14 aug 2018

Ryan had a business trip so we went to KC for the week.

They listen to audio books in the car and one of our favorites is Winnie the Pooh (Judi Dench, Stephen Fry, & Geoffrey Palmer!!). I don’t remember ever getting into it as a kid, but these stories with the fun voices has me hooked now. And it’s a million times better than hearing If You’re Happy and You Know It over and over.

Anyway, the new movie about Winnie, Christopher Robin, is very sweet. I cried within the first 15 minutes and Ruthie said she cried during it too.

We’d been trying for years to catch this darn train. Finally did and Gertie was not a fan. The rest of us were though and we went around 8 times!

While Gertie and I took a break, one of the adorable volunteer workers came over and talked about how she’d raised a disabled son. She then cussed about the weather and thrust a bottle of water in my hand. It was a meeting between me and my future self.

The rest of the time was spent shoe shopping, playing with cousins, and binge watching shows, none of which I took pics. I need to be more aggressive with the camera again.

The day after Ryan flew back to KC, we drove from there to Oklahoma City and visited our friends that’d moved from NWA. Ruthie dove off the diving board and Gertie, I’m not exaggerating, kicked her feet and arms until she swam by herself. It was maybe for 6-12 inches, but still. She loves the water so much.

We pretty much didn’t stop talking for 48 hours. 30 of those were me going on and on about her garden area and backyard (there’s not many who will gladly talk compost and chicken poop with me), 16 about the meals and ginger drinkie poos, and the remaining 2 hours me thinking I’m funny because of those ginger drinks.

At one point Annie had to go pee so Mandy told her to just pop a squat in the yard (another reason we’re friends!) right by the fence. Annie, in her own special way, decided to go in the middle of the front yard right as a car drove by.

I hardly saw these three girls the whole time. It was nonstop mermaids and dolls and dress up clothes.

On our way home.

We drove through Siloam Springs and decided to show Ruthie where she was born. We made a big ole deal about the home there, in the countryside, on a dirt road, surrounded by cows. We laughed so hard thinking of what she was picturing. So we slowed down and showed her her birthplace.

And for proof that she is indeed my daughter, she didn’t care at all about what it looked like. She gasped and squealed and said she loved it.

I love enthusiastic people, Ruthie. Thank you.

A fun full week. We tired though.

Bathing Beauty

Apr3

Ruthie pooped last night, so Ryan gave her a bath.

I didn’t help this time. No, I, on the other hand, was snuggled into this girl’s couch eating popcorn and watching the 1998 version of Les Miserables. This was part two of a Les Mis battle between us, which started with a passionate ~~rant~~ sentence on my facebook wall on how Les Mis did not need to be redone. I don’t think either of us were really excited about seeing the other’s preferred version. But we did and I think it’s safe to say, we liked both. A lot. Jesyka, I no longer harbor a grudge against your loving the ’98 better, but mostly because you made me a decaf americano and had chocolate covered bananas on hand.

It’s only taken us several months to finally watch these movies. Between listening to her husband play banjo in his band, discount baby-crud shopping, and reality tv marathons, we’ve had other things to do. And other things to talk about. These Tuesday night dates have led us into other, deeper conversations which were three-fourths serious, one-fourth making fun of Basketball Wives. Hopefully I’ll have an update on one particular discussion in particular.

All this to say that I was sitting on that couch, heart hurting from the dang movie, when I got this text from Ryan:

How’s the movie? Ruthie just pooped all the way down into both feet of her pajamas. Les miserables! Je suis malheureuse.

I smiled and shoved another handful of popcorn in my mouth. Ah, to be the one not sending those texts. It felt glorious, my friends.

So Ryan had to tackle that one alone, but usually I’m there in the midst of bathtime.
Ruth waits patiently for the bath to fill up.

And then Ryan swoops in to play with her bathtub music set.
What do I do, you ask?

I’ve got the glamorous job of cleaning poopy cloth diapers.
Let’s all give a moment of silence to toilet sprayers.

Thank you.

So, yes, when I got that text, you bet I snuggled deeper into the couch.

Easter Weekend

Apr2

What a dreary dreary start to Easter weekend. Ryan had Good Friday off and we spent the day organizing and cleaning so we wouldn’t think about anything else on Saturday and Sunday. Little Ruth had other plans… like, getting sick Saturday night. So we three spooned our way into Easter morning and took the day slow. It ended up being a gorgeous day and we were thankful that Ruth could get some fresh air.

Before that, though, it looked like this:
So after breakfast, I broke out an easy Easter craft for us to do.
Ribbon, tissue paper, and contact paper. Now that’s my kind of craft project. I quickly cut an egg shape out of the contact paper, showed it to Ryan and he shook his head.
That’s how we differ. I just jump in and get going, but he likes to make sure everything’s nice and straight and even before, I don’t know, laying down train tracks for instance. I’m pretty much my dad in that regard. I don’t know if the model train in their basement actually runs smoothly on the tracks, but man those are some nice mountains and trees!

Oh well. He’s a good complement to me.

I showed Ruthie how to get started and after crying for a few minutes (that should’ve been our first sign she wasn’t feeling well – she’s happiest in the morning), she got to it.

Me, in my squealing nature, got really excited that Ruth squished up the tissue paper before putting it on the egg. And as always with information overload, I then had to explain what “adding texture” was. She slowly turned her head to look at me. I took the hint and shut up.

Then we ran over and put in our window.
It’ll probably be there all summer. Deal with it, people.

We also gave Ruth her Easter basket. Well, it wasn’t a basket, actually. I keep saying “next year” “next year”. I’ve got a lot of things to do before next year. I mean, for her first birthday, we grilled hamburgers and wrapped toys from her toy box. She was excited to see the soccer ball that she’d already been playing with for two months prior. It’s probably laziness (or being snobby), but I just can’t get into the whole first birthday party thing. Next year though. Next year will be fun!

So this Easter, however, instead of a basket, we brought in a little piano found during a thrifting venture on our weekend away. (It was given to her on our clean up day, so don’t judge.)
She didn’t touch the keys for the first five minutes, but chose to inspect all sides of it instead.
We all breathed a sigh of relief when it passed her inspections.

The audience was spellbound:
and all it took was one gesture from the pianist to said audience member…
before Cleaning Day was thrown out the window and recreating the theme song for Elmo’s World became the most important task of the day.
Some nights we will literally watch him “composing” for thirty minutes straight. I can’t wait until Ruthie’s old enough where we can share side glances at each other, then giggle.
She has taken it to though, and every so often will run to her little shelf and pull out the one book that shows a muppet playing the piano.

Hope everyone had a good weekend and holiday. It, of course, went by way too fast.

Christmas in Jamaica

Jan13

Part of our Christmas adventures was to have an official family portrait done. My brother’s wife, little Ruth, and little Kate were all new additions to it. Another new addition was my Jay Leno chin. Thankfully Ryan and me combined equal a normal chin. I was excited to have my baby bump in the photo, but had no idea that it would look like my body was literally eating Ruth.
Now that I look at it, though, she looks more like a Siamese twin, joined at the armpits, who never grew any bigger. Yeah, you know Ryan would still want this. (finger snapping in a z-formation) Bowmchickabowow.

I did nothing to her hair that morning either, knowing full well these will be framed on a wall. Ryan and I have a love affair with her “I look like I just stuck my finger in an outlet” look. Who knows, maybe she had. We wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. So I just let her hair go wild and smile to myself when I hear the nursery attendant at church say to the other ” Let’s try to tame these flyaways, Ruthie!” as I close the door. Ah, job well done, Carolyn.

It’s only because I get flack for my hair too. When we arrived at JC Penny’s, my brother-in-law said, “The colors were supposed to be black, Carolyn. Not silver.” Whatever.

So we got to the store a few minutes early and waited for everyone to show up. Ten minutes later someone asked, “Where’s Amy?” She was actually looking for the store and called for directions. Little did we know she was at another area 15 minutes away, and literally every landmark we gave was also on the intersection at the different JC Penney’s: the car dealership, the fast food restaurant, the man dancing outside the tax office, everything. Finally we figured it all out and in the meantime the grandparents got a shot with their grandkids. I love it.

ExZeogIyCJiD8xx6yf7LBUke3RbDznDCj5fag_Wmsj4,c9FAaxclMOQTEnjzw27V51JpR2gEZRK3T_Sz2E26xF8 Amy was so frazzled when she showed up, that she hid in the changing room and applied some make up. And then applied some bronzer. And then applied some more bronzer, until it looked like a private jet had landed in the JCPenny’s parking lot (direct from Jamaica) to let Amy off for the photo.

It probably wouldn’t have looked so noticeable if she wasn’t born into a family of pale-faced vampires.

Luckily, Des touched up her face so she could blend in with the rest of the Twilight crew.

Look happy Ruth, for goodness sake.

Maybe she was tired, because within two minutes of getting in the car after lunch, this is what I saw:

She had better get her sleeping in order, because we have a busy day tomorrow. It’s Christmas! Those with kids (me) woke up early (against her groggy will) to hang out with the other people who can’t sleep in: old people, aka my parents. It really is a circle of life.

Luckily all we had to do was sip on coffee and stare at the twinkly lights for a couple hours. It’s actually quite peaceful.

Around noon, everyone started showing up and we immediately got to it. Santa’s little helpers divvied up the presents and I secretly hoped that everyone would open up our gifts to them first while their expectation levels were low.

Ruthie opened up a headband and was immediately confused. This went against every scary hairdo look she’s ever known.

My mom always gets us the (big) kids the same things, so that “it’s fair.” This year one of the gifts was a towel wrap. We should’ve worn these in the JCPenney’s photo.
But then we would’ve had to wait for Amy to bronze her whole body.

My worst fear did happen though. Mom and dad opened up Matt & Des’s present right before ours. Let me just give this example: The siblings draw names and have a ten dollar limit. Lisa (the lucky dog) opened up her secret santa gift from Matt and it turned out to be a breadmaker. He must have had a damned good coupon, is all I’m saying.

So I inwardly groaned when I saw my parent’s look of happiness and love after opening up their gift.

And was too depressed to take a shot as ours was opened. It was the equivalent to getting fruit cake.

But the real fun came when the karaoke machine was opened, along with a ton of 80s songs to sing. Joe started us out with a ballad for his wife: Take My Breath Away, I think.

Lisa was trying to catch her breath between laughs. It was such a departure for Joe, who normally breaks out the AC/DC.

So Ryan took over the reigns to get the crowd moving.

Dad seems to be the only one enjoying himself.

It really is hard for the singer. Especially in this light. Take my mom for instance:
Trying in vain to make eye-contact with anyone. Not gonna happen with this crowd, sorry sister. Not gonna happen with Ruthie either. By this time she was crying every time she saw either me or Ryan. Crying every time we left the room. Crying every time we came into the room. Until we figured out that she needed teething cream, it was time for bed and no one could enjoy our silly little lady and her antics. But before we made a Walgreens run, we just avoided eye contact with her.

Slipping into a chair and blocking our face with a pillow:

Or watching the action through an afghan. We were desperate, folks.

Finally she calmed down after a combo of butt paste (sorry) and teething cream and went to sleep. Matt and Des had already left for Arkansas and Lisa & company went home to play with their new toys.

So what to do? Oh yeah, Karaoke baby! But now that it was a smaller crowd, we could get more into it. Amy showed off her dance moves:

Ryan brought the house down.

I sang heartfelt melodies…

that put animals to sleep.

So drawing on the only soul-sister blood in my body (the fact that my mom loves mo-town), I sang with so much passion and heart, you would’ve thought Aretha was right there in the living room.

The crowd went wild.
Whatever. I can’t help that I soothe people to sleep. At least mom was making eye contact. Thank you.

It was such a good and busy day. All talk, no tv, and karaoke. Can’t get better than that.

Stalking and White Elephant, a perfect pairing

Jan8

We had a good visit to Kansas City over Christmas. Ruth was teething, I was prego hormonal, and Ryan drank eggnog and whiskey like it flowed from the fountain of youth. So yeah, we had a good visit. But with that combo, I don’t know if anyone else that saw us had a good one.

After a non-eventful drive up, in which Ruth screamed for twenty minutes, then passed out until ten minutes before arriving to grandma and grandpa’s house during which time we sang christmas carols together. I catch her singing a lot to herself now and the songs, I’m pretty sure, carry notes from Les Mis. The child (and Ryan) have been made to watch clips from the Les Mis 10th anniversary about everyday for the past three months in preparation for the premiere. Ryan has asked Ruth on more than one occasion to try to act interested for the love of gawd because doesn’t she know I’m pregnant and sensitive? But I’ve noticed that he hums and sings it all the time now, so dost thou protest too much methinks?

We sang songs for ten minutes, and arrived happy….. to an empty home. Merry Christmas. My parents were at weekly their bridge club. They have more of a life than me. But that’s good. It makes me glad to know they’re keeping busy. When they got home, Ryan made a round of egg nog drinkie poos (minus me) and we all cheersed to Christmas. Then they breathed fire. By the end of the week, he mastered the ratio.

The next day, Ryan and I braved the mall to pick up some last minute gifts at the American Girl store. The shoppers there freaked me out. An older lady was standing in line behind us with her husband. After seeing the latest snow outfit on a little doll mannequin she squealed and gushed that they needed to get that too. She needs to find a bridge club. Stat.

When we got home, my sister had arrived to spend the night. So we took the opportunity to stalk my parent’s newish neighbor. A single (we think) chiropractor (found out by another neighbor) who lives with his sister (this fact has not been verified.)
He comes out to sit on his porch for a cigarette a couple times a day which lets us peer through the window and analyze the situation. Apparently he breathes in and breathes out, from what we gather. I’ll need to use the binoculars next time to double check that. As we discussed various ways Amy and I could casually approach him (you know: giving a christmas card, Wiley going poo in his yard, asking for a smoke), another neighbor walked up to his door with a package in hand.

Scandal! What did she think this was anyway? Christmas? Whatever.

That night we played Taboo, girls against boys, and said that the losing team had to introduce themselves to the chiropractor. When we lost, my mom said sternly that she was not going to introduce herself. We suggested that maybe if she did, she’d get cookies every once in a while. This was not well received.

The next day we laid around until the White Elephant party at my aunt and uncle’s house. Don’t let this relaxed face fool you.

Because this is how Ruth was most of the night:

Every party has one, so Ruth decided to be the pooper that night. Literally. Three times over… because that’s what happens when you only pack one diaper thinking it’ll be plenty, thus causing you to mooch off your cousin’s daughter who is 8 months older than your own.

We took an opportunity to get some group shots. My brother and his wife must not have shown up yet. They were en route from Arkansas. We’re always amazed at how fast they can get there. It’s been a long time since we’ve made a non-stop venture.

And the girls… one of which recently got a new haircut. At a get together not long before, literally no one commented on the cut. Finally someone said, “Carolyn you got your hair cut!” and me, literally unable to not be self-deprecating said, “Yeah, it’s my official mom cut.” And they said, “Yeah….” with voice trailing off and then changing the subject.

What. EVER!!!! It made me laugh.

After Matt and Des did arrive, an interesting thing happened. Des had brought some of her dad’s moonshine, bulgarian-style. That’s cool and all, except when it’s in a Fanta bottle. Except when a niece asks for some soda and pours Fanta for herself then takes a swig. You’d think Ryan had poured it for her because she breathed fire for a bit herself. Merry Christmas Elayna!
Can you find a culprit leaning against the wall? This was after the Fanta label had been peeled off in hopes of less confusion. I’d still think it was coke.

Ruth was only happy (and by happy, I mean, not crying. A scowl thrilled me to no end at this point) when she was in one of her grandparent’s arms. Here she is with her grandma, great Aunt Mary, and cousin Kaylee.
…not happy unless in my arms,
or in a cousin’s arms. Or with food.

Whatever it takes. Just please stop crying and pooping.
So after some chit-chatting and catching up, we dug into the meal. Homemade meatballs and pasta. Mmmm! Aunt Sue is the only real Italian. The rest of us are just wannabes.

Next up was White Elephant, which is always fun. But there was yet another sad story. First it was Elayna getting chest hair from the Bulgarian moonshine. Then my nephew, Will, during White Elephant.

It was his first year to participate and was really excited.
He watched us open our gifts, analyzed them, decided not to steal any and so decided to choose a present to unwrap.

He looked over the presents carefully then chose one.

What luck! He’d unwrapped an X-box (or something like that)!!!! He’d been wanting one and he looked at his mom with so much happiness. Lisa whispered that he might want to open the box, because things aren’t always what they seem in White Elephant land.

And what did he find inside the box?

A six pack of beer.

He was sad, but from the looks of it, his dad was happy.

Maybe next time someone will bring an X-box, Will. Don’t give up.

Next up, Christmas, bad singing, and a Jamaican relative.

Bluegrass, Carnivores, and Cankles

Aug22

R and I had a great day on Friday. He took the day off, which quite honestly surprised me, to hang out together. I was always so protective of my vacation time, only wanting to use it for something special. So for him to use it as an excuse to run around with little ole me? I was flattered.

And we had fun too.

Just as much as bowling with my nephew and nieces the weekend prior.

It had stormed all week, including the day they arrived, so we popped into the local bowling alley.

They were really impressed.

The alley is quite fancy as you can see. I told them I took them there so they didn’t feel so uncomfortable after hanging out at the luxurious Shack. You need to bring yourself down to your guests’ comfort level, you know. And the Shack really just sets the bar way too high.

Before I knew it they were off to my brother’s house the following day. It was a whirlwind of movies, pizza, guitar playing, chalkboard drawing, and There Was An Old Lady That Swallowed a Fly singing.

L later asked if they wore us out.

That’s not a loaded question or anything… But yes, I was exhausted (I sat my big bum on the couch the whole time – how could I be so tired?) and thankful there was a only a singleton in my belly and not triplets.

So R took Friday off…and we had to start the day off right.

I had leftover buttermilk that needed to be used soon, so made some pannycakes. Easy since I’d already mixed together a big batch of wheat pancake mix a while ago and stored it. Now I just have to add an egg and milk for a batch. This, with leftover ham and scrambled eggs. Happiness.

Right now, I am literally eating as if I were in high school again: Non-freaking-stop, without the metabolism. Or the sports. It’s to the point that I imagine peeing as my workout regime and get very excited when it’s been a particular busy day in the bathroom.

So I polished off my plate along with whatever R didn’t eat and headed out. We first had to stop and pick up a craigslist purchase which R is so proud of, and which I will write about later.

After that pit stop, onwards to Eureka Springs.

They were having a Bluegrass festival! And the best part? It was free.

I packed our lunch in a cooler which R lugged for a mile until we found a seat. The park is right in the middle of downtown, and is not so much a park as it is a paved square with lots of benches.

We found one in the shade facing away from the stage, looking onto the street. This was fine, because is there anything better than people watching? Or people falling? One person tripped on their way up to give the band a tip and I could not stop laughing. Later I felt bad, but not after I got a good gut laugh out of it.

Sorry, can’t help it. It’s a knee-jerk reaction. Ask my mom, she’s taken the brunt of it before. And, yes, I laugh when I do it too. Settle.

R dug around the cooler to see what was for lunch. Then dug around some more. And then dug around some more.

“Uhm, where’s the meat?”

“Oh, it’s tomato & spinach pasta with a side salad of tomato, mozzarella, & basil. Great for a hot summery day, yeah?”

“I guess so.”

Folks, I’m married to a carnivore. Meat has to be somewhere on the plate otherwise the meal is incomplete. (Side note: I have made a great black & pinto bean burger that has gotten two thumbs up. Hurray!) But to be honest, for the most part I’m the same way. Especially since reliving my teenage youth, I can’t get enough of meat.

So we ate what we had, all the while R’s stomach grumbling for more protein.

I tried to divert his attention by looking at our surroundings. Eureka Springs has a great downtown, with winding roads and old store fronts.

We enjoyed watching the myriad of people walking by as well as those driving.

And then I noticed that everyone in a car would pause in front of me and Ryan to look up at us. Our bench was set higher up than the street, on a wall, allowing me to look down my nose at everyone figuratively and literally. It was perfect.

Or so I thought.

Until I realized that the very comfortable position of putting my feet on top of the cooler allowed every passerby full viewing up my skirt.

If they’re gonna be all up in my business, at least bring along a razor. You know my fear from last week’s post.

I scrambled to cover myself up and frantically looked for an excuse to get up. The bathroom in the hotel next door was starting to look might fine.

And that’s when I found it.

The stairway to heaven. No, not this stairway.

The stairway that led to this view. Complete, I might add, with misters.

I quickly plopped our things down and grabbed some seats while R bought us drinkie-poos. It’s always so lovely drinking my O’Douls in front of everyone’s glaring stares. Oh settle down, people, it’s non-alcoholic.

[Side note: For all my pregnant mama friends, the best non-alcoholic beer I’ve had to date is… wait for it… Busch Light. Can you believe that? I felt like I was in college again! After I had gained the freshman 15 of course.]

This was the best part of our day. We relaxed and talked and got misted upon. I could have sat there for hours, but R’s stomach was grumbling louder than ever. And there’s only one cure for that.

Ribs, baby.

I sat back as R attacked his plate. It was straight up Jurassic Park and I was (finally) the slim-necked herbivore with my plate of greens watching T-Rex go to town.

In less than 5 minutes dinner was eaten, and we were headed back home.

I rested what used to be my ankles on the dashboard the whole way back.

Great, great day. We were asleep by 8pm.

Nothing better.

Hangin’ Tough… 20 years later.

Jul23

…and the New Kids on the Block are still… rocking it? That doesn’t sound right at all. They’re at least still dropping to their knees for passion-filled love ballads. And 20 years later, I’m old enough to get a good laugh out of it.

We started our fancy night out with a bite to eat as my mom debated with the waiter on the similarities between Lady Gaga and Madonna.

I ate for four and then we were off to see the BOYS.

… and apparently the only boys that attended the show were those singing. Wait! I do see two boys in the photo, and they’re hanging on to dear life to their girlfriends. But mostly it was a 30-something girlfest.

Hang on, I take that back…

I sat next to a feisty group of early 20-somethings and asked if they remember New Kids back in the day. They said, “No.. we’re here for their latest album. I mean, it’s not like we’re in our thirties.” And then they dry heaved after saying such a disgusting word.

Me? I was happy. I love being in that bracket.

So after laughing at my young compadres, I took a look at the stage. What the…

Exactly how far up are we? All I know is that I was short of breath and it was snowing.

And then out of nowhere a lady with tickets for better seats showed up and handed them out to our section.

Hot Dog!

These old fogies were excited!

Especially the two die-hards: my sister-in-law and mom. I was sandwiched between them and it was almost a scene out of a Night at the Roxbury. I was bumped all over the place by those dancing hips.

<—- D, getting close-ups

P, getting close-ups —->

Me, in the middle, getting close-ups of them getting close-ups.

I turned to see what L was up to…

But she was busy searching for a “I just watched two straight hours of boy bands and survived” support group.

I do have to say, though, that it was a lot of fun hanging with the girls and laughing at the boys.

Even Baby Collier had a good time. So much so that I wasn’t woken up at 3am for my nightly “snack” (which most people would call a meal.)

The Battle of Caaahrthage

Nov7

We fought the battle and won, my friends.

You know, the “weekend spent with 3 sisters, a sister-in-law, and a mother all in the attic of a bed & breakfast during their wine festival without killing each other” battle.

Any time a night hasn’t ended with a drink thrown in your face and the silent treatment, consider it a victory.

But it really wasn’t hard. And we were tested. Oh yes, we were tested.

Try going to the bathroom in front of four people in a space with no partitions.

No amount of magazines will help that situation.

But, to be true, we won probably because I paced myself….

..or because of the $20 lipstick complete with a built in lighted mirror. You know, in case you go spelunking in a cave with some girlfriends and need to freshen up.

This little gem just might have been the saving grace.

After our freshening up, we stepped out onto the front lawn to have a lunch while sampling the local vendors.

I’ve often wondered if I couldn’t sell at one of these events. With all the grapes left in the back of the fridge, some of them are bound to ferment, right?

After several moves around the lawn and a couple more samples, we hit the town.

Dancing? Why yes, but not us this time.

The Kansas City Marching Cobras happened to be in Carthage this particular weekend! My sister L looked on like a proud mother as she was the only one of us who had seen them before. She continually asked us if we were sure we wanted to go see them, and then afterwards thanked us all for coming as if she hosted the group in her living room.

The Marching Cobras was started up in KC as a way for inner city kids to have a positive outlet, while also having to maintain a certain gpa, etc. They were a nice addition to our weekend!

When we arrived back at the B&B, we convinced the owners to turn on the twinkle lights on the front porch. Oh, to have a spacious, stone front porch like this one.

I would invest in only white linen dresses, cinched at the waist and insist that my hair be pulled up in a loose bun. Sigh.

We sat around sampling more wines, shoving chinese food down our gullets,

while L put on more lipstick.

We talked around the table for a good couple hours before heading up to the attic where it felt like a scene from Little Women.

Why do I always have to play the role of Beth?

Unlike Beth, my heart did survive the night and the next morning we woke up to breakfast downstairs. This is the first time I’ve had to sit with the hosts and other guests at one table. It was awkward at first, since it felt a little intimate.

Luckily they were the talkative sort and kept up both their and my end of the conversation. Functional Introvert saved once again!

Mom had to wear her sunglasses because of the sun and I laughed inappropriately loud for so early in the morning. The host quickly served our first course after that loud guffaw.

A couple poems were read and some well-rehearsed stories were told by the hosts, then we parted ways from cute Carthage, MO.

Writing this post has made me realize that as soon as I do something, I need to write about it. I’m sure there were a ton of little nuances throughout the stay that made me come away with this feeling of having had such a good time, but for the life of me, I cannot recall them. But maybe that isn’t true. Maybe it was just the feeling of being together that left a good mark on my memory. Kind of like reading a book on a crisp sunny afternoon that resulted in a more refreshed version of yourself than when you first sat down. Nothing in particular, but just the whole of the experience.

Thank you girlies!

Y is for Yawn.

Jul19

Definitely not for Young. Last weekend, our local casino hosted a live concert for Eve 6. Hello 1998!

The roommates and I looked at each other, debated, and then agreed that if it were even just 5 years ago, there would be no question about going folks. So now we have to go whether we want to or not if only to prove that we have just as much energy as we did back then.

The concert kicked off at 10pm which in college was the time we would have just started getting ready. I was ready for the local-breakfast-joint portion of the night by 9:45.

We hung in there for the night, occasionally yelling how absolutely Young we all are, had a couple cocktails, played a few hands of blackjack and even ate breakfast at the casino itself.

When we got into the car, exhausted, we felt like we really lived up to our college days.

And then we looked at the clock. It was barely after midnight.

Sigh.

Moving on to a new phase in our lives, I guess.

Jane Austen Festival, Part One

Jul13

We’ve only just arrived home from our trip to Regency England (aka, Louisville KY) and am enjoying reliving memories from it….

…Like my senior portraits from the graduating class of 1798. I was voted Least Likely To Die During Childbirth.

Thank you, birthing hips.

And then there was the Regency Ball…

I think I may have set my expectations a wee bit high that I’d be dancing until my slippers hurt and I blame it on the Contra dancing group from a couple weeks ago. They had explained to me that it is considered rude to dance with the same person the entire night, even if he/she is your date…. Especially if there are more females than males, or vice-versa.

This was not the case Saturday night for little Miss Carolyn. Sigh.

When we arrived, a nice lady did ask me to dance for one of the first songs and I had to endure feeling like Sasquatch next to her petit little thing. She was exceedingly sweet, though, and I was grateful for helping me segway into a dancing mentality. I’m new to this whole dancing without caring thing. And since mom was out of commission due to a back injury, I was on my own.

Afterwards, I sat down and we eagerly waited to be asked for the next song. We waited. And waited. Ogled at pretty dresses… and waited.

Song number two came on, so I used this as an opportunity to get a snapshot because there would be like absolutely no time to do so when I dance the rest of the night away. Poor mom will be just so lonely having no one to talk to.

Song numbers three through six: Mom started to get worried. I was becoming convinced that the wallpaper behind me was also green with pink roses and therefore no one could find me even if they wanted to. So I stood up and paced for awhile until the song ended.

Song number seven: Mom is now despondent and almost irreconcilable.

I’d have given my right leg for someone to ask me. And I probably would’ve danced better without it, too. Maybe not as happily, but definitely with more rhythm. Instead, I sat gloomily feeling more like Mary Bennett than Elizabeth.

You know who Mary is.

Take a guess.

Looking back, why didn’t I ask anyone? If I’d had a glass of champagne in my hand, then game on.

But (in case you’ve forgotten) I’m a functioning INTROVERT, people. No way am I going over to strangers under flourescent lighting and lead them to the dance floor. If I had been with someone more shy, then I would’ve mustered up the guts to do something.

Have you met my mom, though? She is decidedly unshy and tried to get every living creature in breeches and dresses that passed our way to dance with me. My god, you would’ve thought our family was on the brink of financial disaster and she needed me to throw myself at anyone in a cravat. Yet, still no luck.

So instead of acting as my dance pimp, she suggested I improve my countenance. “You know, people are more likely to ask you if you’re smiling, Carolyn.”

Okay, so like this?

“No,” she said… “Try to add a touch of desperation to your smile. Dance partners love that.”

And what d’ya know. Within two seconds of my face exploding from sheer force of countenance, a guy came over and lamented that I wasn’t dancing.

Huzzah!!

He really acted the part too, which I appreciated. All gracefulness and toe-pointing.; I was taken aback by his unabashedness on the regency dance floor.

The night quickly ended, though, before I could come out of my shell. But I was happy with the dances that I was able to experience.

One note of worthy, however. A lady came up and asked my age. She thought I was 19. Let me repeat that, Nuh-ineteen. That’s for all my fellow gray-haired friends, you know which nursing home you are.

As for the dancing, this Saturday night is another contra night and I’m looking forward to sweating dancing in the rounds I missed out on at the Ball.

However, this time I won’t wear white. Okay, yes I will. Maybe it will ensure me a dance partner.

Wanna read Part 2 of our adventure? Click here!

Dancing Wedding

Jun1

Dancing Weddiiiiing – Young and Sweet only seventeeeen. You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your li-i-ife.

Wow, this was a fun one. I’ve been to some where I stay for the meal and slip out the door; others where I sit at the table all night talking with friends without even so much as a glance to the dance floor; and still others where I play whiffle ball and serve guests bbq from a gas station.

Okay that last one was my own wedding. Yikes.

But this one. This one will be the dancing wedding.

We all knew K & D loved to dance, for them to see this all night:

It must’ve just made their day.

It made mine too, because I’m re-entering the world of dancing without caring.

R thinks he’s been duped. You see, in college our circle of friends would go to a place with a dinky dance floor. And while everyone else was bumping to the music, R and I would stand flat against a wall getting to know each other all the while avoiding drinks getting sloshed into our face by someone’s bad dance move. It was fun. Kind of like dodgeball meets dating. So, he thought I didn’t like to dance, which meant that there was no pressure on his end. And there wasn’t. Truly!

Until recently. If there is a packed floor and good music on, then I’m psyching myself up to get out there if I’m in the mood.

And I don’t care if I dance a little Elaine Benes-esque with my one-handed train conductor move, because if you can’t hear… Journey’s playing and it’s time to move.

So when R went MIA after seeing a good dance crowd, I turned around to find my good ole standby. Mom.

Whaaaaat? What is she doing all. by. herSELF?

Something drastic needed to be done.

So I ran to the DJ and requested Backstreet Boys, stat. HURRY. This is an emergency, my mom is sitting all by herself because she’s not really into House of Pain.

He gave me a sidelong glance and hesitated in the B section. “Are you sure it will go over well with this crowd?” I didn’t care, we had to pump some dancing blood back into Momma Pat and this was the ticket.

As the song started, I ran away from him so no one would know who requested the song. No offense, mom. But could you believe that people gave a loud whoop and clapped?

I grabbed mom and drug her out with me.

She was only a little excited.

By the way, nice bra, Carolyn. Jeez. I’m the classy cousin at the wedding with my unmentionables hanging out in every photo. Sigh.

We slow danced… Still couldn’t seem to find R, so had to make-do with taking photos of my sister and her husband.

And then there were dance-offs:

My nephew, W, partook in one and apparently won?

But grandma was cheering a bit too hard for little W, because the dance-off moved onto her:

And she was booty-ed off the dance floor. No one is safe during a dance off, my friends.

But not to be outdone, my brother-in-law (aka “roommate”) had one out with a groomsmen.

I don’t think anyone can compete with suspenders. Sorry N.

Oh, K & D. What a great wedding! I don’t know who this girl is nor why I took the photo, but I think it had to do with the drawing. Does it seem familiar to this old blog post? Click here.

Discuss.

And Dance. Discuss and dance. That’s pretty much how life goes anyway.

Mother’s Day

May18

We had a nice Mother’s Day. We ate at a quirky Indian restaurant in Eureka Springs while a lady we could’ve sworn was Janis Joplin belted out gospel music.

After a few awkward moments of verbal tug-of-war, R and I finally won the honor of paying for the meal. It’s a lot more fun for the giver when the givee just gives in without a fight.

In R’s family, it’s a different kind of tug-of-war. There’s no discussion of who is paying. You just have to pull an undercover sniper attack on the waitress to get the ticket before the other person does.

Afterwards, we went on a tram tour of the the city. The docent (thank you for the vocab, mom) was cute. Maybe I just liked her white hair, I don’t know, but I did chuckle a lot.

We drove by countless Victorian homes. The entire downtown is in the National Register of Historic Places in America.

I’m glad these two appreciate it as much as me.

We made a quick tram tour stop at a church with cool statues of the stations of the cross.

And then we saw the fudge store. Enough said.

I found some overgrown stairs and immediately climbed them. Poison oak be darned, I’m finding out what’s up there.

Houses.

And people looking through the windows wondering who this chick was with red splotches on her ankles.

Note to self: don’t wear sandals while traipsing through unknown foliage.

We visited one of the many springs in the town and then headed home. We were exhausted! Two full days of exploring, but oh it was worth it!

Can’t wait to explore the many other areas of Arkansas, possibly with some newcomers to the state? More details on that later.

My Kind of Medication

Feb13

I really wasn’t in the mood to go out and about tonight. I’ve been sick the past few days and a night of watching movies and laying around sounded ideal. However, we had spent the majority of the morning organizing our dorm room sized apartment and decided a Sam’s Club trip was necessary.

So I bundled up my snotty nose and off we went, half hoping they’d be serving their samples like our last Date Night there. Along the way, R caught a sign for Chick-Fil-A and murmured how nice it would be to stop there. But free is free and we knew we could count on ole Sammy.

As we piled up our cart, something was blatantly missing from the store. There were no hair nets around! And you know what that means. No samples, people.

R took that opportunity to drop a giant hint that if I loved him we’d go to Chick-Fil-A. And, for once, I agreed; instead of dragging him somewhere that I wanted to eat.

And boy did it pay to be unselfish! We walked in and noticed a sign stating there was a ‘Pre-Valentine’s Day Dinner’. We looked at each other, then ordered our food.

As we turned the corner with our tray, we saw an entire room filled with fresh flowers, lit candles and tablecloths! So we sat down in our little nook and even put napkins on our laps.

A few minutes later, two dressed-up people walked in…

…and they started performing for us! They sang Italian ballads sprinkled with American music like Stand By Me, which of course made me well up. Love that song.

R asked me to wipe my tears away along with the booger in my left nostril.

It was such a nice surprise and gave a me an extra boost of energy, which was needed because across the parking lot was a Barnes & Noble. And we all know the pull books have on me and R.

So we popped in and within 5 minutes, heard the sound of instruments.

I weaved myself among the shelves of books and finally found them. A saxophone quartet! Complete with chairs to listen.

R went off to buy some coffee and I sat there, the lone person in a chair, listening. I closed my eyes and let the music work over me.

One of the players asked if I played, and I said, “No. I just appreciate.” Which is going to be my motto from now on.

I don’t act or sing or play an instrument. But I appreciate those who do. And even if I’m the only one in the audience, I’ll still clap heartily to show them how much.

Two performances in one night. I’m going to bed with a smile on my face. And this time it’s not because of Nyquil.

Candlelit Singing

Dec15

R finally set up a double date with his co-worker. It took only 2 months, but that’s okay. I felt like I had already been on a date with them (or at least his wife) when we watched her perform in a local play.

A thespian! A real life person, that I can actually touch and feel, who appreciates productions & art as much as me.

I didn’t need to explain during the choir performance why certain notes made my throat hurt, or feel self-conscious for just barely holding back tears throughout others.

She got it. And that made me happy.

At the end of the concert, candles were passed around. R lit mine and I felt united with him for a moment.

And then the congregation sang Silent Night together.

All in all, a great date night. Not to mention the cheap white wine I brought over to their house. That’s right, just keeping it classy.

But one other thing made me smile that night: finding a new song in which to indulge. Laudamus Te by Mozart. When the harpsichord starting playing, my heart lept and I thought, Oh my gosh.. is this Mozart?? But if you read the comments below, I was way off. This was not Mozart, but Vivaldi. Thank you, Hazel.

Note to self: Learn that the name written in a choir concert program is probably for the lyrics.

Below is Laudamus Te sung at the concert. These aren’t the two girls who actually sang it. No, they were left in a pile of ashes after my eyes burned envy into them. Too beautiful, they were.

But this is still wonderful.

I’ll have my cake and eat it too, thank you very much.

May6

What does a scottish laird, hurricanes, and wanna-be groupies have in common? Well, normally nothing, except if you’re headed to a Cake concert with my sister and me.

It’d been pouring all day by the time my sister arrived in Arkansas and our original plan to go see Cake was in jeopardy. I could easily have snuggled into the couch and finished re-reading my 20th/18th century time travel romance novel, so we went back and forth, debating if we should go or not. There was no word that it had been cancelled by 6:30, so we bundled up and headed out.

I told myself that it was probably raining in 18th century Scotland too, so I wasn’t really missing out on my other written life. We showed up and saw people standing in line for tickets. This show better be good. But has Cake ever put on a bad one?

We huddled and let others stand under our umbrella as long as their backsides faced the wind. Suddenly, a young couple started asking around if anyone would buy their tickets. We bargained them down and they asked for cash. Neither A nor I had any, so I suggested I write a check. They groaned but said okay. As I was writing it out, it occurred to me that I couldn’t remember the last time I wrote a check for anything. How very historical of me. If only I had been using a quill.

Finally, we were in! We ran around to find a spot. Our tickets were for the ‘lawn’ area, but managed to get a quick reprieve from the hurricane-like conditions by cutting through the tent area. I felt like a poor child in a Charles Dickens story.. begging for a seat and then getting spat on when they figured out we were lawn trash. We sucked it up and crossed over to the other side, finding a spot near the stage and aaaalmost under the tent. We couldn’t believe our luck. Why was no one standing here? It was perfect!

And then we turned around.

Oh, no biggie. Just major electrical equipment running right by our feet. But man, do we have a great view.

Halfway through the show, we were hooked up with non-lawn tickets by a guy eyeing my sister and pushed our way through. We are cold, thank you very much now let us through. No time for niceties. No time for getting-to-know-yous, so after A politely brushed off our ticket-bearer’s advances, we walked straight to the front of the stage like we owned the place and started dancing.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed something red be-bopping around. I turned slowly during Bucket Seats and saw, oh my gosh, the scottish highlander from my novel! Full red beard and pulled-back hair, could it be true?? Did he find the cracked rock and travel 200 years to the future?

So I asked him.

He wasn’t from 1745. He was from 2009 and really loved pot, dropping off demos to record labels, and guessing tree names. The only thing I cared about was the last one, because when the audience was asked what type of tree was on stage, I turned to him for the answer. He said “Japanese Maple”.

I turned and raised my hand. Little did I know that my red-headed protagonist was pointing his hand up and down over my head so that I would be called upon. How gallant! So Cake (I’m sure he has a name?) looked down and said “How about you, oh quiet one, in the midst of a loud crowd.”

I mean, come ON. Look for that line in a new song. He even used the word ‘oh’ which is the first ingredient for writing poetry. Everyone knows that.

Well, the answer was wrong. It was a peach tree. Whatever. One of my favorite bands just shared with the world the first verse of his next song when he called on me. I think I won in the end.

So, of course we had to time-travel back to when we were twelve and conspire with our new tree-hugging (and incorrectly naming) friends how to get backstage. They had motives too. Remember the demo? My sister found an opening and we (okay, only I had to) squeezed through.

On the other side, A saw him (Mr. Cake?) walking to his bus. She went up to him and started talking about random things. It was pretty much a great night. And who would’ve thought… the genesis to it all was a historical romance novel?

Question

May6

Who is this lead singer and why is he pointing at me in the crowd? Answer to be revealed tomorrow.

No Seriously, Cue it.

Oct4

S and me before our night of toe-tappin.

Notice the strained smile on my face. Stress.

Music is a soul’s medicine, isn’t it. It can penetrate any armor you’ve put up around yourself. Mine, this week, has been the “wound so tight she’s going to snap” shield. R has been tip-toeing around me as I make list after list of what we need to do to the house before putting it on the market. Phone calls with friends have been short. The foam egg mattress we have on our bed has not helped me have a good night’s rest.

Wound tight.

..and then like a dam breaking, a night listening to music at the Nelson Art Museum helped me break free of my mummified state of stress. it massaged my temples and shoulders more than a masseuse ever could. just what the doctor ordered. I laughed and smiled and forgot all about the lists.

Not only was the act of listening to music helpful. To me, more importantly, it was the type of music. I’ve finally admitted to myself that I am a die hard junkie on Bluegrass. Old Country. I came into that genre late, listening to K’s burned cds my third year in college. The tunes caught my ear, and I never asked her to turn them off. But I also never instigated playing them. Then one night in a seedy dark bar, I caught a showing of a bluegrass band, The Wilders. It was in a room painted all black, and there was a crowd of maybe 75 people. The music started and the rest was history. I was a fan. Then for Christmas, my parents-in-law gave me a record player. I bought some records on eBay..a few of which were old country: Hank Williams Jr, Johnny Cash, early Dolly Parton. I also bought others, but those three were the ones I came back to night after night. These classically trained musicians of The Wilders, one of which meant to become an opera singer, became my doorway drug into this new world.

And the layers of the instruments. If anyone remembers the part in Amadeus, when Salieri describes his first encounter listening to Mozart’s music.

“On the page it looked like nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse – bassoons and basset horns – like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly – high above it – an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight.”

I focus on the layers of the bluegrass bands. I try to listen to each instrument separately..and then as a whole. The sum truly is greater than the parts, although the parts are pretty sensational. Plus, Betse can kick some fiddle ass.

I don’t think my mom’s Motown/Rock/Broadway influence will ever leave me. But I can’t deny the new love in my life. Thanks for cheering me up, bluegrass.

Here are some songs from the Wilder’s website. Enjoy.

One

Two — Betse kicks it!

Three

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this: