KY where the amount of fun (and good food) we have is worth the 12-hour drive there and back.

Coulda posted about that trip this morning as I'm back from a dr. appointment waiting on a lunch date but instead have gotten engulfed in reading "The Rise and Fall of Dr. Mom" written by a former parent at SFFA.

Would post this afternoon after my lunch date meeting, but I'll be on parent-duty with Johnny recovering from yesterday's fever and vomiting.

Now We Wait and See

2008-07-02T08:41:00.004-05:00

I had a brain MRI yesterday morning at UNC Hospitals and the most jarring thing about it was when it was over. All the yoga I've been doing lately prepared me to lie there in stillness and in peace for what felt like a very loud (but still relaxing) twenty-five minute shavasana. The jack-hammer drills and siren-like beeps did not bother me, especially with my ear plugs in to take off the edge. I found it strangely relaxing and was jolted back to consciousness only when it was over and I was slid back into bright lights and real life. Now we just just wait. I either have lesions on my pituitary gland or I don't. Like funnyman Dave Barry recently wrote in a column about getting a colonoscopy:

Which brings us to you, Mr. or Mrs. or Miss or Ms. Over-50-And-Hasn't-Had-a-Colonoscopy. Here's the deal: You either have colorectal cancer, or you don't. If you do, a colonoscopy will enable doctors to find it and do something about it. And if you don't have cancer, believe me, it's very reassuring to know you don't. There is no sane reason for you not to have it done.

That's exactly how I felt about getting my MRI yesterday (and my upcoming adrenal-gland ultrasound on Monday). Something is either fundamentally wrong with the functioning of my endocrine glands or it isn't. I need to know one way or another. If there's something on them that shouldn't be there, I need to know now to deal with it. If they pass a clean bill of health, then I need to move on, start coping with my symptoms differently and make that appointment with my psychiatrist that I'm sure some think is long overdue.

There's a fine line between "It's all in your head, Sarah" and "HELP ME! IT'S ALL IN MY HEAD!" Hopefully that line will become clearer within about a week.

Mother's Day Revisited

2008-07-01T12:06:00.006-05:00

Here are a few more shots from our Mother's Day photo shoot with the talented Genevieve Fridley. These pics give you a taste of Chatham County, specifically Bynum, NC.

A Born Romantic

2008-06-26T13:06:00.011-05:00

I recently received a treasured gift that was mailed all the way from California from an old friend of mine. I met CDJ 17 years ago when I was waitressing at the Boone Pizza Hut the summer after my freshman year at UNC. CDJ was 8 years older than I and one of the store managers. We became fast friends and by summer's end had become more than friends. The "more than friends" status didn't last much past my return to Chapel Hill that fall, but CDJ will always hold a special place in my heart. He is, quite simply, the most romantic person I've ever met. True-to- the-core romantics like CDJ are people whose imagination trumps pracicality; They are "characterized by a preoccupation with love or by the idealizing of love or one's beloved." There are different levels of love, of course, and I don't know how "true" the "love" was that summer, but it is a time I'll never forget.

The day I got hired I was invited to a keg party at CDJ's house and was given the impression that it was the store's unspoken culture for employees and supervisors to socialize after work on a regular basis. In other words, it was routine, often done, and to be perfectly honest, somewhat expected. Yeah, right, my mom thought, as she wondered whether to allow her Little Bird to go party with her manager 8 years her senior who Little Bird insisted was "just a friend, Mama."

That "friend" bussed my tables leaving the other waitstaff to clear their own empty coke cups and wipe their own pepperronied-pizza sauce off their plastic table cloths. My "friend" routinely told me to restock the salad bar, and when I'd enter the walk-in cooler, there would be tasty TCBY treats waiting for me to enjoy on my break. At the end of my shift if I ordered a pizza to take home, it would somehow end up in the box cut into the shape of a heart. My schedule got rearranged to coincide with his and before I knew it we were spending fun times together both at work and after.

We had mutual friends with whom we went inner-tubing and spelunking. We took trips to the Blue Ridge Parkway where I rode on the back of a (his) motorcycle for the first time. He took black and white photographs of me and picked me over 100 (or was it 500?) Black-Eyed Susans. He invited me to a 5-star restaurant in Linville, and when I told him I didn't think I had anything to wear, he handed me two dresses, one black, and one white, in just my size that he'd just bought. He took me to lots of movies and to my first ever ballet, Mikhail Baryshnikov. He created an animated cartoon with me as the lead character and made me several very fine mixed tapes. We took a road trip to the beach where I met his beloved grandfather and several other family members. We went to ASU football-player parties and were the honored guests as he videotaped all the games back then.

Before I knew it we'd crossed the "just friends" line and soon after, the summer was over. CDJ had threatened to drive three hours on the first day of my Sophomore year just to walk me to class. Guess what, he did? Another day I got back from class and saw a familiar motorcycle in the parking lot, and sure enough, he'd come for a surprise visit and was charming my suitemates with his drawings and charisma.

College happened and by December I was drafting the "Dear John" letter. Despite the "let's go back to just friends" request on my part, CDJ still gave me a beautiful pair of diamond and pearl earrings for Christmas. My mom told me it wouldn't be right to accept them if I didn't feel the same way about him that he felt about me. When I tried to explain this to him, CDJ told me he wanted me to have them in hopes that I'd think about him when I wore them. Guess what (who) I think about when I wear those earrings?

In the new year, we talked less and less but CDJ still tried to arrange a special Valentine's Day date with the help of my roommate. As much as it hurt to hurt him, I'd gained a new Valentine that year. Guess who I haven't seen or talked to in 15 years?

CDJ moved away to film school and actually did a school project on my grandmother who lived in Western KY. I got a birthday phone call every March 8th and at least once my mom reported that CDJ had stopped by our house only about an hour after I'd left home after spring break as he was "driving through the neighborhood." I've reached the point that if I DON'T hear from CDJ around my birthday, it won't feel right.

Some might find it taboo that I'm writing in detail about an "ex" and I mean absolutely no disrespect to David. David knows all about CDJ and something tells me that they would get along just fine if they ever had the opportunity to meet. After a fairly long stretch without hearing from CDJ, I was surprised but delighted to find out that he'd discovered my blog. I completely understood the imulse to look up old friends (even "exes") in cyberspace, as I've done the exact same thing. So he's read my entries, knows about my health struggles and we've e-mailed here and there. I even set him up on a blind date out in California where initially he seemed shocked I would even take the time to do it.

Past Relationships and matters of the heart are funny. Some people you can remain friends with, some you can't. Maybe I needed the years, the distance, my own personal pain, and the overall perspective to relate to CDJ the way I do now. He expressed concern about my depression and health issues and asked me if he could send me a necklace made from healing gemstones. He just wants me to feel better. A friend of his makes the necklaces. I thought it was thoughtful of him to think of and thoughtful of him to ask before he sent it. I received my Ametrine necklace recently, a beautiful stone which combines the psychic awareness and spiritual qualities of amethyst with the creative energy of citrine. In some ways, the necklace has already made me feel better.

I was curious so I asked CDJ in an e-mail if he's still carrying on the same romantic antics that I knew and loved out there in the "golden state." He assured me he was. That makes me happy to know that his romantic energy is being channeled to someone who sounds very deserving.

In yoga the other evening, our instructor asked us to release the intellect of the mind to the compassion of the heart. It's not always easy to do, and I'm proud to be friends with someone who does it best.

We Had Joy, We Had Fun, We Had Good Times in the Sun

2008-06-22T22:12:00.004-05:00

We're back...It was a successful weekend. I'll write about it once I get my beauty sleep.

Birdsong Summer 2008

2008-06-19T08:46:00.002-05:00

Dear Daddy-

I had fun putting this CD together for you…it's not the definitive Bird's Favorites (I'm not that committal), but I do love all of these songs.

Here's why I picked what I did:

#1 Wildflowers by Tom Petty- I bought this tape the year I moved to Florida, and this is my favorite song on it. I'm a big fan of Tom Petty's music, and if I ever learned how to play the guitar you gave me, this is one I'd like to learn. When you read the lyrics, you'll find that they're appropriate to my leaving NC for Florida. "Run away, find you a lover; Go away somewhere bright and new; I have seen no other; Who compares to you." I HATE using the term lover (remember that guy from the dorm who yelled, "Hi, Sarah, Lover," and you're like, "I'm her dad." Well, anyway, I guess you could say that I found me a lover in David…but I still hate using that term. Anyway, great tune.

#2 Someday Someway, Marshall Crenshaw- (The version I linked to is not as good as the one on the 1982 CD). CDJ introduced me to Marshall Crenshaw, one of his favorite singers. I always liked this song a lot. And even though you may not remember, we saw Marshall Crenshaw live on the Conon O'Brien show. He didn't play this song, though. That would be too predictable and too much what the audience wanted. MC is like that. Catchy tune, though.

#3 Bleed to Love Her-Fleetwood Mac- This is a song Lindsey Buckingham wrote and I heard it for the first time on the 1997 Dance live album. I fell in love with it immediately. The video is great…but he's making eyes at Christine McVee instead of Stevie. Probably because it's too painful to look directly at Stevie since it's obviously about her. Love it.

#4 Caleb Meyer-Gillian Welch-(Also not the version on the CD) Just to torture you I put two Welch songs on this mix. Seriously, though, she's up there as one of my favorite musicians. I read that this is a traditional ballad. Are you familiar with Caleb Meyer? I'm interested in hearing what you think of this version.

#5 Hallelujah-Jeff Buckley-He died in 1994, I think, but is revered as a true talent. This is by far the best I've heard of his, but I'd like to listen to more Buckley. Kind of reminds me of Bono and U2, no?

#6 If I Should Fall From Grace of God-The Pogues- I LOVE The Pogues—just a pleasing mix of rock and traditional Irish. I love the music part of the song first and the lyrics second. Listening to it makes me want to pick up my whistle and play along. The Pogues never let me down. (There's a GREAT duet by Sinead O'Connor and the lead singer of The Pogues that I'll put on your b-day CD).

#7 Breakdown-Jack Johnson-Simple song where the lyrics are more meaningful to me than the chords and stuff. He's asking his train to breakdown cause he needs it, but he can't stop it on his own. I understand exactly what he means. I love this line "And I got no time/that I got to get to/Where I don't need to be." Oh how I long for the feeling of not needing to be anywhere.

#8 Speed of the Sound of Loneliness-Amos Lee- (Couldn't find the Amos Lee version on YouTube and now I wish I'd put this one I linked to on the CD. Rats). I've played this for you, and I have to admit I like John Prine's version better. But I still think it's a beautiful mix of great music and great song-writing and I wanted you to have this version.

#9 What a Wonderful Man-My Morning Jacket- My friend introduced me to MMJ, and this was one of my favorites off of the "Z" album. Read the lyrics. Think he's singing about his dad? Ask that guy you know who sang with MMJ if this song is about someone's dad.

#10 Look at Miss Ohio-Gillian Welch- My favorite Gillian Welch songs actually come from her first record, "Revival," but I like this one quite a bit. I think of Johnny and Grace when I hear the line, "I wanna do right but not right now."

#11 Fix You-Coldplay-Remember a few Christmases ago when I got a Coldplay CD and you'd just read a review of the album in Rolling Stone? And the reviewer said something about how wonderful it was when the driving guitars and drums came in? Well just take a listen. That part is still wonderful. This song makes me think of Mama and me, and it's hard to know when the lyrics are resonating more with what I'm going through or what Mama went through. Kind of like a metaphor for the fluidity between mother and daughter…that I felt with Mama and also feel with Grace. "And the tears come streaming down your face/When you lose something you can't replace/When you lose someone, but it goes to waste/Could it be worse? Lights will guide you home/And ignite your bones/And I will try to fix you." See what I mean?

#12 Natural Child-Hobex-Another one I've played for you. A local band. Saw them live recently. Call it blues-like, blues-twinged, blues-based, blues-ish, blues-y…I just think it rocks.

Hope you enjoy listening to this as much as I enjoyed making it. Happy Father's Day.
Love, Bird

Typical

2008-06-18T09:28:00.007-05:00

Yesterday I made an early-morning trip to Harris Teeter for some Starbucks coffee and while I was going David thought it would be a good idea for me to return the Redbox movie he'd rented for the kids. (Word World---try saying that 5 times in a row really fast). So I dutifully returned the DVD case that David had handed me into the red box. Imagine my surprise when I opened our DVD player later that night to put something in for the kids and found the actual Word World DVD still in our machine. Ha ha ha!

A Couple of "You Had to Be There" Lines

2008-06-17T14:42:00.004-05:00

At a pool party on Saturday:

Johnny: Mommy, you know how in the SpongeBob movie Plankton is always the bad guy?

Random kid at the pool party who overheard us: Plankton's not a bad guy! He's just overwhelmed!

(I don't know what either of them were talking about, but it made me smile).

Last night at tuck in:

Johnny: Mommy, do chickens cry right before they are cooked into things?

Me: No, because they are already dead when they start getting cooked.

Johnny: Well do they cry when they're getting dead?

Me: Do chickens cry? Did you just ask me if chickens have feelings?

And it All Came Tumbling Down

2008-06-16T13:25:00.004-05:00

We started getting report cards in the 4th grade (or was it 3rd?). I got straight A's until the 6th grade, and that year I made two B's. I was devastated, and as I cried, my parents cheered. They even threw a party for me. I don't know why they reacted like they did, perhaps it showed I was human?? Or they wanted me to know it was ok, that they still loved me the same? I always put the academic pressure on myself, not them. Anyway, the time has come to throw me another party, but this time I'm throwing it for myself. I got one of three assignments back on Friday in my Adult Health/Mental Health Disorders class, and I failed the assignment. Literally failed it. And no, "failing" does not mean I made a B. I made an F on this assignment. I was shocked. I knew the paper I turned in wasn't the recommended minimum but I honestly thought I had adequately covered the justification of the psychiatric diagnosis I was to give on this woman in this particular case study. The points that the professor mentioned before handing the papers back? Yeah, I included most of the points that she wanted. Also, some of the areas that were lacking in my justification paper? They were lacking in others' papers too. So from the sound of it I should have at least done average on this paper. Nope. I failed it and it was ugly.

There was an entire section that I left out regarding the patient's health issues that might be impacting her mental health. Ten points off for that. And whoa the irony there...someone's physical health impacting their mental health? Hello! That's me! In fact, I think that accounts for the majority of why I screwed up on this assignment. Because I haven't been feeling well. Or thinking as clearly. And I certainly was way more willing this go-round to turn in something ho-hum than to stay up night after night missing sleep trying to give this woman exactly what she wanted. Yeah, I missed the boat and blew it on this assignment. All I can hope for now is that my other two assignments (that were turned in before I got the first one back!) are good enough to bump my overall grade up to at least an 80 to receive a "P" instead of a Low-P. What's done is done and now I've got to let it go. And go to the beach.

I'm doing something nice for myself and am going to the beach a day before my family meets me to spend the day exactly how I want to. I need that restorative time to stroll, lie around, read, watch tv, go to a movie, eat well, drink a few cocktails, do a yogic backbend or two, all at my very own pace. I know my capabilities as a student and a future social worker do not lie with this one assignment. But I also know it doesn't feel good to fail like this, especially when I'm feeling bad already. I had only gotten about 4.5 hours of sleep the night before finishing up my other two assignments so when 4:00 PM rolled around this past Friday and I got my paper, I was pretty much toast. You want to know what my first thought was? I wanted to see my kids. I had plans to meet some friends for dinner and then to go hear some live music and I have to admit I was a bit relieved when David called me to tell me his work schedule was running way behind and he wouldn't be home in time for me to make the dinner part of my evening.

I figured that by the time he did come home, I probably wouldn't feel much like pulling myself together to go out. I was right. I got the kids home, canceled my plans, got the kids a snack, turned the tv on, and then began to cry. I really don't cry much, especially in front of the kids, but this one was kind of hard to stop. They were concerned and wanted to know what was wrong. I told them I did bad on some of my homework and then a few minutes later I told them I was also sad because I missed my Mommy. Johnny tenderly touched me on my arm and told me that my Mommy was right beside me, in spirit. Then Grace shared that she had just watched the movie "Spirit" at school and they had gotten to eat lunch in their classroom. God I love my kids.

It was bound to happen...my first really bad grade in this program, the one I love so much. I'm much better today than I was on Friday, and I know that this coming Friday I'll be even better. Maybe I had to let myself down in this way to open myself up to truly restorative healing. But that's what I'm all about for the rest of the summer, and that's something I think my mom and the rest of my family (including me) can cheer about.

Study Break

2008-06-12T19:12:00.002-05:00

Text Exchange Between Sarah and David:

6:05 PM, S to D: Where R U?

6:17 PM, D to S: G invited us: A, A, me, the kids...Super fun. But don't worry. Lvo.

6:18 PM, S to D: swimmin?

6:19 PM, D to S: They just finished...

7:45 PM, S to D: Ya still there? i'm pluging away here at work

7:46 PM, D to S: Yes, weiners just came off the grill.

7:50 PM, S to D: sounds like a wild time-but have u given any thought to what ur going 2 feed the kids?

Grace in a Nutshell

2008-06-11T09:35:00.006-05:00

Grace is no longer a Kindergartener, but luckily we have a lot of reminders and mementos from the year. Her teachers compiled a Memories book that included what Grace's class would tell upcoming Kindergarteners (helpful, b/c Johnny starts in Aug.), how many inches each child grew during the year (Grace: 3 in), what they wanted to be when they grow up and examples of how their writing-of-their-name improved from Aug. to June. Take a look:

I think these two examples beautifully illustrate Grace's essence: what she lacks in technical skills and ability she makes up for with humor and charm.

An Assignment I'm Looking Forward To

2008-06-04T13:13:00.003-05:00

Father's Day is coming up. In an effort to avert receiving any more XXL sweatshirts, thorlo socks, books that he likely won't get around to reading, and kitchen gadgets that we know he won't ever use, my dad has given each of his three children a Father's Day Gift Assignment: For us to each make him a CD of a variety of our favorite music, our favorite songs. We are not to select songs that we think he will like (like we've done in the past), we are only to put songs on the CD of music we truly love. He thinks it will be a way to get to know each of us better as well getting three new compilation CDs of good music. I'm looking forward to this assignment and really want to pick key songs that reflect the music that I truly love. I know that the music of Gillian Welch and David Rawlings (my faves) will be represented and I'm guessing some Cold Play, Fleetwood Mac and who knows, maybe even Van Halen will make the cut. This will be fun, because, then, hey, I'll have my own compilation of Sarah's faves.

My dad always made great mixed tapes for long car rides to Kentucky when we were growing up. My favorite one that he played oh so many times is called "Foot's Favorites." I wish I could remember exactly what all was on it and I wish I had a copy of it right this very minute. There were some Rolling Stones tracks, there was a Canned Heat song, and there was that 60's song about "Little Red Riding Hood." For my 18th Birthday, my dad gave me a mixed tape that he made called "Bird's 18th Birthday Tape" (real original, that one). I wore that thing out listening to it and to this day every time I hear the song "Brown Sugar" on the radio, I automatically wait for Nanci Griffith's "Once in a Very Blue Moon" to come on next. I can't find my copy of "Bird's 18th" but from what I remember here's what it had:

Dancing on the Wall, version 1--Velvet Bombers (KY friends of my dad's)
Dancing on the Wall, version 2--VBs
Suspicious Minds--Elvis
White Rabbit--Jefferson Starship
My Home's Across the Blueridge Mountains--Ralph Stanley (?)
Something by Dave Bruebeck
Brown Sugar--Rolling Stones
Blue Moon-Nanci Griffith
Sylvie--Sweet Honey in the Rock
The Canadian Nathional Anthem performed by an orchestra (?)

Gosh I wish I could remember the rest, in the order they were played. I'll try to dig that up.

What 10 songs would be on a CD that represented the music that you love?

Coming Soon...

2008-06-03T21:39:00.002-05:00

I promise to write something when I get the time...I'm consumed with a summer school class, Adult Health and Mental Health Disorders, and studying about mood disorders is truly giving me a mood disorder.

Gotta buckle down tomorrow and Thursday. My super-cool cousin from Oakland came over for dinner tonight and my dad arrives Thursday night in time for the two graduations this Friday.

Other things of interest going on this week: I don't have high levels of heavy metals after all (but it took a LONG time to have this reported to me...apparently the hold up was that my check arrived saturated in urine when I mailed in the pee sample and the bank refused to cash it).

My friend GT invited me to a 5-day long early bird yoga camp this week, M-F, 6:30-8:30 AM. Today was my first day and OMG, it was intense. Tomorrow morning I'm going back for seconds.

Stay tuned!!!

Cute, Educational and FREE

2008-05-29T09:06:00.004-05:00

We're a fan of Jan Brett's children's books. The Mitten is one of our favorites. I read on the Momfidence! blog where you can print off cute Jan Brett Phonograms pages (37 in all) to help your emerging reader with the concept of rimes and word families.

Click here to get in on the fun.

Do You Think You Could Take it Down a Notch?

2008-05-27T21:36:00.003-05:00

I had an interview at a Field Placement Agency (aka a place to do my first social work internship) two weeks ago and had this strange experience of feeling like I needed to play myself down in order to build myself up. Let me explain: We had a board meeting at work on the same day of my Field Placement interview, so it made sense to me to wear my nicest black suit. I can bring it when I want to, and that day I brought it. I did my research on the company for which I was interviewing, and I came prepared with lots of questions. The agency provides mental health services to children ages 3-21 and their families, mainly in their homes, mainly low-income families. I was told that the over-arching philosophy of the agency is to build on the family's strengths and to treat the family unit as the entity that drives the services they receive. In other words, the family guides what type of help they need, rather than the providers dictating what needs to be done to "fix" the family.

My interviewer read over my resume and asked me some questions about my past working with low-income and disenfranchised populations, yadda yadda. I talked all about my year as a VISTA Volunteer (where I qualified for subsidized housing AND food stamps) and my experiences with Adult Education learners upon my return to North Carolina. Then I talked about what I'm doing now, administering a private foundation in Cary, whose operating budget stems almost entirely from interest earned on the original multi-million dollar endowment. What this guy saw and experienced first-hand just didn't add up. He even said as much. He read and heard me talk about working with poor people but saw me in an expensive business suit emitting executive-level confidence and command. He told me I came across very polished and very powerful and reflected on the fact that I had pretty much dictated how the entire interview had just gone. His biggest concern was whether or not I'd be able to "take it down a notch" in the clients' homes and whether "corporate Sarah" (my term, not his) would feel comfortable going into poor people's homes and helping them from the vantage point of the family as the unit of power.

I assured him I really wasn't that polished (is that ever a good thing to do in an interview?) and told him that I'd prove it by showing him the inside of my car, then invited him to come to my house to take a look at my ghetto screen door that's been broken for weeks. On the other hand, I didn't feel like I needed to apologize for being confident, knowledgeable and passionate about my field of study and pending Field Placement. I felt like telling him that we have friends who live in trailer parks AND in near mansions and that if it were really up to me, I'd like to get by with less attachment to stuff. I wanted to tell him about riding around in the 70's as a kid in a broken down Ford where the children of Appalachia looked at our family as the ones who stuck out, not the impoverished families my dad was studying. Simultaneously I wanted to tell him that I can hang with the best, the brightest, the richest, and the most notable characters even if I don't feel the most at ease doing so.

What I wanted to come across in the interview was that I do feel comfortable around poor people and at the same time, I am polished when I need to be or want to be. I can be a good listener, I am very down to earth and I can adapt to just about anything you throw my way. I'm also strong, powerful and assertive. I'm all that. Make no mistake, I'm not saying that I'm all that...I'm saying that I'm all that. There's a difference. I'm all that and I don't apologize for any of it. Except maybe the ghetto door that lets flies into my kitchen .

Of course I can take it down a notch if and when the occasion calls for it. What I want to know is can he?

Best Friends

2008-05-20T13:10:00.003-05:00

My kids each invited their best friend over for a double play-date this past Saturday. They all four had a blast but instead of me telling you about it, I'll let these pictures speak for themselves.

In My Humble Opinion

2008-05-19T13:32:00.007-05:00

Dear Sarah,

Since you found out both your kids' current gradutations are on June 6th, I know you've struggled with what to do and have asked a lot of mothers what they would do in this situation. Now I ask that you listen to what I have to say about the matter.

I hope you've figured out by now that you cannot be all things to all people at all times, despite how you sometimes try. Many people who care about you and care about your health have been encouraging you to cut down on all your "extra activities" and as your dad has recently told you, aside from yourself, you really don't owe anything to anyone except your family and your job. Most people don't get how important your extra activities are to you and that even though they require time and energy and sometimes cause stress, most of the time you'd rather be engaged in these activities and be tired at the end of the day than give these things up and still be tired at the end of the day. Trust me, I get it. I get you like no one else.

I've thought about it a lot, and even after I saw your summer school professor's unflinching eyes when you shared your predicament, I think you should go to Johnny's gradutation from Spanish for Fun Academy. For the sake of weighing the pros and cons, let's break it down into specifics:

You know it's on June 6th and you've been told it will occur between 10:00 AM and 12:00 PM. You also know that only one preschool class is graduating, and according to your calculations, that's no more than 12 students. Will it really take 2 hours for 12 5-year olds to sing 3 songs and walk across the stage? In all likelihood, even if you got there right at 10:00 AM, the program probably won't get started until 10:30 AM at the earliest. C'mon, it's Spanish For Fun and after 7 years of associating with the center, you should understand quite clearly now that Latinas take their time with time.

So, Johnny tells you they're singing 3 songs and you know the kids are all going to be individually recognized as they walk across the stage. Then there's going to be lots of food. You know all this. Your class starts at 9:00 AM and ends at 12:00 PM. Somewhere in there, you get a 15-minute break...From 12:00 PM-1:00 PM, you get an hour break for lunch. Your class meets less than a mile on the busline from SFFA. I say, show up fully prepared for class at 9:00 AM and contribute your ass off whenever possible. If MG asks a question, be the first to answer. Be the first to offer up real-life examples just like you did last week. Make relevant comments about specific assigned readings for that class. Sign the attendance sheet if it gets passed around before the break. At the break, hoof it down to SFFA as quickly as possible and make sure Johnny knows when you arrive. I can already see him beaming and it's going to make your heart happy.

Attend and be fully present for the remainder of the graduation for as long as you can without being late for your afternoon class. That means while you're sitting there being proud of Johnny and tearing up with the other moms and dads and teachers because this is the last year for your last child at SFFA, really be in the moment and try not to think about what you're missing in class. If your mind wanders to the topic of mood and anxiety disorders, gently, without judgment, nudge your thoughts back to graduation. (All your hours in yoga class should serve you well with this).

Try to enjoy the graduation as a meaningful transition for Johnny, for you and David, for the teachers and for the center and not as just one more thing you have to fit into your schedule. You know it and everyone there knows it: there's something special about the closeness of this graduating class...so much that Ms. Claudia herself has offered to organize a once-a-month Saturday Spanish-speaking playgroup for these kids when never before in her entire teaching career has she offered to work on the weekends.

You know that it's way more than Johnny's send off--it marks the end of an era in the lives of you and some of your best friends--some of your best friends that are also moms--moms that you've been getting together with for the last 5 years--moms who you've learned to become mothers with. It's also a major transition for you, David, and the center because after this, you and David won't have a sanctioned reason to go by and visit SFFA on a daily basis. You know that your visits are much more than drop offs and pick ups...that you routinely are asked to sit down awhile (and do) because these women have become close friends and confidantes...so close that they are the only ones besides family members who your kids want as babysitters, so close that they break the rules for your kids (to which you don't always agree), so close that even though it sounded preposterous when Adriana first declared that she'd fight with Kate and your dad over who gets custody of Grace and Johnny if something were to happen to you or David, it's now totally within the current realm of possibility. So close that you're now invited to share all major special occasions with this family, and did just yesterday at Adriana's daugther's graduation party.

Maybe MG will take off 5% of your final grade for missing 1/2 of 1 class session; maybe she'll take off the full 10%. If she takes off the full 10%, you won't have a chance of earning an Honors grade for this course. I say get used to this possibility right now. You've already proven that you can make Honors grades in this program--so far you've done it every time. The goal of social work education is to prepare you to work in the field with a very diverse client population. Even though your professor may not agree, I strongly believe that the 1.5 hours you'll spend on June 6th celebrating with your family and friends at the SFFA graduation will prepare you infinitely better from a real-world perspective than the 1.5 you'd otherwise spend in discussion, listening to a lecture, or watching a video clip.

So, there you have it. In my humble opinion, I think you should "split the difference" and go to half your class and to most of graduation. You may not be everything to everyone on that particular day, but I think it's the right decision and one you won't regret. SFFA Graduation on June 6th? I wouldn't miss it for el mundo.

Love,
Bird

The Bird-Spot Kids

2008-05-14T12:27:00.002-05:00

I spent part of Mother's Day with my kids and the talented Genevieve Fridley as we adventured through Chatham County on a photo shoot. Click here to see 3 shots from that session, these particular ones taken at the Bynum General Store. I love how long Grace's legs look, I love that Johnny's hair is longer than Grace's, and I love the fact that Clyde Jones ribbed me by acting like he couldn't tell whether my kids were girls or boys.

Thanks, Genevieve, you definitely captured their essence. I can't wait to see the rest!

Funny (Funnier to us than to you!)

2008-05-13T20:32:00.002-05:00

My Mom
by Grace

My mom is 35 years old, and weighs about 59 pounds. She works at the Foundation where she meets somebody and talks to them about working. I know she loves me because she likes to play with me. My favorite food that mom cooks is pasta, and her favorite food is peanuts. Mom makes me happy when she reads me stories. She loves to type on the computer when she has free time. If I had a million dollars, I would buy her some make-up. My mom thinks the best thing about being a mom is taking me on a beach trip.

My Dad
by Grace

My dad is 12 years old and about 10 feet tall. I know my dad loves me because he tucks me into bed. My dad's favorite sport is baseball and his favorite food is macaroni. He loves to go to "Spanish For Fun." I know my dad loves being a dad because he's big and he is happy. If my dad could buy anything he wanted, I think he would buy some glasses. My favorite thing to do with him is go to his work!

No He Di-Ent

2008-05-08T19:51:00.001-05:00

I called up my neighborhood spa to reschedule an appointment I have tomorrow...from 10:00 AM to 4:00 PM. He looked me up in the computer...paused, and said, "We don't have you on the schedule for tomorrow. We have you on the schedule for June 6th."

I Love You, Too

2008-05-06T08:15:00.005-05:00

My immune system is like mush these days and I'm picking up every virus that blows over my flip-flopped feet. I've recently missed several big events that I really wanted to go to but couldn't because my body was screaming out, "DON'T DO IT!! STAY HOME AND REST INSTEAD!!" One of these events was seeing Grace sing in church this past Sunday. David took the kids and while there, Johnny wrote me a love note tucked inside a tiny offering envelope. Here it is:

To borrow a phrase from dooce, if you don't currently have a four-year-old, I highly recommend going out and getting one right away. I love you, too, Johnny.

WWJD?

2008-05-05T09:35:00.002-05:00

Could anything else possibly be happening on Friday, June 6th? Because if it is, I need to know about it now.

I usually don't work on Fridays, but something special is happening at work on June 6th, and I've been asked to attend. In addition, I'll be in summer school, and June 6th marks the 4th week out of 5. In 5 weeks, we have 10 class sessions. For each class session missed, 10% of our grade will be docked. Also on June 6th is Grace's "Kindergarten Graduation" ceremony. On top of that, I just found out that Johnny's Spanish For Fun Graduation Ceremony is on the same freakin day. Work, school, 2 graduations...all on the same day at the same time. What to do, what to do. Go ahead, invite me to something else that day between 10:00 AM and 1:00 PM. Go ahead. I dare you.

WWJD?

The Arcade Fire/Superchunk Concert in Carrboro, baRACKed!

2008-05-03T12:50:00.010-05:00

David said it was the best Carrboro show he's seen ever. Uncle Matty said he was really glad he took the day off to come see it. A random woman (who left her husband with her two kids for the day so she could come to Carrboro for the first time ever (!) from Cary as she's a huge Arcade Fire fan) that I befriended on the walk to Tyler's after the show gushed about how original Arcade Fire's music and lyrics are. They're positive. The have like ten people in the band who move around switching instruments. One minute, the curly-headed woman is playing keyboards, next she's singing lead, next she's banging on the drums. It was a great live show made even better because it was free and in support of an original and positive presidential candidate. This staffer-type got up and got the crowd energized about how it's not about the person who gets elected for president as much as it's about all of us, America. And if Obama's the best candidate, then let's put him there. It's not about beating McCain and Clinton, it's about putting forth a candidate who will work for the betterment of all Americans. If Obama's the best candidate to do that, then put him there. It's not just about who's best for NC, but who's aslo best for Indiana, California, Guam, and Puerto Rico. If Obama is the best candidate, we've got to PUT HIM THERE. The crowd cheered and I expected the white-shirt staffer guy to say, "Give it up for Arcade Fire!" Instead, he started moving with such intensity I was almost embarrassed for him. It wasn't until he started banging away on the keyboard that I realized he was in the band and only today realized he's the frontman's brother. Whew. They all got so into it and so did the crowd, it was impossible not to have a good time. And apparently impossible to go away not wanting to vote for Obama, even if you were undecided going in. (Just ask David). Superchunk's energizing pogo-ing bassist, the sunny skies and pleasant breeze, catching up with friends, spending an afternoon with your husband and not having to pay a babysitter, the positive energy of Carrboro, the passion of politically-minded and talented musicians, and the seamless convergence of indie rock supporting BArack added up to one really great Friday afternoon in May.

Hanging Up the Merle Fest Hat for Good?

2008-05-01T11:11:00.002-05:00

David: How was it?

Me: Probably the worst one I've been to. The minute we got there, the rain/thunder/and amplified music hurt Grace's ears and she wanted to go home. Then Johnny didn't want to actually listen to any music. He just wanted to run around and play in the rain and mud puddles.
I hardly heard any music at all!

David: But that's how it is every year, only that usually I'm the one who watches the kids while you go running off listening to music.

Me: Oh. Well in that case, why bother even going? You don't care about it that much as evidenced by choosing to attend a work-related wedding than coming with us this year. There are closer, cheaper, and more fun venues to go to for me to hear music while letting the kids run around willy nilly. Yeah, I think that's our last Merle Fest for awhile.

David: Sorry it wasn't that fun.

Johnny: I had a blast.

Grace: Me too. I had a blast.

OMG, It's Getting Good

2008-04-28T09:15:00.003-05:00

All I did was ask him to be my Facebook friend and upon his acceptance, I found out all this crazy polling stuff going on! My favorite peace-man-sensitive-pony-tailed-folk-singer is all over the news exposing negative Clinton campainging!!!

I really wanted to go to the Arcade Fire/Superchunk Obama Rally this Friday so I went down to Pittsboro to score some tix yesterday. I got them (and a few extras if anyone's interested) and in a matter of seconds also agreed to make about 250 phone calls and do some door-to-door canvassing for Obama this weekend. I'm pumped. I think I may even have a chance of swinging David over to my side (my husband David, not folk-singer David). We'll see what he thinks after Friday's concert.

I'm pumped, people!!!!

Utter Randomness

2008-04-24T15:11:00.004-05:00

Many many years ago David and I were on a road trip talking in the car about this-n-that, stuff we'd heard on the news. He told me about this man who rode around the world on a bicycle and wasn't that impressive. I thought about it and said that what I really think would be impressive is if a person ate a bicycle. Or a tree. Not that a person eat a tree, but that a tree eat a bicycle. Anyway, you find me a person anywhere in the world who eats an entire bicycle, and I'll be impressed.

David is super impressed with my new yoga moves. Maybe you can't tell from this photo but getting into lotus position while in shoulder stand is not all that easy. I can do it! David told me last night that he's way more impressed with my lotus shoulder stand than he is with me attending an AME church service (and then writing about it).

So, I'm on the phone with the IRS trying to sort out a work-related issue as they're blasting Mozart's Eine Kleine Nachtmuzic. I cannot hear that song withouth thinking back to when I played violin from the 4th-7th grade when a group of us girls got accused of "sniffing" glue when really we were huddled trying to attach a Lee Press-On Nail. Also associated with orchestra is how Lane M. used to tie my impossibly long hair into knots just seconds before we were to go out on stage to perform. We played Eine Kleine Nachtmusiz. With knots in our hair.

You can go ahead and take me out of the running for this year's Mother-of-the-Year Award. Grace's school called me at work today at 12:30 PM to inform me that Grace was in the office waiting to be picked up as it was an early release day. Oh, and Johnny missed his Kindergarten Orientation because somehow I DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT IT.

Joy Juice

2008-04-23T14:46:00.009-05:00

Some people enjoy going to bars to converse with people while filling their bodies with fluids that make them feel good. People like me? We go to IV lounges at our doctors' offices.

I sat for over two hours today in the IV lounge at Dr. Webster's office in High Point getting my first Mega C Nutritional IV Drip. The first hour I sat alone, flip flopping between working on a research final and text-messaging my sister, (r u ok?) my husband, (u r on my 2 do list) and a classmate (to whom when he informed me that he'd finished his paper a week early, only had two more research questions to complete AND has the day off tomorrow I texted: u suk! j/k). (I'm a texting newbie, btw, and still can't figure out how to make my phone type the number 1, so I just use a lower-case "L" but get made fun of by Kate who's one of those who can text full paragraphs while driving and curling her eyelashes at the same time).

The second hour, two ladies joined me, and we intermittently chit-chatted about our intravenous cocktails and whether we agreed with People Magazine's assessment of this year's sexiest man alive. The lady beside me who'd driven three hours from eastern Tennessee to get her "joy juice" assured me I'd feel like a million bucks when I wake up tomorrow.

For $135 an-out-of-pocket-pop, I'd better.

Next week, same bat time, same bat channel. I'll receive my second Mega C drip in preparation for the following week's heavy metal chelation.

Rock on.

Standing on the Promises

2008-04-22T15:45:00.000-05:00

As I parked my car and hurried to get inside, my heart pounded with a lot of excitement and a little anxiety. My trepidation had less to do with how I thought I would feel during the service and more to do with my perception of how others would feel with me present. I skipped up the concrete steps and smiled at the teenaged boys sitting outside the thick double doors. An attractive woman wearing white gloves greeted me, handed me a bulletin, and ushered me to my seat towards the back of the sanctuary. There I was, at 11:00 AM on a Sunday morning, attending for the first time a worship service at St. Paul African Methodist Episcopal (AME) Church, located at the corner of Merritt Mill Road and Franklin Street in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. In addition to it being my first time worshipping at St. Paul AME, it was also my first time attending any church service where the congregation was comprised mostly of—if not all—African Americans. Feeling fully alive and conspicuous in my red dress and fair skin, my heart warmed with joy as I heard a familiar hymn. Joining my black brothers and sisters in Christ on the second verse, we lifted our voices together singing:“Standing on the promises that cannot fail, when the howling storms of doubt and fear assail, by the living Word of God I shall prevail, standing on the promises of God” (Bulletin)

As a fellow Methodist, I felt acquainted with many of the elements and the order of the service. Although the historic practices of Methodism provide the basic doctrine and “orderly system of rules and regulations” the AME Church has a heritage rooted in African American opposition to racial discrimination prevalent in American Methodist churches in the 18th century (website). In addition, structurally, the AME Church operates under an Episcopal form of governance (website). Even though my 36 years of churchgoing provided a schema on which to base my experience at St. Paul, I was struck with the elements of difference, particularly with the music, the length of the service, and the emotive participants.

Music is a key component of worship at my church, University United Methodist, as we enjoy numerous choirs, soloists, and an accomplished organist. However, at St. Paul AME, musical expression was the congregation’s soul. Led by an energetic directress, the featured Men’s Choir was accompanied by a drummer, an electric pianist, and a saxophonist. I left feeling like I had been to a big-city jazz concert after a saxophone solo, a feeling that was heightened after a theatrical youth song and dance number that was as visually engaging as it was pleasing to the ears.

I knew just enough about the AME Church going in to suspect that the service would last longer than the standard hour to which my church usually adheres, but I was not prepared for the service to last in its entirety longer than two and a half hours. I attended St. Paul AME on a special Sunday, the Men of Destiny Conference “2008” Annual Worship Service, and the sermon was delivered by a guest preacher. The sermon began about 12:30 PM and culminated at 1:20 PM with shouts, praises, tears, and everyone in the house who was able, standing on their feet, clapping their hands. It is difficult to determine if the claps were in praise of the inspiring sermon alone, or if they also represented an outward expression of gladness that the sermon was finally over! People stayed and the congregants remained engaged.

When I juxtapose my church’s worship service with the one I experienced at St. Paul AME, the most striking difference is the unabashed external emotional expression of both the leaders and the audience. People clapped during the songs and stood up shouting praises when the spirit led them. The house was filled with joy, and I felt like I belonged and was welcomed there.
As I sat and worshipped in fellowship with other Christians, I thought how at once I was the numerical minority but also a member of the dominant majority. I thought that even though I was sitting amidst a racial and cultural subgroup other than my own, we were all members of the Christian community. We were also all members of the Chapel Hill community, and it felt good to recognize my loan officer, an Orange County Commissioner running for NC State Senate, and a former co-worker that all but offered me a job upon finishing my Master’s Degree. This assignment served to remind me that as a professional social worker, sometimes the lines of difference I will face will be stark, sometimes they will be blurred, but all the time the promises of a community should be available to all.

Thank You to MY Fairy Godmother

2008-04-21T10:22:00.002-05:00

My Fairy Godmother was looking after me last night and boy, am I thankful. Grace lost her fourth tooth yesterday while we were at a birthday party. Her first three teeth came out with no help from David or me but yesterday I had to intervene and give it that one, two, three gentle pull to just get that sucker out! I wrapped the tooth in a paper towel and put it in my pocket as we enjoyed the rest of the party. Grace reminded me at bedtime that we needed to put the tooth in a plastic baggie and put the baggie under her pillow. We did it and at tuck-in time wondered what the Tooth Fairy might leave in terms of cold hard cash. So far in our house, the Tooth Fairy has left one shiny quarter for each tooth lost. So, when Grace lost her first tooth, she got one quarter, when she lost her second tooth, two quarters, etc. This was her fourth tooth, so we did the math and thought it highly likely that she would get four quarters (a dollar!!) for her fourth tooth.

After Grace and Johnny both fell asleep, I stayed up a couple more hours doing schoolwork. Drunk with fatigue, I stumbled to my bed at around 10:45 PM and was deep into my own dreams in a matter of minutes. I awakened at around 3:00 AM as Grace's bare long legs wrapped around mine. She had come into our bed with her "sleep toys" and her plastic baggie with her tooth still in it; she'd put her tooth under one of our pillows and had fallen fast asleep. I'm glad I had the middle-of-the-night sense to tell the Tooth Fairy to get with the program! She (the Tooth Fairy, not me) stumbled into the kitchen and retrieved four quarters to place under Grace's pillow in exchange for her fourth tooth. As luck would have it, three quarters were readily available hanging out on top of our microwave since Grace lost her third tooth just about a week ago. The Tooth Fairy fished out another quarter from the change jar and finished her secret transaction in time for the both of us to get a few more hours of sleep.

You should have seen the smile on Grace's face...a smile that reminds me of a Jack-O-Lantern with staggered missing teeth on the top and the bottom...when she jangled her baggie full of quarters. Four quarters to be exact. Just like we had predicted.

Sunburnt Brain

2008-04-18T16:34:00.002-05:00

I have a lot on my mind these days. To name a few:

1. End of the semester assignments. I haven't even finished this semester and already have received an e-mail alerting us to summer school reading that is due on the first day of class.

2. My health issues. More lab tests have been ordered. This is suspected as well as this.

3. Grace's developmental issues. Someone from here is coming by the house tomorrow to evaluate Grace to determine if she's a good candidate for this.

4. How are we going to pay for all of this?

5. At least it's sunny out and at least I have cute shoes.

Nothing Says FUN Quite Like a Pollen-Filled Puddle

2008-04-14T07:32:00.001-05:00

Props to Caramore

2008-04-10T14:08:00.002-05:00

A New York Times op-ed piece written by Lee Smith mentions Caramore, David's company. I'm really proud of David and the work he and the others do there.

From the Times:
April 6, 2008
Op-Ed Contributor
In North Carolina, Really Outsider Art
By LEE SMITH
Hillsborough, N.C.

“WE mentally ill can be a shy bunch — aside from bipolar mania, we generally keep to ourselves,” the filmmaker Philip Brubaker says to a big laugh as he introduces his latest documentary, “Brushes With Life: The Journey of Art,” to a packed house.
We are at the Brushes With Life Gallery, which is housed in the University of North Carolina’s neurosciences hospital and has one requirement for the artists it showcases: each has a mental illness (something that, as Mr. Brubaker notes, “is seldom an asset”).
He continues: “Art springs from the heart, but more importantly, the mind. A mind that is heavy with anxiety and pain can get a release from art like nothing else. Their journey through art is a way to relieve pain.” The lights dim.

“I’m sick of that phrase ‘mental illness,’ ” one of the artists, Rhonda, announces to the camera in the film. “Many of us may have started this process out of anger, but ultimately, it’s healing.” Figures hide within figures in her intricate, elegant black-and-white drawings.
Todd, talking as he draws his humorous animal cartoons, points out that “the gallery focuses on dealing with the whole person; we’re not dealing with mental illness here.”

A young man named Kwami is filmed leaning up against a chain-link fence, watching some boys shoot baskets. “I wanted to play basketball,” he says. “But my mom’s boyfriend burned my hands while she was at the store.” The camera focuses on his large, nubby hands; the audience gasps. But Kwami says, “People can see my hands, and they don’t mind it — but having a mental illness, now that’s way more of a problem than my hands.”

Some of Kwami’s wildly colorful paintings also hang on the walls of Caramore, a residential treatment program in Chapel Hill where my own schizophrenic son, Josh, spent some productive time before he died in 2003.

Humor and openness abound here — both in the film and in everyone’s comments afterward. A far cry, I can’t help thinking, from the reactions of hush-hush horror our family faced when Josh became ill back in the 1980s.

Unfortunately, “Brushes With Life” is a splash of color and hope in a dark picture: North Carolina’s entire mental health system is in jeopardy. According to a recent investigative series by The News & Observer of Raleigh, a 2001 reform effort has failed, wasting more than $400 million and putting the 350,000 seriously ill people in the state system at risk of losing community care.

Local mental health services used to be provided by federal, state and local governments. The reform plan put the counties out of business and forced them to hire for-profit “providers” that offered sometimes specious “community support” services for exorbitant prices. Costs more than doubled, to $1.5 billion a year. Only 5 percent of the money went to intensive outpatient therapy. As a result, our mental hospitals are overwhelmed, while prisons and homeless shelters are filling up with people who have persistent mental disorders.

Peter Kramer, a local social worker, has served Hillsborough’s mental health program for 20 years. The day his program switched from state support to private contractors in July 2006, he says, “A mother called up and said her son was hearing voices, but there was no doctor there to refer her to.” His clinic is due to close entirely. “People are calling us in tears saying things like, ‘What’s going to happen to me? I’ve had my doctor for 17 years, what can I do without him?’
“The people in this film have been supported by good doctors and programs — by local clubhouse programs, by outpatient therapy, medication and case management,” Mr. Kramer points out to me at the reception. “The art is good, and they are getting validated here. Instead of seeing them as people with deficits, we see them as people with strengths.”

Mike Dunn, another of the artists in the film, tells me: “People are people, you can’t just draw lines. I’m trying to be a good ambassador for people with my illness. We have hurts, and we have hearts, and we have hopes, too.”

I just wish Josh could be here to see it.

Lee Smith is the author, most recently, of the novel “On Agate Hill.”

Blog Blahs

2008-04-08T15:38:00.005-05:00

I stayed home from work today with what I thought might be strep but more likely is allergies...and I definitely have the blahs. I started a post on my latest health stuff (other than the strep-like allergy symptoms) but I couldn't get past the title. Too blah. There's all kinds of stuff I think I'll write about one day but never do. I've decided to do a list today of very random things. Maybe I'll expand on some of these topics later. Maybe not.

1. My hair is falling out. Really it is. It's not obvious yet but my sister pointed it out about a month ago. Ever since she did, I've noticed it too. Strands of long blonde hair are everywhere. It's really noticable when I wear dark colors or when I look at the back of my chair at work at the end of the day. I'm pretty sure it's hormonal and I'm going to the dr. on Monday to get it looked into. Honestly, I'm not that bothered by it. Maybe it will give me a chance to try some different hair styles/colors out. The celebrities all do it. My hair though, (always blonde, usually long) has been what I consider one of my best features. When I told my dad, he expressed concern but on his own (and whether he meant it or not, it made me feel better) said, "Your hair is one of your best features but your deep set eyes are your best."

2. People who haven't seen me in awhile are kind of amazed because I've lost a lot of weight. I'll check on Monday at the dr. (they'll weigh me) and see how reliable this number is, but I think I've lost about 15 pounds. I'm basically back to the "old Sarah--" the one before having kids. It's nice to hear people comment about looking great due to the weight loss but I wish I felt great.

3. I credit yoga and my change of diet to my strengthening and slendering physique. I am addicted to yoga. I love it and I try to go three times a week. I'm not disciplined to do yoga at home. I'm also not disciplined to exercise in the morning. This young woman (16, actually) had a seizure in yoga class a few weeks ago. It took us awhile to figure out what was going on b/c it presented itself more like she was sleep talking than having the type of seizure I'd expect. The same girl had another one last week.

4. School is going great. I love the program and feel good that I've found "my thing." It's a strange but wonderful feeling spending every Friday with a room full of people that are very much like yourself. In my everyday life I have many pockets of friends, co-workers, associates, family, etc. And I have admiration and stuff in common with all of these pockets but I also differ quite a bit from people in my different circles. On Fridays, though, I'm with a group of people that I've only known for nine months. They get me as well as any other group or individual I've ever gotten to know. Because they're like me. And we're talking about human relationships and social issues in ways that I don't do in other groups. Let's put it another way: many of the qualities that make me unique, define me, categorize me, etc. are qualities that most everyone in the room share. So with those similarities already established, our classroom is furtile ground for pushing the envelope, questioning our assumptions, asking questions that might offend, etc. We've had several people cry in class (including me) because breaking down the issues and talking about individual, family, group, and community relationships like we do cuts to the core of humanity. And those elements can be quite raw.

Ok, time to put my yoga pants on.

A Bloody Good Time

2008-04-01T09:28:00.003-05:00

Wish I had taken pictures of the kids in the tub last night. It looked like a total blood bath and with it being April 1 and all, I could have really tricked you, dear readers. We enjoy an activity at my house about once a month or so when it's my turn to do bath that I've dubbed "Paint Bath." I made it up two or three years ago as a way to make bath-time more fun and paint-time less stressful. Parents, if you haven't tried this with your kids, you're missing out on a great bathtime, rainy-day, sunny-day, anyday activity that you can easily stretch out over an hour. Here are the steps to follow:

1. Ask your kids if they want tonight to be "Paint Bath Night" and see how loud they shriek and how quickly they get undressed and into the tub.

2. Fill up the bath with soapy water because what bath isn't more fun with bubbles? While you're getting the paint supplies together, the kids are getting their legit bath.

3. Gather your supplies: Crayola Washable Kid's Paint (don't bother with finger paints or paints marketed for the bathtub. These don't work as well. Stick to the ones linked here.) Gather paint brushes in all sizes, stamps of all sizes, cotton balls, q-tips and of course finger tips which are already "on hand." Gather old towels, preferrably in dark colors. Gather baby wipes.

4. Lay two old towels down against the side of the bathtub to collect paint drip. This will happen but the towels will minimize mess.

5. Your spot as a parent is on the floor near or on the towels with the baby wipes nearby.

6. Set up your painters' pallettes by dripping a little bit of each color on the edge of the bathtub. If you have more than one kid, they will aruge about who has more paint. Make sure you distribute the paint equally.

7. Let them go crazy dipping their fingers, hands, stamps, brushes, etc. into the paint and onto the shower walls behind them. Let them even paint each other. They can stand up, they can sit down, their soapy bath water will turn colors. They can write their names or draw pictures. They will have a blast and will be entertained and you, dear parent, will have a blast and will be entertained watching them create colorful artwork with no holds barred.

8. Encourage them not to splatter paint outside of the bathtub. Don't worry if they do, it comes off! As the paint drips down toward the towel, periodically wipe it up with the baby wipes. It's easier than you might think.

9. When their masterpieces are finished, take pictures! Then give them each a few baby wipes and let them clean up their "messes!" It works great!! You'll have to do several wipes followed eventually by dry towels, but I think you'll be amazed at how easily this paint cleans up off of shower walls, naked bodies, bathroom walls, floors, and even parents' clothes. Whatever is left, you can clean up during your next shower (or bath. And it can even be a paint bath. The fun is not relegated to kids!).

10. Try it out dear parents, and if you do, please take pictures to show me!!

Happy Paint Bathing!!

So, Anyway...

2008-03-27T10:08:00.003-05:00

Last week on my way home from work I stopped into Target to do a little shopping with an American Express gift card I received for my birthday. First, I pulled out my gift card and checked with a salesperson to make sure they accepted AE. I didn't want to waste my time trying on and selecting veritably cute clothes only to be rejected at the cash register. When the coast was clear, I grabbed a shopping cart and the next 10 or 15 bright/comfortable looking/potentially flattering items. Bricks and mortar shopping wears me out. The decisions, the lines, the mirrors, the hassles, the guilt-I get overwhelmed. No shopping guilt this time as I had FREE MONEY to spend on myself, however I wanted. I wanted something yellow. I wanted a new dress. I wanted the Irish Friendship shirt for $3.50. I needed help.

I don't always know what looks good on me and I definitely don't know how to accessorize. I tried a shirt-dress on and for the life of me couldn't make my mind up as to whether it looked good as in a 50's vintage kind of way or old-fashioned in a Little House on the Prairie kind of way. I enlisted the advice of the young, urban, black, gay staff. (What? I heard them talking about going to gay bars). It took them a minute to give me a once-over and then declare that the questionable dress looked cute on me and that it fit me really well. After a little more scrutiny, I was told to not wear flat shoes or a long necklace with the dress or I would risk looking Amish. Funny, in my mind I'd already picked out the flats I was going to pair with this dress if I bought it. Then I asked my fashionistas/os whether to get the navy or yellow top. After holding each up just below my chin to give them the full effect of how my skin tone played off the saturated colors of the shirts, I was unanimously told to go with the yellow. Because navy blue is just so boring. Secretly I wanted them to pick yellow, and secretly, I kept it to myself that my favorite color in the world to wear is navy.

I gathered up the few things I was buying and the 15 items I wasn't and found the shortest line. When it was time to pay, I couldn't find my gift card. Anywhere. What the? I searched through all the folds in my wallet and in each section of my purse, and I couldn't find the card. The lady put my transaction on hold while I went back to the dressing room to see if I'd dropped it. Someone else was already in there. Crap, I thought, if someone find it laying on the dressing room floor, why would they turn it in? It's just like finding a fifty-dollar bill. I asked my fashionisto if anyone had turned in an AE gift card and he said no. I had to wait until my stall was free, but it wasn't in there. I sat there distressed looking again all through my purse. I looked in my wallet again and then in the zippered part of my purse. Why would a credit card be in the zippered part of my purse? Because earlier on the way to work, contents of my wallet spilled out onto the floor of my car when I hit the gas a little too hard, and the zippered part is where I shoved stuff that I didn't have time to neatly put back into my wallet. Why would contents of my wallet fall out of my wallet if it were snapped shut? Because the snap wouldn't shut because my wallet was too fat with an extra checkbook and too many receipts. Listen, people, it's the story of my life. I'm not organized in too many ways to count and I was mad at myself for my latest misfortune. I may have even muttered the f-word under my breath.

Where could that stupid card be? The one that I'd had in my hands thirty minutes earlier?? Just by chance, I walked by a rack of shirts that I'd looked at and tried on, glanced down to the floor and saw my AE card, all by its lonely, belly up. I grabbed it and went back and flashed it to my fashionisto who was on the phone but signalled a thumbs up, then went back to my line and finished my purchase.

One day my luck is going to run out, but until then, I probably won't change much.

I Can't Seem to Finish That Last Post

2008-03-25T13:50:00.002-05:00

So in the meantime, read this piece, written by my good friend's dad:

Oops, I Did It Again

2008-03-20T04:50:00.006-05:00

I've been doing it as long as David has known me; heck, I've been doing it most of my life: losing important things, freaking out about lost items, pulling other people into my frenzy of searching for lost items only to find that what I thought was lost was not lost at all.

In High School I lost my orthodontic retainer, and after ransacking every inch of our house and even the tip of the dumpster outside the school cafeteria, I concluded with gusty assurance that a ghost had taken my retainer. Months later, the retainer reappeared. The ghost had given it back. By that time, it didn't fit anymore, and the effort to retain the straight smile I had when I first got my $2,000 braces taken off had failed. I always felt guilty about that because that was a lot of money coming from two teachers' salaries, and they did it times two. Daniel was the only one of the three of us that didn't get braces and he later expressed his feeling of getting ripped off: Why couldn't he have been given the $2,000 in cash? It's not like my teeth are awful now. They're pretty straight...WAY better than when I got braces. I sucked my thumb until I was eight so when my lost baby teeth came back in, many of them came back crowded and crooked. I didn't really pay much attention, but B. H., a neighborhood boy three years my senior, made sure my budding self esteem took a major hit by asking me in front of everyone, "Where'd you get your teeth...K-Mart?" The point of all this is that I lost my retainer, sent my whole family into a tizzy helping me find it, blamed it on a ghost, then found it months later.

My junior year of college, my friend A. H. and I traveled to England and Wales to visit our friend that had been an exchange student living in our dorm the year before. During that whole two-week period, both A and L had to put up with my outbursts of "MY PASSPORT! Where is it?" as I frantically frisked myself at least five times a day. I always found my passport, and A and L always knew I would. Boy was I a neurotic international traveler.

In Florida, early in our courtship, David and I often found ourselves cooling off in the local Baskin Robins. His indoctrination to my losing-things-freak-out came one afternoon when I realized I'd left my purse at the ice cream parlor. We were thirty minutes away before I noticed I couldn't find my chapstick because I COULDN'T FIND MY PURSE!! He turned the car around, raced back, and I was lucky that my purse (and chapstick) were right where I left them. I'm usually so lucky.

I cannot even count the times over the years when things like this have happened. David is so used to it, he just always calmly reminds me that I'm doing it again and that I almost always find what I think I've lost. Just two days ago, trying to get Grace to school on time, I couldn't find my keys, (To be fair, I had a special hook where I hang my keys, but an unnamed guest recently MOVED that hook because she thought it would look better in the kitchen hanging, say, decorative hand towels). Ever since, I've been hard-pressed to find my keys when I need them. The other day I raced around looking for my keys, and then looking for the spare, and caused such a racket David jumped out of his shower...

TO BE CONTINUED...CHECK BACK LATER

Happy Music

2008-03-17T09:50:00.001-05:00

Bob, this goes out to you...looks like we have a few more tunes to learn!! Happy St. Patty's Day!

Consider Yourself Pinched...

2008-03-17T09:13:00.003-05:00

...if you aren't wearing green today. I hope the luck of the Irish kicks in soon. I woke up late with a sore neck (for the 10th day in a row) and was late getting Grace to school because I couldn't find my keys. Even though I set my alarm for 6:30 AM, I hit snooze so many times that David has resorted to calling our home phone from his cell phone to wake me up. How pathetic is that? Searching for my pot-o-gold...

Out Of Style

2008-03-11T20:39:00.004-05:00

Today at the gym on the treadmill I grabbed an InStyle mag to flip through while I exercised. With Valentines all over the cover, it was apparently a February issue. I wanted to check current hair styles, make up trends and the latest must-have spring accessories. Specifically, I was looking for pictures of bright yellow shoes, handbags, and bold floral prints that have been gracing the magazines this season. Instead I saw gladiator sandals, neckline bling and a large section on celebrity weddings. I flipped through the entire magazine getting tips on how to look current this time of year but got to the end with some confusion. Vanessa Williams and Rick Fox, the perfect couple? Didn't they break up a long time ago? It was only then that I looked on the spine and saw that my "current" trend guide was four years old. I'm hopeless.

The Next Best Thing?

2008-03-11T08:52:00.003-05:00

My mom's best friend's daughter was going away to college in a very urban part of the country--one where the traffic is so heavy, there are ordinances against driving one person to a car during rush hours. My mom's friend went to a novelty shop in Boone in search of a life-sized doll that her daugther could put in the passenger seat to look like there were more than one person traveling in the car. My mom's best friend has a wacky sense of humor, but other than that she's pretty much as straight as they come. She's one of those fun moms who says you don't need alcohol to have a good time, and means it. Anyway, she went into this shop and asked for a life-sized blow up doll. The clerk was back in the back for a long time then finally came back out holding an inflatated sheep and said, "We're all out of human dolls but we have this sheep. Will this do?"

The Last 3 Days

2008-03-07T15:55:00.003-05:00

5 years ago March 7th was on a Friday like today. 5 years ago, March 8th, was on a Saturday, like tomorrow. This year Feb. had 29 days. In 2003, it didn't. So, the last 3 days.

We only went out when we needed to, except for Daniel, who was out of the house quite a bit. He didn't necessarily want to be there when it happened, which I guess is pretty close to needing to be away. Food kept coming in and so did visitors. When this kind of thing happens you often feel compelled to "do something" and doing something manifested itself in homemade chicken pot pies. Although we took them and ate them, those of us who knew the back story wondered, "Where have you been in the last 8 years? What took you so long? Why are you showing up on our doorstep now? It's too late." In times of grief, people do things that make themselves feel better and the crying and pain is usually a representation of what you've lost, not what the dying person is losing.

I've never lost sight of what my mom lost, but at the same time, I've never viewed her death as a tragedy. A tragedy is being shot and killed your senior year of college or what it feels like if you're the parents and family of that young woman. There are many more tragic examples of death, and I understand that my mom lived a very full eight plus years that she had cancer, and that her family and friends did too. I also know that many many people miss her being around.

David actually put in a full work week and made it back to Boone while my mom was still alive. That's remarkable, but that was Mama. It was Friday afternoon, and I was calling Boone Drug to see about running out there to pick up some more pain medication for her. David was reuniting with Grace and Kate and N were in the white room with my mom. My dad was downstairs and Daniel was with S. I can't remember how many times we all rushed in to be right there with her as she drew her last breath only for it not to be her last breath, or last hour or last day. On Friday, March 7th as I was holding on the telephone line with a pharmacist, N came running in to tell me she thought it had happened. I dropped the phone and ran into the white room. My mom had taken her last breath. It was like she knew I was planning on going out to get her next round of meds and she said, "Don't bother." N said, "She's only a shell now, her soul's in Heaven." Someone got Daddy and someone called Daniel. Someone called my Aunt S and someone called Hospice. When Hospice came, they suggested that we all gather in another room because of the difficulty in seeing someone you love being taken away. My mom was cremated, and even though I know what happened to her body, my last image of her is in the white room, in bed, in peace. We gathered downstairs and K came down to get us after Mama was gone. I'm not a huge touchy-feely hugger type (except with my own kids), but when Daniel came back, we each gave him a hug. He'd just lost his mother.

It was late, it was over, and we were all exhausted. I don't remember how, exactly, but phone calls were made and people were notified. We didn't begin planning her two memorial services until the next day, on my 31st birthday.

So tomorrow's my birthday, just like it will always be the day after March 7th. I've been especially looking forward to my birthday this year because UNC plays Dook and it's definitely our turn to win. With the recent UNC student murder there's been talk about how this UNC-Duke match-up probably will feel different, not as festive. If everything I've read about Eve Carson is true, how she epitomized the Carolina spirit, then I can say with confidence that she'd want UNC to beat some Dook butt tomorrow night. It appears to be who she was. And if my mom were around to observe the 5th anniversary of her death and if she were aware that people are still calling me and e-mailing me on March 7th to tell me they're thinking of me because I'm thinking of her, surely she'd insist that the focus be taken off her and put on the sad loss of Eve Carson. It's who she was.

Recent Updates

2008-03-04T19:42:00.004-05:00

1.) Thanks to all my loyal informants (5 in all) that gave me the bad news throughout the day that the Raleigh Van Halen show this Friday has been canceled, wait, postponed, until April 13th. Perhaps the most touching was my dad finding out and not being able to bear telling me, so he had Kate do it. But by then I had already known for hours. I found that kind of cute and quite frankly, a little pitiful. If only that was the worst news I'd get all week.

2.) For those of you who heard about the ASU lock-down and wondered if any of my family members were affected, they were. My brother was in the fitness center when it all happened and was led to a secret room for over an hour. Turns out the gunman story was a hoax. I'm not sure what's real anymore. I'm even wondering if the hoax is a hoax. When David heard that the alleged gunman was wearing a Pink Floyd t-shirt and a black ski mask he was like, "Well that describes half the people in Boone."

The Last 10 Days, Days 4-7

2008-03-03T16:15:00.003-05:00

David stayed through the weekend, and without much change, drove back to Chapel Hill for his Sunday shift. While he was there, though, he did what he does best. He supportively stayed out of the way, took care of Grace, ran errands and the vacuum cleaner in the family room without being asked. I was fine with him leaving. The phone calls picked up and the visits slowed down. Mrs. C was granted one last visit with Mama, but most people who came to the door didn't make it down the hallway.

Daniel and Daddy came in and out of the room, sometimes to weep buckets (my dad) but mainly it was Kate, N, Grace and me rounding the clock. I sat on the floor and played with Grace and while she napped I started working on the newspaper obituary. It felt very strange writing that in the past tense while my mom steadily breathed in and out two feet away. We all decided on a picture of her to have framed and Daniel took on this project.

There were a few laughs--ones that my mom would have surely appreciated. Grace's baby monitor was back in my dad's room with her port-a-crib and the speaker was with us in the white room. Let's just say that it's fair to assume my dad did NOT know we could all hear him doing his bathroom business. But we did hear it. All. Other zanyness included Grace's battery-operated Farmer Brown toy going off LOUDLY in the middle of somber moments. There were several dramatic times when we thought "This is it! Everyone gather round, I think she's about to take her last breath!" And instead of it being her last breath, it was "FARMER BROWN HAS A BROWN HORSE. B-R-O-W-N H-O-R-S-E, Yuk, Yuk, Yuk" reminding us that there's never a bad time for a good sense of humor. And those who knew my mom knew she had one of the best.

Hours in that room were surprising therapeutic. She was using an oxygen tank and the steady breath, the rise and fall of her chest, the touch of her still-warm pulse was enough to keep us all going and grounded. She was our center and because of her, we all knew what and where our places were. She was still the beating heart of our family. At least for a few more days.

Get Thee to His First Rock Concert

2008-02-29T16:07:00.001-05:00

Maybe I should take Johnny to Van Halen this Friday.

David:

A couple of weeks ago Johnny was in the back seat and had an ipod on listening to Megadeth (it was that loud) and he shouted "I feel like a teenager!"

This AM he said in the back of car "when I hear loud rock-and-roll I feel like there are somersaults in my tummy."

The Last 10 Ten Days, Days 2 and 3

2008-02-28T09:02:00.003-05:00

We all got settled in and prepared for the great wait. We didn't know she'd hang on 10 days, though, and the entire time we thought it would be any day, any minute, any breath. Daniel slept in the living room, N in the red room, my dad down on the couch in the basement, David, Grace, and me in my parents' room, and Kate right there beside Mama the whole time. K with Hospice spent many hours with us in the white room talking about everything under the sun, but Kate was truly the one who nursed Mama. She administered the pain-killers and orchestrated all the elements of Mama's care barely leaving her side.

We didn't have anywhere to go so we basically camped out in the white room talking to Mama (we were told the hearing is the last to go), talking to each other and listening to a Joanie Madden cd, "Songs of the Irish whistle." that would later serve as an anthem to that time.

People brought plenty of food but no one felt much like eating. I take that back. My dad seemed to enjoy the endless supply of nourishment that kept appearing at our doors. The phone rang a lot and we took turns giving family and friends updates. We knew the end was nearing we just didn't know exactly when the end would come. As hard as it was being right there, it must have been even harder for our dear family members across the states who had only those brief and not very conclusive telephone updates on which to make sense of the very sad situation.

Mama rallied once to say, "I love everybody," and we made out that she had "a wish" for Daniel. We can only assume that her wish was for him to give faith a fair try as I believe she believed he wasn't a believer. She also called for David, specifically, and that makes sense because she loved him as her own. David met my mom post-diagnosis, so he never knew her cancer-free. It was 1994, and I was two weeks into my year as a VISTA volunteer in DeFuniak Springs, FL when I got the news. David, my brand new friend, was the first person I told. Thankfully, most of the following eight years were full of lots of living and doing and laughing, and not the devastating sickness that we all encountered those last 10 days.

Kate is haunted much more than I am with the horrors of Mama's deterioration that she witnessed first-hand. In fact, much of it has been blocked out. We all want to think that Mama wasn't in pain at the end (at least I do), but she was, and only Kate knows the truth about how bad it got. Kate was our hero, taking on the physical duties and never leaving Mama's side. I didn't feel jealous or resentful towards Kate for taking on this intimate role, but I did yearn for my therapist, as I felt she was the only one to whom I could tell my innermost thoughts and feelings. We were all dealing with our loss in our own way, and no way was the right way.

So we circulated in and out of the white room sometimes having alone time just to be with Mama, sometimes being with her with a roomful of others. During my alone time with Mama as I lay beside her, I said my last peace. I hope she heard me.

The Last 10 Days, Day 1

2008-02-26T16:10:00.004-05:00

I'm not always good about keeping my cell phone charged and with me and on and stuff like that. I had it with me that day when Daddy called. I was at work down in the research room when he called. He was calling to tell me he thought that "this is it" and he thought I should come home. The day was February 26, 2003. It was Wednesday.

I burst out crying right there at work and was glad that J was there to help me get out the door. I usually kept to myself and didn't get too personal with J--she had a bit of a rough edge that wasn't entirely pleasant to be around. But at that time I was glad she was there. Crying, I told her that my mom was dying and that I'd be leaving and didn't know when I'd be back. She helped me put my paperwork away, turn my computer off and put my jacket on. She kept saying, "Just go" and I kept saying, "Sorry, I'll try to keep you posted."

Kate is the first person I called. I remember I hadn't even made it to the first stop light yet. I was devastated that I might not make it back in time. She said just to get here safely and that she would fill me in on what was going on with Hospice, the nurses, especially K, with whom Kate was especially impressed. Kate sounded strong and I was glad because I wasn't.

I called David next and told him to please help me get my things and Grace's things together. He asked no questions and was ready to go when I got back from work. I was quiet on the drive to Boone, not crying or talking, just thinking. Hoping that I'd see my mom alive at least one more time. I was so glad I'd stayed the extra night on Sunday and that David covered for me in the nursery at church. And that he'd taken good care of Grace. She was 18 months old. On Sunday, N, Kate and I washed Mama's hair in the living room and then we all watched "My Big Fat Greek Wedding." It was funny, but I didn't feel well. I had a mild fever when I got back home on Monday and remember talking to Mama on the phone that night. She hoped that I'd feel better.
On Tuesday I called Mama from work and I remember her saying something about just wanting to be normal. I'm sure she did in some ways, especially if normal meant in its most basic definition being healthy and alive. But Mama was far from being normal.

I'd been going to therapy for at least a year and I knew the end was near. My therapist and I were working through ways to have that final conversation with my mom that was right up there with the most difficult things I've ever done. The previous Saturday when I was visiting my mom in the hospital, I mustered up all the courage I had and tried to bring up saying goodbye. I'll never forget the look in her eyes...beady, scared, but unflinching. She just didn't want to go there. I made the very best effort I could but it wasn't good enough. I wanted to tell her that I was sorry for back-talking and being snippy as a child, as a teenager, and even as a grown-up, and I wanted her to tell me it was ok, that she forgave me. I wanted to tell her how much strength I got from watching her battle this eight-year illness with every last ounce of fight in her until the bitter end. I wanted her to know how much our road trips to CO meant and that how I found it an honor when people told me I looked like her. I wanted her to be proud of me and I wanted to hear that from her. I desperately wanted her to know that I would bring up Grace Elizabeth knowing about her Grandmama, and also the baby growing in my tummy for whom I silently wept for I knew they'd never meet.

My mom looked at me and told me her stomach hurt and she wanted to talk about cute things Grace was doing lately. I left the room in tears telling N and Mrs. C. that I didn't think she knew how sick she was. Looking back, I think she knew.

On February 26, 2003, I made it back home in time to see my mom alive. She was already back in the "white room" decorated with soothing sights, the most soothing of all, the quilt that S made. My mom's eyes were open, but barely. I stood beside her, held her hand, and smiled and said, "It's Bird, Mama. It's Bird. And Grace and David are here too." My mom said very softly--so softly I wasn't quite sure she said what she said. She said, "Bird Seed." It made me smile. Those were the last words she ever spoke to me.

Listen Up

2008-02-26T10:34:00.002-05:00

What a Week

2008-02-25T14:43:00.004-05:00

I haven't posted since last Monday...the start of a quite memorable week. But out of respect for all involved, I've decided not to post the details here. Let's just say that I have my material if I ever decide to write a novel.

I said: I've got a fundraiser luncheon to go to that starts at 11:00, but maybe I can swing by on my way there for a cup of coffee.

She said: Yeah, and maybe we can watch a movie. A scary movie.

She said: You don't have to lift that box down the steps. You can slide it down.

I said: Oh, you're right. You've obviously done this before.

I said: I'll buy dinner tonight. What would you like?

She said: Sesame chicken. And could you pick up some wine coolers?

I said: I've got to make an important conference call. Please excuse me.

She said: Can I paint your toenails while you're on the phone?

I said: Maybe you can give me some pointers on how to accessorize my bedroom.

She said: You're going to flip when you see your kitchen.

I said: I kind of feel like Thelma and Louise minus the murder and getting to sleep with Brad Pitt.

She said: You are really a good person. I hope David realizes that. I'm really going to miss you. You'll have to visit me. We'll go to Baja, Mexico.

I said: I'm not as perfect as you might think I am. Trust me. We'll still keep in touch.

She said: I'm not going after all.

When the Kids Get A-Hold of the Camera...and Mommy's Eyeliner

2008-02-18T08:22:00.005-05:00

Love in the Time of Chaos

2008-02-14T10:02:00.003-05:00

Dear David,

It's not about a Hallmark Card; It's about making our bed every morning so that at least one part of our home is in order as we come and go in all directions.

It's not about roses; It's about letting me drive your brand new car, the one that still has temporary tags, to pick up the guest speaker at the aiport because I failed to get the crack in my windshield fixed, clean up the stain that Johnny's slime left on the passenger's seat, and vaccuum all the dropped cashews, pieces of rice cake, gum wrappers and lollipop sticks.

It's not about jewelry; It's about spending your free time designing a flyer promoting a Literacy Council event because you know the committee needs one and doesn't have money to pay a professional.

It's not about chocolate; It's about cutting your work meeting short so you can pick Grace up on early-release-day, even though I forgot to warn you until that morning.

It's about ironing my clothes for me when I'm in a hurry; agreeing to run out to buy chips for the Valentine's Day party because I forgot; giving the kids a bath when it's really my turn; taking on many more childcare shifts on the weekends while I study; speaking up to let the kids know it is not ok to disrespect me; putting on your best pants and jacket to escort Grace to the annual Father/Daughter Dance; asking me if the food I'm about to put in my mouth is on my diet--but not because you want me to look better in a bathing suit-- because you want me to feel better.

It's about looking forward to that one-on-one date that's so overdue...even if that date ends up being watching Superbad together in our livingroom. It's about knowing that even though we're often like two ships passing in the night, we're on the same team, partners in it for the long haul, with our eyes on the same prize.

I love our chaotic life and I love you.

Van Halen Re-Do

2008-02-12T10:26:00.000-05:00

On March 7th I am going to do something unlike anything I've ever done before and that is to go see Van Halen live for the second time in six months. It's unusual for me to go to high-ticket rock concerts in the first place these days, much less to the same act twice in one year. But Van Halen is not your garden- variety rock band and the circumstances surrounding these two shows are anything but ordinary.

Let's back up to the show on September 29, 2007 in Greensboro, NC, the second show of Van Halen's highly anticipated reunion tour, the first tour with David Lee Roth in over 20 years. I knew immediately that I wanted to go to this show if they came to NC, and with their second stop only an hour away, the deal was sealed. That night represented a convergence of my childhood past, my young adulthood past, my present, and my future, and its overall significance--more than the sum of its parts--continues to be revealed.

I could rehash the parts in detail, sure, like how they played all the hits I was hoping they'd play, how difficult it was to hear clearly from where we were sitting, or how elements of the evening were 'out of tune' both on and off the stage. More important and interesting to me, though, is an examiniation of how we all got there, how two of us are going again, and what it all means to me.

My childhood past
I've already mentioned here how I liked Van Halen growing up, thanks to an older brother, MTV visuals, and neighborhood hype praising the virtues of teenagers who could successfully play the intro to Jump on the synthesizer. When my dad turned 60, I orchestrated a life-in-music photo montage selecting only one song for each decade my dad had been alive. Jump was the song I selected for the 80's. Out of the hundreds, no thousands, of pop hits that personified the 80's, at least from my family's experience, none other worked better than Jump. I was ten, eleven, twelve, when I first started listening to Van Halen, only a stone's throw older than my kids are now. Kids that age inherently like pop music--and pop music that rocks, they like even better. Van Halen was our music, unlike the Beatles, Stones, Beach Boys, Dylan, Mamas and Papas, and Fleetwood Mac that my dad played at home and in the car. MTV was ours. Big hair, skin-tight pants, bandanas and Eddie Van Halen's guitar-shredding talent were ours. It doesn't matter what music came before or after, or how old we get, Van Halen belongs to Generation X. I owed it to my early-adolescent self to go to that reunion show in Sept. of last year. My older brother Daniel did too.

My young adulthood past
Like I just said, no matter how old Genexers get, or how old (or young!) we were ten years ago, an allure of Van Halen from1984 will always swirl. Already a college graduate and only a year away from getting married, I was at the Pink House party mentioned here, and, along with everyone else, waxed nostalgic about a David Lee Roth/Van Halen tour. If I thought it was fun fantasizing about seeing Van Halen live with some old college buddies at that party back in 1997, imagine what a big deal it is to me that four of us actually did go see Van Halen live together ten years later. We owed it to our young adult selves from ten years earlier; before marriages, kids, real jobs and responsibilities, dying parents; in other words, before the confines of real life. But the four of us, two spouses, my brother and his girlfriend--we did go. We made it happen. Because Van Halen was ours. Wrap your head around that.

My present
It is no secret that I have a penchant for looking people up from my past and getting back in touch and while we're at it, becoming friends with their wives; you know, connecting. And this internet thing makes it so easy. So yeah, I've done a lot of that in the last few years. One of my best friends has said about getting back in touch (via MySpace, Facebook or blogging, for example) that once you get over the actual period of catching up (where you work, if you're married, if you have kids, etc.), there's really not a whole lot else to say to some of these people from your past. I disagree. Maybe it's me, or maybe it's the people I'm back in touch with, but the Van Halen crowd is more relevant to me now than they ever were in the past. And who doesn't enjoy being relevant? Relevant because we have families and spouses, or wish we had families and spouses, and jobs and illnesses and real-life pressures that come along with being thirty-something. We also enjoy similar music (like Van Halen-duh) and Tarheel basketball, have wacky senses of humor and dreams for the future. And each other in the future.

My future
So here I am making plans to go see Van Halen for the second time in six months with the wife of an old friend. An old friend I feel I know better now, just like I know the others on the first Van Halen trip better now. An old friend's wife I've only laid eyes on four times ever yet feel sure will become an old friend herself. On March 7, the day before my birthday, the 5th anniversary of the day my mom died, I will be going to a Van Halen re-do. And why not? No one gets it right 100% of the time.

OCLC's First Annual Writers for Readers Author Luncheon

2008-02-04T16:19:00.000-05:00

I have been on the planning committee for this inaugural event the OCLC is putting on. Somehow I've done it again and have agreed to be one of the author transporters (a job that's a lot of work but I find fun...all the juicy stuff gets said in the car in route to these big events). I don't know which author I'll be driving around, but I'm hoping it's Patricia Marx. She's a humorous novelist and has written for Saturday Night Live, The Huffington Post, Rugrats, the New Yorker, the New York Times and on and on. I better get a read-on so I can talk to her about her work. Also I better cough up $200 so David and I can attend the reception at the home of Erskine Bowles on Feb. 17th (his birthday. Guess what he's getting? Not much of anything else). Isn't volunteering fun?

Writers for Readers
Join us for the first annual gathering to benefit the Orange County Literacy Council Featuring authors: Kim Sunee/Trail of Crumbs, Patricia Marx/Him Her Him Again the End of Him, Roy Blount, Jr.,/Long Time Leaving & Dispatches From Up South & Sally Bedell Smith/For Love of Politics: Bill and Hillary Clinton: The White House Years

A special reception
Socialize with the authors at the home of UNC President, Erskine Bowles
6:00pm-8pm Honorary Hosts: Lee Smith & Hal Crowther Jill McCorkle & Tom Rankin Laura & Daniel Wallace Tickets $100—available from OCLC, 933-2151
February17, 2008

Writers for Readers Luncheon
February 18, 2008
At the Carolina Inn
211 Pittsboro Street
Chapel Hill, NC 11:00am-1pm

Master of Ceremonies: Daniel Wallace/Big Fish & Mr. Sebastian and The Negro Magician Tickets $35—available from McIntrye’s Fine Books, 542-3030

Benefit Chairs: Shannon Ravenel & Wyndham Robertson

Was All This Really Necessary?

2008-02-03T18:20:00.000-05:00

As tired and emotionally drained as I was Friday afternoon after class, I had to make myself go to the mall and pick up a birthday gift, a baby shower gift and wrapping paper. I was in Kerr Drug in U-Mall with just over $6.00 in merchandise and assumed it would be a breeze checking out. The clerk asked credit or debit, I said debit. When it was time to type in my PIN number (and I realize I didn't just need to write 'number' because now I've just referred to typing in my 'personal identification number number', but who cares) I had to do it with a stylus thing-y rather than just push the buttons. Those type machines can be too damn finicky and I've found myself many a time pushing my numbers over and over needlessly as in If I just try it one more time a LITTLE HARDER, maybe it will work. This was one of those times.

Four-digit PIN number (I did it again) bump, bump, bump, bump. Easy right? But the machine wouldn't process anything I pushed. So I tried harder, slower, faster, softer, then harder again. Finally, the PIN number (and a third time) went through. It wanted to know how much cash I wanted back. None, $10, $20, or $25. I pushed 'none.' Nothing. So I pushed 'none' harder, then slower, then faster, then softer, then harder again. The clerk told me that a woman earlier that day had to take the stylus in both hands and jam it down really hard to get it to take. Was she serious? Two hands? I tried it. I wrapped both of my hands around the skinny little shit, I mean stick, looked around self consciously and started jabbing 'none.' I then jabbed $10, $20, and $25. It didn't matter, I'd take any of those amounts of cash, just to get the hell out of there. The women behind me were getting impatient too. There were three of them together, waiting to buy cigarettes and the one right behind me finally opened her tooth-missing mouth and said, "Just give her her stuff for free so we can get on with it." I think the clerk would have agreed to that course of action if she had known a way to cancel the sale. We couldn't re-start, I just had to keep trying all of the pesky cash back options. And I was stabbing. It was a joke!! I turned to the ladies behind me with a grin and asked them if any of them would like to give it a try, if they had anyone they'd like to pretend they're stabbing as they're helping me finish my transaction. They laughed and the woman with the missing teeth took ahold of the stylus and asked me how much money I wanted back. I told her it did NOT matter, just any of those options. PLEASE! She gently tapped $25 and on the first try it took and began to process. Of course it did.

We all cheered! She told the clerk that she should get her goods for free. I thought the waiting was over, until I looked down at the smug machine asking fake politely, "Is this amount correct? Press 'yes' or 'no.' OMG, the HORROR! Miss Missing Teeth took the stylus again and tried her gentle magic on 'yes' but did it work? 'NO!' She tried tapping 'yes' harder, then faster, then slower, then gentler, then turned the machine over and said, "How bout we try unplugging the pen and plugging it back again?" Yes, how bout we. She did it and it worked!! More cheering and louder cheering because the line was three customers deeper.

I asked to get my $25 in 'change' with a twenty and five ones. I asked Ms. Teeth how much her cigarettes were, $3? $5? "Actually," she said, "they're only .99" As I put my money back into my purse, I smiled, rolled my eyes, said thank you and handed her a dollar.

Johnny's First Music Video

2008-01-28T13:09:00.000-05:00

Come On, You'll Have Fun...Really

2008-01-27T10:40:00.000-05:00

I'm known for dragging David to all manner of social events that he knows absolutely nothing about. Despite his predictable initial reticence, he almost always comes away well fed, intellectually and creatively stimulated, and glad he went. Since I've been working at the Foundation, a lot of the choice social encounters we've shared have been related to work. Like the time in 2005 when we smoked cigars with two of the annual conference guest speakers, a dred-locked visual artist and a Nobel Peace prize nominee from Cyprus. Or when we spoke at length to a set designer from the Sorpranos or like this past Friday night when we had dinner with a documentary filmmaker from Pittsburgh and her young, very talented, very handsome and charming, three-man film crew from New York. It's not that we have to have out-of-towners come in to make for fascinating conversation (there are plenty of people right around me that I enjoy talking to), but it's the element of newness--them to us and us to them--that makes the excitement factor rise. Us asking them about their childhoods spent in Paris, and them inquiring about how David and I met.

Having David there is always better for me in these types of social situations because we play off of each other, and in a strange way are two for one. If you're talking to David and know that I'm with him, essentially, you're also talking to me. Whenever I'm in the presence of interesting, funny, creative people (especially if they're tall), I immediately want to lay the cards down about David's endeavors because he's all of those things too. It embarrasses David when I gush about how his successful High School artist best friend still credits David as the one who inspires and is the silver spring overflowing with raw creativity (oops, I did it again), but I can't stop myself because the world needs to know.

At work ,we often talk about mixing successful academicians, artists, and mental health clinicians with "plain old people" at our events and gatherings. I have no problem with being one of the "plain old people" but it is fun once in awhile to be in the presence of those who are not.

Oh My Gee!

2008-01-24T10:12:00.000-05:00

Dear Grace,

I've been thinking about you all morning ever since I dropped you off at school today where you hugged me goodbye and flashed your million-dollar grin. We've had a rocky week but you amaze me with your indefatigable spirit to keep going at school despite your difficulties. I wish I knew how you felt inside when the letters of your beautiful name don't appear on the page like you know they should or how it feels to not be able to leap across the living room because your legs won't do what you'd like them to. I do understand, though, that you have to work much harder than many kids your age just to do the things that kids your age do. And it truly blows my mind how positive and interested you remain in school, an environment that I'm afraid is going to get increasingly frustrating as time goes on.

I wish someone, an expert, could tell us exactly what you needed, but I'm finding that the experts don't always agree. There's the whole private therapy versus public school services and the cost/benefit involved with both. And the dilemma, ok, I'll say it--guilt--I feel by being away at work and school when perhaps I could be spending more one-on-one time with you...but then understanding the reality that my working allows us to better pay for the sky-high private therapies that some of the experts are recommending. I want you to understand that nothing is more important in my life than you (and Johnny and Daddy) and I will never give up in the quest to figure out what makes you tick.

I'm fully committed to doing my part, but you need to do your part too. I know you're frustrated and this completely frustrates me as I see you reacting by throwing scissors because cutting got difficult, shattering full-length mirrors because Johnny made you mad, and hitting me and telling me I'm the "worst Mommy you never had" because we ran out of gum. Understanding the roots of your outbursts makes it a bit easier for me to deal with, but come on, your part has got to involve something other than shards of dangerous broken glass.

So much of life with you is pure pleasure like pretending to live on the Weatherby Farm, discussing with you your school-girl crushes, hearing you adopt new phrases (currently, it's "Oh, my gee!") and sharing with you funny things that you used to say, like "Beef" for "Steve" "dat-dowel" for "girl" and "purple circus room" for "multi-purpose room." Seeing you delight in all of this and everything else that a 6 1/2 year old, long legg-ed, skinny girl delights in totally delights me. As we were walking up the sidewalk to your school door a few weeks ago, you said, "Mommy, you're my favorite lady." Hearing that made my heart so happy. I know that's not always going to be true and I want to take advantage of it while it is true and "plaaaaaaaay" doll-house, and school, and animal doctor, and everything else you want to play when I can. One of my New Year's resolutions is to stick to firmer boundaries of when I can and cannot play with you at any given time. That and also to play with you more.

You don't understand this yet, but your name, Grace, is very important to those of us who believe in the Methodist tradition. God's grace is a gift of pure love from God given freely and unmerited (meaning, we didn't have to do anything special to deserve it) to those who have faith. You, my little "Oh my gee!", are a complete gift of love that I did nothing to deserve and you will forever be my favorite lady.

Love, Mommy

My Heritage

2008-01-17T11:13:00.000-05:00

For one of my classes tomorrow, we've been asked to bring in an item or something that represents our heritage, where we come from. I knew immediately I'd be brining this photo of the Ballantines, my mom's family. Even if I didn't know any of these people, I'd love this photograph. I could stare at it for long periods of time, and I have. Taken in the early 1960's, I'm guessing, (if anyone reading this knows the year this was taken, please e-mail me!) this represents a golden period in our family's history. With my great grandmother in the middle, my grandmother and her siblings standing behind, their children seated, and the oldest of the my generation being the youngest in this photo, here are four generations of happy, healthy, and beautiful Ballantines. Click on the image to get a bigger view. Can you find my mom? My two aunts? My grandmother?

Dancing the Night Away

2008-01-16T12:31:00.000-05:00

David: (looking at the clock the other night after the kids were asleep) Is it really 9:45 PM? We danced too long tonight.

So Very Larry

2008-01-14T09:32:00.000-05:00

I dislike grocery shopping. I find the whole affair extremely mundane and tedious, and I resent the fact that it's an activity that I'm required to do every single week. And if my kids are with me? It's downright torture. Yesterday was my first 2008 Sunday afternoon of yoga, Starbucks studying and grocery shopping. Luckily I did not have my kids along or the Larry David-esque story that I'm about to relay would have been 100 times worse!

Harris Teeter had some good BOGO's yesterday and I took advantage where I could. Buy one package of frozen shrimp, get one free. Buy one pint of blueberries, get one free. Buy one container of Arm & Hammer laundry detergent, get one free. I try not to bag items that don't need to be bagged. I didn't bag the Arm & Hammer detergents and put them on the bottom rack of my cart. Loading groceries into my car is almost as loathsome to me as shopping. (But neither tasks are as despised as unloading and putting away at home; that's the worst!) So as I unloaded the many bags into my car, it struck me that only one laundry detergent made it in. What a pain in my butt, I thought. Since I'd only bagged half of my items before a bag-boy took over, I couldn't claim with confidence that both detergents had been on the bottom of my cart. This shadow of doubt propelled me to look through every single bag at every single item I'd just purchased to determine that I'd made it out to my car with only one detergent. There was a part of me that wanted to say, screw it, I'm not going back in. They were half-off anyway so it's not like I've lost any money. It's just too much trouble. I came to my senses and marched back in and on the way in, saw a curious act.

As I walked back in, I passed the man who had been behind me in line (who, coincidentally, looked a whole lot like Larry David). Just as I passed by, he was loading into his car an unbagged container of Arm & Hammer laundry detergent. Just one. I don't remember him having that exact laundry detergent in his cart as he was checking out. In fact, I recall him only buying four or five small items. Hmm, curious indeed. I put on my best Larry David face and stared the man down, right in his eye, as he got into his car. I didn't question him, but my mind began racing as to whether he was carrying off my laundry detergent!

I went back in to my check-out line and told the young man that even though I'd bought two laundry detergents, I only made it out to my car with one. And by the way, the man that was behind me loaded the exact same detergent that I had. Was that just a coincidence that he bought the exact same detergent that I bought or was he getting away with my detergent?
This kid couldn't remember what he'd just scanned, much less the cart contents of two customers ago. So he called his manager over. I explained to the manager hoping she would believe me, because in the end, I was determined to leave with two detergents not one! "I bought two detergents, buy one, get one free, but there was only one in my cart when I got to my car. I think maybe it accidentally didn't get put in my cart." I wondered how many people try to get free stuff this way, because, really, we had no way of proving it unless she came out to my car to inspect the contents of all of my grocery bags. To add to my case, I shared, "And what's really strange, I saw the man behind me with the same detergent, but I don't think that was his detergent, I think that was my second detergent." The manager just looked at me. "Maybe," I continued, "the cashier accidentally left it out of my cart and put it in that man's. "

"Or maybe, " the manager said, "it fell out of your cart." What? I hadn't thought of that. Could that be? That the exact moment I pushed the cart down the curb, one of my detergents fell out? And upon seeing an unbagged carton of laundry detergent on the ground, in the dark, the Larry-David-look-alike thought, "Hmm, someone lost their laundry detergent. Guess I'll take it. Cool!" For a split second I panicked. There would be no way to prove that the detergent fell out of my cart. And if it did, was I just s.o.l? Nope. The manager saw my distress and told me to just go get another one.

Whew. Harris Teeter lost on that particular sale, I broke even, and the Larry-David-look-alike came out ahead. You better believe that I ever see that guy again...

Die-it

2008-01-09T16:19:00.000-05:00

I've been on this Anti-Candida diet for 5 weeks now. I can't say that I feel 100% better yet, but I can say that I've lost over 10 pounds! All the stuff you hear and read about the high protein/low carb formula for weight loss? It's true! I never thought I'd be following a strict low-carb diet in my life, but I'm now convinced sugar is the body's enemy, not fat. Do you know how hard it has been for me to not have one single bite of candy or dessert all during the holidays and my awesome trip to Asheville? Very hard. But have I cheated with the sugar? Nope. Not until this past Friday when the only thing my stomach would keep down was ginger ale and saltines. But guess what? I was so congested that I couldn't even taste the ginger ale, so that hardly counts as cheating. People have been so sorry for me that I've had to start this diet during the holidays and have encouraged me to cheat here and there. But when I cheat on this diet, I'm the one who gets cheated.

The toxins have built up so much in my body that they've been released into my bloodstream causing fatigue, lethargy, migraine headaches, muscle pain and weakness, dizziness, sensory disturbances, hypoglycemia, PMS, acne, hives, confusion, irritability, inability to concentrate, ringing in the ear and depression. Trust me, getting rid of all of the above far outweighs the pleasure I'd get from licking a candy cane.

The meals in Asheville were hard, yes, especially when I was the only one at the table who declined dessert. While everyone else was eating their pieces of peach pie and ice cream, or oreo cake drizzled in chocolate, I was biting into my third helping of roast beef. Other people binged on brownie bites and ginerbread while I stuffed myself with bacon-covered scallops. I've tossed low-fat to the wayside and have been eating as much meat as I please. No cheese, pasta, or bread, but bring on the eggs, bacon, sausage and grits. And add olive oil to that please. I can't have salad dressings with vinegar or commercially-made mayonnaise, or anything processed, but I can have as much extra virgin olive oil as I want. I've been eating lots of grilled chicken on greens with olive oil laced with salt, pepper and garlic. I've been putting olive oil on everything. Even my olive oil needs a little drizzle of olive oil here and there. I've eaten cashews and pistachios freely but have had to give up all fruits except apples.

Being on a restricted diet sets me apart from the 'norm' as I'm always needing to explain to those who eat with me what is and what isn't allowed. Getting a simple lunch at the spa at Grovepark proved to be more difficult than I would have thought. Although full of delectable treats, nothing on the menu was 100% fair game. The head chef and I spent a good ten minutes scouring the menu to find something that would work, and I finally settled on the beef tenderloin salad while asking them to hold the German potato salad (and its vinegar). When the chef handed me my salad, he whispered, "I threw some mustard sauce in there for you to try. Don't deny yourself too much," and sent me off with a wink. That was the best $20 beef tenderloin salad I've ever had.

As some of my symptoms went away, that of course encouraged me to live a little and take a chance on a tamale or two (or ten) on New Year's Eve. But it didn't pay. The spaciness came back. I've read that symptoms can actually get worse as the yeast 'dies-off' and I'm feeling that die-off period now. It's tough when you try to do everything right and you still don't feel well. One of the signs of systemic yeast is ringing in the ear or tinnitus. Reading that and reading that people with systemic yeast often break out in hives convinced me that this is what my body is going through. Mid-way through last semester, on the eve of a paper due, my whole body broke out into hives. I thought it was stress. My days are filled with noise and activity but several months ago, when I would lie down at night, I noticed a ringing in my left ear. I've stopped sharing every last ailment with David because how much more of this can actually be going on with me that he can believe in?

The road to wellness has been highly personal. People don't know how bad it gets sometimes, and I don't expect them to. Human nature expects problems to have answers and solutions and timelines. I get asked a lot how long I'll have to be on this diet. I wish I knew. When the ringing in my left ear goes away, then maybe I'll consider eating that Hershey's Kiss.