More Thanksgiving Memories

Thanksgiving has various connotations for different people. In my mind, it involves family, food, drink, cold weather and church. Sounds strange, I know, but the church I attended my whole life, St. Gregory's Episcopal Church, always had a Thanksgiving morning service (btw, really bad timing for those who are cooking a turkey, which was, I dare say, just about everyone ). Most notably, there was always a bagpiper who always played Amazing Grace. When it came to the lyric "...that saved a wretch like me", my sister and I always sang "...that saved a wench like me".



When I moved to San Francisco, one of my most memorable turkey days involved martinis, The Grateful Dead, hosting 10 people-dining in my bedroom (the largest room in our apartment) with a flower sheet for a table cloth. Several childhood friends also living in the area came, but they were required to bring their own chairs and plates. Our counter space was so limited I had to put the turkey pan on the floor when it came out of the oven and we concluded the evening with a Port and cheese plate (courtesy of Tracy) and flirting with my future husband by telephone.



Last year, I blogged about Thanksgiving in Hawaii. Quite memorable. I feel like I've expanded my horizons with a day that involved dolphins, maitais and an ocean. There is always something to be said, however, about traditional holidays with family and friends. After all, who else is going to help you with all those dishes?

Disney!

We recently went to Disneyworld again, this time with the kids. Since I'm training for a 1/2 marathon and have to log a certain amount of miles, I wanted to find out just how much I walked in a day.

Day in question was Thursday, first full day at DW. I started my GARMIN 450cx watch at 10am, after we had walked to the boat launch (from the Wilderness Lodge), taken a boat then a monorail to the Grand Floridian for an early morning breakfast. Monorail ride back to the Magic Kingdom, then the watch was started.

I didn't turn it off on 2 trips on Splash Mountain (.49 miles each) and 2 trips on Big Thunder Mountain RR (.53 miles each). I also did not turn it off inside, winding thru lines when there was no GPS signal. At the end of our time at MK, we took a monorail to the transportation center and I turned it off there.

The total distance between 10am and 5pm was almost 12 miles. Subtract the rides (about 2 miles) and the monorail ride (about a mile) and you get 9 miles of walking, just for the first 7 hours. We then went to Epcot and walked for another 4 hours (my GPS was out of battery by then, so no data).

The moral of the story: wear comfortable shoes. For those of you who need further clarification, that means NO flip flops.

Sleep, part deux

So today I had my visit with the cognitive behavioral specialist. It was really quite interesting. We talked a bit about sleep hygiene, a subject I was already familiar with. We also talked about the role my husband, the reflux sufferer, is playing in this dilemma.

The most interesting part, and probably the most helpful, was to put my problem in perspective. So what happens if I can't sleep? I'm tired the next day but I can function. I usually can sleep the next night, a fairly full night. I guess removing the anxiety of worrying about the lack of sleep goes a long way to being able to fall asleep.

I learned some relaxation techniques also, but that one pearl will probably be the most helpful.

Sleep!

As some of you may know, I’m a bit of an insomniac. I generally don’t have trouble staying asleep, but falling asleep is a different story. It drives me crazy these days, as it’s gotten a little out of control.
My natural biorhythms dictate that I stay up late and wake up late. I remember vividly in my childhood being sent to bed at 7:30 every night until about 4th grade. Guess what? At 7:30 I just wasn’t tired. Oh, the games I used to invent in my room late at night, waiting to get tired.
As an adult, I often would like to go to bed early but know it only means more time waiting to fall asleep. On a good day, I am awake for 20-30 minutes before I’m out. My husband, conversely, falls asleep in 20-30 seconds. No kidding. Drives me nuts. Recently I had two nights almost completely without sleep.
In a recent Journal of the American Medical Association, it was suggested that people with insomnia see a cognitive behavioral specialist. I happen to know a really good one. I made an appointment for later this week to see what suggestions he has to offer. Stay tuned!

Things you get to do when your kids are at sleepaway camp...

1. Watch The Forty Year Old Virgin at 7pm.
2. Play Green Day as loud as you want, any time you want.
3. Sleep until the very last minute before you have to get up and go to work.
4. Eat dinner sitting on the couch, watching TV.
5. Have control of the remote. What a concept.
6. Avoid all episodes of Hannah Montana and The Suite Life on Deck
7. Exercise, out of the house, at the same time as your spouse.
8. Date night. Enough said.
9. Enjoy the odd silence that is a lack of bickering between siblings.
10. Miss them, just a little. OK, a lot.

Loco for Locopops!

There's a great place for a neat treat in Chapel Hill (and Durham) called Locopops. They offer a fabulous variety of Mexican-style popsicles, in such flavors as chocolate brownie, cookies and cream, mojito, cherry lime, strawberry-kiwi, pomegranate tangerine, etc. (One time Alan tried Avocado flavor. Hmmm. It tasted exactly like a nice, ripe avocado. That unfortunately does NOT translate to frozen dessert, btw.) I highly recommend visiting one of the several locations and trying them out.


When we were there tonight with my niece and nephew, my nephew started telling us about the history of Popsicles. Apparently in 1905, an 11 year old boy named Frank Epperson mixed soda with a stick and accidentally left it out overnight. His creation was originally called the Epsicle. 18 years later he started the Popsicle company. It's summer in North Carolina and all I can say is Yea for Frank!

So here's a thought...

A few years back, I did a television gig in New York. During the prep in the wee hours of the morning, a professional makeup artist was applying my makeup. She was amazing, she camouflaged my deep set eyes and made my skin look flawless. She truly was an artist. When I asked her if she had always wanted to do this, she told me when she was 5 years old she used to steal her mother's makeup and bury it in the back yard so she could play with it later.

That started me thinking about my childhood, and I recalled practicing surgery on my stuffed animals at age 6, often pretending I just completed a grueling 6 hour operation on the lucky (to have me) creature (OK, so I admit the operations were not on their feet but who could guess that?). My friend down the street, Nancy, used to organize kickball, soccer and ghost in the graveyard games for the whole neighborhood. She is now a very enthusiastic recreational therapist.

I therefore started wondering, what are my kids doing now that might be a window to their future? My oldest plays with animal figures all the time, coming up with different adventures. There were never dolls, only animals with her. She used to say she wanted to be a veterinarian, but now she says zoologist. Interesting.

As for my younger daughter, I'm very curious as to how this will turn out because of an incident at school last semester. A few of my friends let me know their kids were asking for money because my daughter was selling things at school: lollipops, pencils, erasers, etc. She often participates in bake sales (items baked by the older one who apparently is going to not only be an animal expert but baker and bartender one day too) and makes some significant cash for a kid. Sales? Perhaps. We nipped the selling in school in the bud, of course...and she was asked to stop at her afterschool program...

Some people love her entrepreneurial spirit. I personally do, but also wonder about how much she pushes the envelope. Time will tell, of course. Check back with me in about 15 years and I'll clue you in as to just how close I was.

The Best Dog in the World

Today we lost our dog, Maggie. Maggie was a shepherd sheepdog mix of some sort, a beautiful dog with long black hair, a white chest and beard. She was quite certainly the best dog in the world.

Maggie was born April 1st, 1994 and she was my first dog. She lived to be 15 years old, not too shabby for a large dog. We adopted her in June of '94 from the Santa Clara Humane Society in San Jose, CA. We were both residents at Stanford at the time, and although taking care of a puppy was a lot of work, Mags made it all worthwhile.

She adapted well throughout the years to our lives, hiking and running with us, playing with her neighbor dogs, and playing well with the kids when they came on the scene. She quickly grew out of jumping on people and she never much chewed things. She knew exactly how much to bark, how to look scary to strangers at the door, but was friendly to anyone we accepted into our home.

Those of you who knew her may have been lucky enough to see her awesome tricks...sit, down, speak (of course) but she could also balance a cookie on her nose while shaking your hand and flip it up and catch it in her mouth. She would often talk to us, especially as she got older, and would not let you ignore her if she really needed something. She could even say "I Love You". I swear. It was awesome.

Of course there were the intangibles...the things you just can't describe with words about a true member of your family. But ponder this- people used to tell us they were reluctant to get a dog because they knew it wouldn't be a great as Maggie.

So, I hope you can see she was the best dog ever. I am thankful we had her, and that she's again chasing squirrels like she used to do so well in her early years.

RIP Maggie Bocko 4/1/1994 - 7/11/2009

Our Mother's Daughters

In the book A Girl Named Zippy, the author Haven Kimmel describes her life in Mooreland, Indiana, population 300. Her family is an unusual mix of much older siblings, a father who refuses to go to church but expects his daughter to, and a mother who attends Quaker church services for multiple hours a week but otherwise doesn't get off the couch. For all intents and purposes, the author hates school, church and any shoe gear.

In the second book, aptly entitled She Got Up Off the Couch, her mother receives a sign via a public service announcement on television and goes to college. She has to beg for rides, learn to drive, buy a VW Bug (this is in the 70's), learn to ride a bicycle with hand brakes, navigate her way through college classes full of young people and generally become her own person. Actually, she becomes an independent person, for the first time in her life.

I can't help but wonder how deep an influence this change in her mother had on the author's life. She went from a child whose mother was likely depressed, and never did anything for herself. She ended up with a mother who received undergraduate and masters degrees, later becoming a teacher. Her daughter developed a deep love for college while observing her mother in the environment, and later received multiple degrees herself. I would venture to guess these books would not have been written had her mother not gotten off the couch.

This makes me ponder what influence as mothers our choices have on our daughters' lives. The example I hope to set for my kids is this: even though you may end up staying home raising children (which is a wonderful thing to do), don't ever lose the ability to be independent, support yourself, and provide financially for your family should it be necessary. You never know what life may bring, and the ability to adapt can provide you happiness in and of itself.

Book Review

I recently read two books written by Haven Kimmel, A Girl Named Zippy and She Got Up Off the Couch. They are a reflection of growing up small in a small town, Mooreland, Indiana (pop. 300).

The author, born in 1965, describes her quirky childhood in this smallest of towns. She is an incredible raconteur, relating comical, quirky stories that vividly describe the decidedly unusual circumstances under which she was raised. There were countless laugh out loud moments and I wholeheartedly recommend these books.

Moral Decline?

I'm as liberal as the next Chapel Hillian...I'm in favor of a woman's right to choose, same sex unions, equal pay for equal work, premarital cohabitation, sex ed in schools including contraception and abstinence, etc. Generally speaking, I try hard not to judge other people's behaviors, but this story just got me.

Mia Washington, 20, of Texas recently revealed that her twin boys, 11 months old, have different fathers. The mother said she thought they looked different and took them for a DNA test. She then admitted to her fiance (who is the father of one of the boys) that she had a fling with someone else (whom she is thankfully not identifying) at the time she got pregnant. (In case you were wondering, the technical term for this is type of twins is heteropaternal superfecundation.) Some studies show that up to 1-2% of all fraternal twins have different fathers. Others say it's one in a million. Her fiance has decided to raise both boys as his own. Ms. Washington has a 4 year old son from yet a different father and is expecting another child.

Despite my liberal views, I almost feel like this is a symbol of moral decline. I really cannot believe I am writing these words, but for some reason this story really set me off. Perhaps it's the pride exhibited by the mother that irritates me most. If it were me, I certainly wouldn't nationally publicize my promiscuity.

To put it simply, medical marvel, yes. Something I'd want to be famous for, no.

That Song

Every once in a while my family will become hooked on an artist, an album, a song. It starts innocently enough, a song that may or may not have been popular on the radio (generally speaking, radio stations are terrible here, with none that I have found playing anything interesting or progressive, but I digress) and may have inappropriate lyrics for the younger set. We buy the CD, and the song gets requested over and over and over again by passengers in the back seat of my car until every word is memorized and beyond.

The first such song I recall is "Follow Me" by Uncle Kracker (Uncle Kracker was later arrested as a sex offender in Raleigh, ewww). The lyrics had undertones of infidelity but an addictive phrase:
All you know is when I'm with you I make you free
And swim through your veins like a fish in the sea


The most recent artist, album, song combination is Jason Mraz, We Sing We Dance, We Steal Things. The song, "I'm Yours" is number 2 on the CD. "Play number 2" is the first thing requested in my car these days. The favorite phrase in this song is:
Open up your plans and damn, you're free

Personally, I think the interest in that phrase is the desire to say a "bad word" and get away with it. We also really like the way he scats and sings I'm Your-za...

Call it unenlightened, but I really don't understand a culture where a man can divorce his wife by saying "I divorce you" three times as they can in Saudi Arabia. Even worse, check out this story...divorce by text message. Good grief. I'd like to think marriage is more sacred than that in any culture.

WHERE do they come up with this stuff?

As I was working one day in my kitchen, I noticed someone in my house watching a show on Animal Planet called Groomer Has It. Basically, it's a reality TV show about dog groomers, competing against each other. There are catty contestants, strange tasks, and judges that try to create drama that shouldn't exist.

I mean really. Can we please go back to sitcoms?

Scrambled, please.

I have a question. What happened to all the different preparations of eggs? When I was a kid, we had eggs on the weekend only. There were poached, fried-over easy or sunny side up, scrambled, and the quirkiest of all, soft boiled in an egg cup. Hard boiled eggs were around for lunch, often diced in egg salad.
So here's the deal. We eat scrambled eggs. We eat hard boiled eggs. That's it. No soft boiled, no poached, no fried and certainly no egg salad. Trust me, I'm OK with all this, mostly because I don't like the other kinds, and I'm afraid of salmonella from undercooked eggs...but I'm wondering-do other people (besides my parents) still eat the other kinds?

Ash Lane House

My friend Alisa just posted a video about the house her family used to live in in Fresno. It made me recall my first childhood home, on Ash Lane.
My parents bought this house in 1966, a modest split level home on an enormous pie shaped lot on a cul-de-sac. It had 3 bedrooms, and mine looked out over the huge (flat, of course-this was the Midwest) backyard through eyelet curtains. In the yard there was a screened porch which hosted dinner at the picnic table every night in the summer, and lots and lots of grass to mow. There were 2 apple trees which bore rotten fruit, and 2 cherry trees which grew those super sour cherries wonderful for making pies.
There probably wasn't a more extreme example of suburbia around, but my somewhat sheltered "Leave it to Beaver" lifestyle was not just a product of the just house, but rather the home. It could have happened anywhere.
Sentimentality towards our houses is well entrenched in our family, with my father driving us by the house he grew up in for 30 years after it was sold. When we moved from the Ash Lane house in 1979, we drove by every Sunday on the way home from church. I was completely devastated a few years later when I watched the house burn in a major fire, later learning that the family dog died in my old bedroom. Even worse, just last year I felt the horrific pain of the same owners when their son took his own life in the backyard.
I find it difficult to marry the extremes of memories, knowing the horrible memories the current owners must carry in their hearts. I hope they have had enough good times to outweigh the bad, and that I never forget the magic innocence of that life.

Facebook Friends-of Friends

So I'm a Facebook addict. I admit it. The interesting thing is that there is a whole subset of people out there that I have never met but I feel like I know.
I have about 80 friends on FB. They all have their own friends too, with some overlap. When I comment on a friend's status, their other friends can comment also. I get notice of these comments.
Over the last several months, I have become acquainted with these folks, ones I've never met but strangely want to meet now. I know their sense of humor, which I believe to be one of the most revealing human qualities. Love that. So all you friends of mine, when your Facebook friends come visit, let me know. I may just want to meet them.

A Total Rip-Off

Nothing. We got nothing. No snow. Oh, the disappointment when I woke up this morning. I think I was more upset than the kids.

The Magic of Snow

As a kid growing up in Chicago, there was plenty of snow. As an adult living in North Carolina, there is not. The ironic thing is, I feel almost exactly the same way now that I did then, just on a slightly different scale.
It took a lot to close schools where I grew up. On the order of feet, not inches, of snow was required to give us a day off. I vividly recall my sister and I listening anxiously by the radio, to either WGN or WLS, praying for the announcer to say "district 28" as one of the closings. It didn't happen often enough.
Tonight, we are waiting for a storm. We could get anything from a trace (a total rip-off), up to 6 inches. There is a buzz of excitement in the house, as we wonder what it will look like in the morning when we wake up. Instead of huddling around the radio, we will likely check WRAL's website for school closings.
As little feet snuck downstairs earlier tonight to catch a glimpse of the first dusting, it made me recall the excitement I felt as a child. Personally, despite the fact that I'm now a self employed adult and will lose business, I'm hoping for snow. Lots of snow.

SANDWHICH

Today I had the pleasure of lunching with my friend and former next door neighbor, Margaret. She suggested we go to SANDWHICH, a restaurant in downtown Chapel Hill I've always wanted to try.
Obviously, they serve sandwiches, homemade on homemade breads. They have such sandies as: chicken with pesto on foccacia; sweet potato with prosciutto, collard greens and goat cheese; and Niman ranch pork with mustard gravy and caramelized onions amongst others. All ingredients are fresh with free range meats and organic veggies.
I ordered the 1/2 sandwich (chicken salad) and soup (a wonderful pea soup-don't gasp, I LOVE pea soup). It was served with some marinated carrots, homemade potato chips, a drink and a large chocolate chip cookie. Everything was delicious.
The best part of this local treasure is the people, the owner carried our trays and helped us find a place to sit in a very full restaurant. Lovely. Hope you can visit soon.

Ahhh...the Coat

The other day my friend Jill and I went to a sort-of-secret store. My Overstock Boutique opens to the public only once a month, and is located in a warehouse in Mebane. It has racks and racks of high quality designer clothes on consignment from various boutiques. These are genuinely high end clothes that are exceedingly expensive at full price.

The deal is this: everything is at least 50% off, many items with much deeper discounts. Some items were just a mere $10. It is truly a warehouse, with makeshift dressing areas and an open back area without heat.

We had barely gotten there, learned the "rules of shopping" and I saw it. A beautiful, charcoal belted coat with front pockets made by Theory. It was made of virgin wool, angora and cashmere. Ahhhh. It was the softest coat (other than the fur coats worn by elder members of my family when I was a child) I had ever felt. It was also still quite expensive.

After we had looked through the whole store and I only had a handful of things to try on, I took it into the dressing room to just try it at the urging of Jill. So I did. Wow. It was perfect. Gorgeous, smart, sharp, slimming, and warm and comfortable to boot. It is the kind of garment that makes you want to go to New York because you feel so hip.

I made a decision that I would only buy it if they could cut the price in half again (25% of the original price). The owner did it with a smile on her face. Ahhhh. It's mine. I will have it forever and a day (unless I wear holes it in from just touching it so much). New York anyone?

Yard Sale

This past weekend I went skiing for the first time in almost 12 years. Happily, there were no broken bones.
I learned a new term on this ski trip. "Yard sale" refers to one of those skiing or snowboarding wipeouts where everything (skis, poles, hats, etc.) are strewn about, much like people's junk is strewn around in a yard sale.
My question is this: when did that term come to be? I had never heard it, but then again, I haven't been skiing in quite some time. I checked with some other folks today who haven't been skiing in several years as well, and they had never heard of it either. Anyone?

Big, Bright, Orange Sun

Today as I was driving west down Rosemary Street to pilates class, I was blinded by a HUGE bright orange setting sun. It was incredible, one of those rare sights that not only makes it difficult to drive, but makes reach for your camera.

So I did. At a stoplight, I reached for my Blackberry. Unfortunately, the car in front of me blocked my view. As I inched forward in evening traffic, I wasn't able to get a good shot. When I finally reached a peak in the road, the sun was down. Missed it.

What can we conclude from this? That the earth rotates faster than traffic moves at rush hour in Chapel Hill, of course.

Science!

My girls have this amazing science lab teacher, Ms. Templeton. She has the students do the coolest experiments...much more advanced, fun and interesting than anything I ever did at that age.

Today I was working in my kitchen and I came across a baggie (contents poorly pictured, right). I just about had a heart attack when I realized what it was. I remembered that SOMEONE mentioned yesterday that they dissected owl pellets (vomit, for lack of a better term) in science lab and theirs had a rodent skull in it. Note the skull at about 9 o'clock, nose pointing up and large eye sockets. Yum.

Yea Ms. Templeton!

Job Satisfaction

Let's face it, we all have "those days" at work. No matter how much you love what you do, there are just some days, that to put it bluntly, bite.
Today wasn't extraordinary in any way until the end. A client came to my office. He was initially a bit hesitant, but left with a genuine smile on his face and a definite look of appreciation. His happiness made me appreciate him. That is what I would term job satisfaction.

Insomnia

Ever since I was a kid, I have had trouble falling asleep. I generally don't have trouble staying asleep once I'm there. In fact, I have trouble waking up...but that's another story.
As a kid, I would dream up all these wild scenarios I would act out in my room until I could fall asleep (my parents sent me to bed at 7:30 every night which didn't help). As an adult, the 20-30 minutes average I spend each night thinking about how I'm going to fall asleep are not as fun...I am mostly resentful for a few reasons: my husband falls asleep in literally 20 seconds; I have to get up early for work; I know I'm going to be tired, etc.
I will periodically take Benadryl (helps my allergies also) and on a rare occasion will take Ambien. To take Ambien, you have to have a full 8 hours to devote to sleep. The trouble is, by the time you realize you can't sleep, you have WAY less than 8 hours left until you have to get up. So I usually have to have been sleep deprived for a few days, and plan it all out before I can take that medication. Probably a good thing...
The bad news tonight: I took a nap today. I'm screwed.

I WAS SEVENTH!

Although many of you probably have seen this already, I love this video. A little snippet of the mysterious racing world.

Click here to see.

I was seventh before this post, now I'm not.

Oh, the pressure

OK, so a fellow blogger recently redesigned his blog. The list of blogs he reads used to be in alphabetical order. I was midway down, as it went by first names. The new design lists the blogs with the most recent updates first.
That means that if you're busy, overtaxed or just plain not feeling creative, you'll slip down the list. Why I've even noticed this, I'm not sure, but I can tell you I now feel this pressure to write more. I'm guessing that was the idea.

New Year's Eve

I've always thought that New Year's Eve was a bit overrated. Don't get me wrong, I've had some really nice New Year's (including this year) but on the whole, not a huge holiday for me.

There was one, many, many years ago (before I met my husband) which was shaping up to be quite interesting. The interesting factor ended quite abruptly with the consumption of too much champagne. I learned my lesson. No champagne this year at all.

One of my BEST New Year's was at my friend's house when we lived in California. We had a seafood extravaganza in her beautiful home. It was a really lovely evening with good food, friends and merriment.

It seems, though, that as we were watching the Tar Heels play last night right until just after the clock struck midnight, our great evening could have been on any date, not just December 31st. I guess it just goes to show you that good food, drink and great friends can happen any day of the year. We don't need no stinkin' holiday for that.