Amy Grant

Who doesn't love the Christmas season?  Everyone seems happier, there are parties and presents, and music -- the lovely, lovely Christmas carols -- fills the air with love and joy.  I smile and start humming just thinking about them. And, it turns out, I thought about them a lot more than usual this year.  

Last fall my sister gave me an armload of Christmas CD's.  She's totally into technology and, apparently, CD's are relics from a bygone era and I'm just hopelessly behind -- I have an entire closet shelf of cassettes and a chest-of-drawers full of VHS tapes too, so maybe she's justified in thinking that.  

I decided to listen to the CD's in my car and popped the first one in.  It was "A Christmas Album" by Amy Grant.  Perfect title, if you ask me.  I don't drive very often and when I do it's usually not far so it took me a while to hear all the songs.  About half the carols were contemporary which meant I couldn't sing along, but Amy's gorgeous voice is easy to listen to so I didn't mind too much.  

I just realized that this album is from 1983.  We had CD's back then?

In the blink of an eye, it was March and the Christmas CD was still playing. None of the songs seemed "new" to me any more and so to entertain myself, I would try to harmonize.  It was probably best that I was alone in the car. 

The great thing about Christmas music is that it's uplifting.  There aren't any negative lyrics and the tunes are happy and catchy.  Around May, it did occur to me that I was still listening to Christmas carols, but by then I knew every single word to every single song and I liked them all.  Plus it was the only CD in the car -- or at least that was my story when anybody asked.  

And then it was July. Christmas in July is a legitimate thing, right?  By August though, I started turning the music off whenever anybody was going to ride with me.  I didn't want them to think I was weird. 

When September came, I officially decided to listen to only this particular Amy Grant CD for the entire year.  It was about then that track nine started stuttering and skipping.  Instead of ejecting the disc and cleaning it, I just fast forward whenever it gets to that part of the album.  Problem solved! 

My favorite carol is entitled, "Love has Come."  The music is beautiful and the lyrics are haunting.  I often listen to it several times in a row … Or, sometimes, for the entire car ride, no matter how long it may be...  The song always puts me in a good mood.  

While the car was running this morning, I rolled down my window to talk to a neighbor.  "Oh, no!" she said.  "Not Christmas music already!"

Now you and I both know that it's not already, it's still, but after I heard that I realized I'm almost home free.  November starts at the end of this week and then every store in America will be playing Christmas carols non-stop.  

As soon as that happens, I won't be weird, I'll just be quirky.

www.StillSwimmingUpstream.com

The Blizzard of '14

I was born and bred in Michigan with tours of duty in Indiana and Ohio before I migrated south.  I  hail from The Great White North and have a healthy respect for winter weather.  As a kid, I remember walking on crusty drifts of snow that were far, far taller than me and… enough already!  The point is that the snow-belt and I go way back.  We are far from strangers.

Knowing this, imagine my state of mind yesterday when I was awakened from a sound slumber at 4:04 am by an incoming text alerting us that there was a winter storm warning for our area.   All day I waited nervously for the big storm.  When I went out in the early afternoon, I drove by a friend who is a teacher so I knew that school was already out -- even though the road (which had been brined the night before) was still dry as a bone.

First I stopped to mail a bunch of packages that had been cluttering up my kitchen table.  The line snaked almost out the door.  It was like Christmas in there!  Who would have guessed that, faced with a winter storm, people would rush to the post office?

Next I went grocery shopping, not because a snowstorm was imminent but because I was out of food.  Everyone that wasn't at the post office was at the grocery store and most of them were buying the same four things:  bread, eggs, milk and beer or wine.  During storms, do my neighbors make French toast and use alcohol as syrup?

As I was checking out, the cart guy came inside and loudly announced, "Storm's finally here."  Walking to my car, I did see two flakes roughly the size of fruit flies float by but there weren't even flurries on the drive home.  

Around five-ish the dreaded storm finally arrived.  A couple of hours later all the area schools had already canceled the next day's classes.  This morning the media was calling this a "treacherous blizzard" and even Jerry's work announced a two-hour delay.  (Of course, this occurred an hour-and-a-half after Jerry himself had arrived at work.)

Here's what the road looked like today during his morning commute:

Gotcha!  That is a picture my sister sent from Michigan.  THIS is what Charlotte roads looked like at six am this morning:

The Weather Channel is now naming winter storms and ours is called Leon.  Leon, which sounds more like a cute, cuddly, stuffed toy than a storm, left us an inch or two of snow and possibly even some ice.  Whereas I would hardly call what we experienced a "blizzard," I am willing to stipulate that, even though the roads look ridiculously clear, they still might be "treacherous" depending upon who is driving beside you and if they are texting while doing it. 

Pay attention today, people!  Car accidents, even fender-benders, are not funny.

  

Meanwhile, I can hear the sound of children's laughter.  The kids are sledding!  Yes, it's mostly just wet grass.  Yes, they are using a laundry basket instead of a sled.  Yes, they are wearing tennies not boots.  And YES, they are having tons of wintery fun!

My Grandsons in the Snow

Maybe it's time for me to see if there's enough snow on my deck to build a snowman?

Blood Pressure Rising

You know how you find a doctor that you really, really like and then she moves away?  That happened to me.  My doc told me I could follow her to her new practice, but it was in a different city and I'm just not a gifted driver.  Plus, I'm basically lazy.  

Everything changed when Suzy got bitten by a baby copperhead.  (For you snake non-phobics, the babies are the most dangerous so this was the scariest.)
    
When I saw Suzy on Memorial Day, her foot was deep purple and swollen.  We got to talking about doctors - specifically how much she liked hers - and it was then I realized that I was willing to make that drive after all.  The icing on the cake was that Suzy sees that same delightful doctor that I used to see.  So it was settled.  I called the next day and made an appointment.

The receptionist scheduled my visit for two days later at 8:00 am.  I was so excited to get in so fast that I ignored the warning sirens going off in my head.  Anyone who knows me is aware of my aversion to morning.  Because I tend to get lost easily, I would have to allow plenty of driving time, then add more for school buses.  That meant getting up during the dead of (my) night.

Two days later I dragged myself out of bed and threw myself into my vehicle. I plugged the address into my GPS.  Nothing happened.  I put in the zip code.  Nothing.  Apparently this city doesn't exist in the real world.  

Suzy had given me vague directions on how to get to the office.  I regretted only half-listening to her now but I did have the address and plenty of time, so I decided to just go.  Clarity, as it turns out, isn't one of the things I excel at when I'm sleep deprived.  A map would have been nice, too.

Weirdly, I made it to the city without incident and I even found the highway.  What I couldn't find was the 7000 block.  The numbering went from 8000 to 6000.  I was mystified.  I drove in the other direction long enough to satisfy myself that it went away from town.  Back in the right neighborhood, I kept driving slowly up and down this same stretch of busy highway, like I was Nancy Drew, girl detective, searching for a hidden driveway or some secret clue.  

After way too many passes as well as a bit of horn-honking from the impolite drivers all around me, I decided to pull off the road and call the office.  Nobody answered.  Then it clicked.  It wasn't eight o'clock yet.  I was the first appointment.  Ain't nobody gonna be answering those phones.  

I drove up and down the highway again a couple more times and then I got the inspired idea to wander down the road a bit further, even though it defies logic. (I was sleepy, not stupid.  My logical brain was functioning perfectly well, thank you very much.)  Sure enough, I stumbled onto the office.  This may be the only city in America where the blocks are numbered 8000, 6,000, 5,000 THEN 7,000.  Kudos to them!  I admire creativity wherever it is.  Frankly, I was just shocked to find it in the numeric system.  Life is full of surprises!  

I was ten minutes late.  The driving itself was stressful and the knowledge I was late added to my tension.  After I was ushered in, the first thing the nurse did was take my blood pressure with this fancy machine.  It was 138 over God- knows-what.  I was so freaked out about the 138 that I couldn't focus.  I asked the nurse to recheck it and she took it with her stethoscope so it would be more accurate.  The top number was now 130.   This was much, much higher than normal for me and I was obsessing that I might get diagnosed with hypertension.  

My doctor visit went well.  It was definitely worth the effort to get there.  As we were wrapping up our talk, my dear doc decided to give me a shingles vaccine and then she hugged me goodbye. (I love this woman!)  

I asked the nurse if she'd take my b/p again.  She said yes, she'd do it right before she gave me the shot.  I am one big bag of phobias stacked on top of another and perhaps a blood pressure reading right before a shot isn't the best timing, but I was willing to take that chance.  

The nurse left the room for about ten minutes and I took advantage of that time by doing a relaxation meditation.  I went on a quick trip to the beach.  When we both returned to the room, my blood pressure was 114/70. Yahoo!  

I got the vaccine.  They did not, however, give me a sucker.

AND there's even some exciting news from my doctor visit:  When the nurse measured my height, I was a half-an-inch taller than on my last visit.  If I keep growing at this pace, in a mere ten years my weight will finally be a perfect match for my height.

                                              *    *     *

P.S. Snakebite Suzy's much improved and grateful that she didn't need to get the anti-venom shot.  It cost six thousand dollars.  That's almost more frightening to me than the snakebite itself!  Almost.  

Liquor Lightweight



The vacation martini and me:  BEFORE

I'm a liquor light-weight.  I know it but I don't care.  I'm not gonna say that I never drink because I can be persuaded to have a refreshing mojito on a hot summer's day. I also have had an occasional drink on vacation and Lord knows I loved that Nutty Irishman that Martin made me five years ago in February.  (I've tried to replicate it in my own kitchen more than once, with limited success.)   


  ... and AFTER

Wine doesn't call to me at all either.  The only wines that I'll even consent to try are either sugarier than Kool-Aid or ice wines (made from frozen grapes) which are a bit too pricey for cheap little me.  Beer?  Why even go there? The point here is I can take or leave alcohol and mostly I choose to leave it.  Knowing this about me, you'd think that I'd be a shoe-in for designated driver, wouldn't you?

You'd be wrong.  Today when I started my car, the air conditioning came roaring to life, that's how rarely I drive.  I'm the least-experienced driver in almost every group I'm ever in.  Some family members are even afraid to ride with me.  And, if they've had even one drink, I am afraid to ride with them, too.  (After all, I know how I feel after "just one!")

To remedy this sticky situation, we choose to host lots of functions at our house. Mostly neighbors will come to these affairs and if they get so drunk that  they wake up the next morning not knowing how they got home, well for all they know I could have been their designated walker. 
 

Thanksgiving

Naughty, Naughty Erik and Me!

I have three children and one of them even reads my blog, thank you very much Miss Kate. Her friend Naughty, Naughty Erik does too, so it was a pleasure to meet him during our last visit.  He's such a cutie but if you look closely, you can see a glint of fire in his eyes. Although he can be a man of mischief -- which we already know from my post aptly entitled "Naughty, Naughty Erik" --mostly he's just a nice guy. The world could use more of those.



Yes, it's true that I will drive (well, technically, ride) for over eight hours just to get a good meal at somebody else's house.  I will even stay with two other families in a one-bedroom apartment, as long as there's at least one grandbaby to play with. (Since at this writing I only have one, that will do for now.)

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite days; eating great food with people you love is right up there at the top of my list of happy things.

Two of my favorite guys

Kate had to work both the day before and the day after Thanksgiving this year so we decided she didn't have enough going on in her life and we'd let her host the holiday.  So we loaded up the car with card table and chairs, air mattresses, sheets, blankets, pillows, games, books, knitting, food, silverware, luggage and the food processor.  By the time we were finished we could have strapped a rocking chair on top and called ourselves the Clampetts we had crammed so much stuff in there. (Too bad I forgot the camera.)

The trip up was mercifully uneventful and it was weird not to be responsible for the cooking.  Weird, but I could get used to it!  Kate bought a fresh turkey, so the thawing business was no issue which simplified the process significantly. She also used her sister's crock pot to cook the green beans which was sheer genius. 

Everything was done at the same time and it was the first year in a decade that we didn't have to eat burned corn.  The food was delicious, the pies were phenomenal (thank you, Wendy!) and when it was over, I went for a walk.  When I got back, the dishes were done.  It was like an adult fairytale.  Not "adult" like porn, "adult" like a grown-up lady's fantasy.  Moms' ideas of happiness often center around having household help....if a man really wants to please a woman, he should try mopping the kitchen floor.  It would certainly work for me!

We played games and talked late into the night.  It was a pleasant, quiet day.  The next morning, it was back to normal and I had brought a spaghetti squash for lunch, knowing that Kate would be at work.  I'd zapped it in the microwave for about ten minutes but it still seemed a little hard, so I was adding a couple more minutes when my son-in-law said, "Won't it blow up in there?"  As I was answering him "no," the squash made a liar out of me by exploding in there.  The force of it caused the door to fly open and the entire inside was sticky with stringy goo hanging from everywhere. 

From this I surmised that the squash was cooked, so I put spaghetti sauce and cheese on what was left of it and served it with left-over green beans.  It wasn't an amazing meal like Thursday's, but every day isn't Thanksgiving either.