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?

The Sharp Shooter

Three of our neighbors just finished a mandatory gun safety course.  Then if they pass a test they can "concealed carry" as they call it.  As grateful as I am that I am friends with all of these men, I feel better being on good terms with my own husband.   Here's why...

Christmas two years ago we were in Michigan and, on a whim (or high from the eggnog), I made one of those stupid pronouncements that later I come to regret.  This one was along the lines of, "It would be fun to learn to shoot a gun."  What was I thinking?  Yeah, that it was one of my more moronic statements, I admit.  My son-in-law who, as it turns out, has more guns than I have silverware, hopped on that idiotic idea like a flea onto a very hairy dog and he ran with it.  Before the words had even finished tumbling out of my mouth, he had called and scheduled us a time for the next morning.  Turns out he had a friend who owned a rifle range.  (Gun gallery?) My husband Jerry decided to come along just for the fun factor.

I'll admit I was kind of excited. When I was a kid I used to shoot tin cans with BB guns and as an adult I enjoyed playing "Duck Hunter" on Nintendo, too.  I smugly thought I was a pretty good aim and was ready to prove it.  I didn't even try to worm out of the deal.  I just got up the next morning and got in the car with the guys.

The owner of the operation was there and brought me out a pretty little gun like a woman might carry in her purse.  He was very professional and gave me detailed instructions on how to stand, how to hold my arms and was teaching me all about gun safety when the place opened up for business.  People were pouring in and suddenly I realized I was surrounded by muggers-in-training.  (Did I mention we were in Detroit?)

It was about now that the owner realized the delicate gun I'd been practicing with was malfunctioning.  He went to fetch me another weapon but became distressed with the selection.  He toyed with the idea of giving me a much bigger gun but said it had "a much larger kick and you're gonna need to be prepared for that."  The more he thought about it, the more concerned he got and the more concerned he got, the less enthusiast I got.  Ultimately we jointly decided that I should postpone my debut as Annie Oakley.

Instead, I went into the shooting arena (which was like a bowling alley with targets hanging above where the pins would be) to watch Jerry and Brent shoot.  As soon as we got in there, I realized I was standing next to a very short person - a very short person with a gun in his hand.  I'm a very short person myself but, unlike me, this short person didn't look like he had achieved double digits yet.  There was a child standing next to me. The child was holding a gun.

I left.

When the guys were finished they picked me up in the lobby.   Brent was saying what a "badass" Jerry was.  (His word, not mine.)  Brent showed me Jerry's paper target.  Jer had fired three times and the shots had hit dead center of the bullseye yet I only saw two holes.   Brent had to spell it out for me.  "Two bullets went through the same hole, Chris."  He said.

Turns out my husband is a sharp shooter.  He knows it. Our son-in-law knows it.  All those mugger wanna-be's in Detroit know it.  You know it - and I know it too.


Mild-mannered Grampy or sharp-shooter?

Yes, I'm gonna try to stay on the best possible terms with my husband.  Oh, and I think I might take up archery.  

       



Before the Rooster Crows

Every working day of my married life, my husband Jerry has gotten up well before the rooster crows, taken a quick shower, downed an iced tea and headed off to work.  (I believe he kisses me goodbye before he leaves the house, but I wouldn't swear to it.)  He arrives at his destination several hours before work officially begins.  A creature of habit, he likes his morning routine.  He says his schedule offers many advantages:  he beats the traffic; he has time alone at work to answer emails, tie up yesterday's loose ends and plan today's agenda.  

I have a morning routine that I like too, it's just happens later than Jerry's does.  A lot later.  I awaken when I'm done sleeping, then I get up and go for a walk, usually with my friend Mary Ann.  I then come home and start my day, sometimes eating breakfast at the same time my husband is having lunch.   While he feels most alert and energized in the early morning, my most creative time is hours after that and so we have arranged our lives accordingly. 

This year, I've had the dubious pleasure of leaving the house prior to my          husband's departure twice already and it's only February.  This has shattered several items on my long list of 'nevers.' (I never do this...I never do that...I never brush my teeth with cortisone cream - that one was an accident.  All tubes feel the same when you're fumbling around in the dark.)

The first event was a health fair where I ran smack dab into another night owl out of her element.  She was dressed in a nurse's uniform trying to blend in but I recognized her as one of my own.  "How?"  I knew because I complimented her on her glasses which turned out to be new.  As she was telling me about where she got them, she looked right at my bespectacled face and sweetly said, "Do you wear glasses?"  BINGO! That was a classic night owl blunder.  (Thank GOD it was after she'd drawn my blood!)  We both burst out laughing, which, when I think about it, might have actually frightened the others in the room who were waiting for their turn at the vampire's table.    

The next occasion I had to sally forth into the pre-dawn was of my own choosing.  I decided to join Toastmasters.  It was a New Year's resolution but it took the entire month of January before I was actually able to get up in time to make the 7:00 a.m. meeting.

Since I didn't know exactly where the Toastmasters met, I felt the need to leave the house forty-five minutes early to allow for traffic and the inevitable "getting lost three times" that always accompanies me whenever I drive anywhere.  I set my alarm for 5:30 but woke a half an hour early.  Because I was so excited, I had had trouble falling asleep the night before, so I was working with about three and a half hours' sleep.  I was beginning to understand why people find drinking  coffee so charming.

It was lucky that I had allowed extra time because when I got outside, my car was covered in a layer of frost.  Normally it would have been burned off by the sun but the sun wasn't up yet.  Instead, there was a big, beautiful full moon and the bright lights of cars and city. 

If this is sunrise, Jerry took the picture

I'm a big fan of sunsets and thought that one of the perks of getting up at an ungodly hour was that I'd have an opportunity to see the sunrise but it was even too early for that.  I arrived at my destination in the dark.

During Toastmasters time, the sun rose without me but I still couldn't take advantage of Charlotte shopping because it was too early for the stores to be open.  (Who knew?)  Prime-time rush hour was now occurring but good fortune smiled upon me because my drive was in the opposite direction of the wolf pack. Then, in the distance, I witnessed something I haven't seen in years: yellow buses picking little kids up for school. 

Even children were now up and ready for their day to begin.  Not me though.  All I could think of was, "If I hurry home, I can take a nap before breakfast."


  

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.

Teeth Revisited

A few weeks ago, I was horrified to realize that I am not supposed to swallow toothpaste.  Well, teeth are on my mind again today.

I am among the select few who really enjoy going to the dentist.  I love the feeling of having clean teeth, like stars are twinkling from my mouth.  (I remember when dental floss first became available my best friend's family bought it but we did not.  I hung around her house a lot and sometimes I would sneak into her mom's bathroom and use the floss!)  Occasionally I think about getting my teeth whitened, but some people who do that seem to have blue teeth and I don't want to be that old lady with blue hair AND blue teeth. 

Some kids I've known have been truly resistant to brushing their pearly whites.  One, in particular, springs to mind.  (She will remain nameless but she knows who she is.)  She hated brushing her teeth so much that she'd actually try to fake her mother out by squeezing a little toothpaste into her mouth so that if Mom smelled her breath, it would have that minty fresh odor.  She would always flunk the visual portion of the inspection though and get sent back to the bathroom for a second go-round.  Incredibly, occasionally she would still try to avoid the odious task and the entire scenario would unfold exactly like the first.  It was amusing to watch this battle of wills and the more often we witnessed it, the funner it got.  The time and effort it took to pretend to brush was well beyond what actually doing it would demand.  You have to admire that kind of dogged determination. (My own dear daughter was a member of the furry-tooth club well into her pre-teen years but I am happy to report that at this writing her oral hygiene is impeccible.)

This summer our community has had several boil-water advisories.  I've received multiple automated phone calls saying to "boil water five minutes before using it for drinking or cooking" until further notice.  A day or so later, I will receive an all clear phone call.  This morning I went to the website to pay my bill and found an "all clear" message on the home page.  The problem was, I had not received a "boil water" call so I didn't know the water was not potable. 

So now you see why I'm thinking about teeth.  Not only do I have to worry about swallowing the toothpaste, now I have to worry about swallowing the rinse water.  Maybe I owe an apology to those kids who stubbornly refused to brush their teeth.

I'm in LOVE!!

We met, of all places, at my brother-in-law's visitation.  I noticed him the minute I stepped through the funeral home door.  He was sitting quietly in the back of the room, wearing a crisp pair of khaki chinos and a colorful shirt with a button down collar.  A nice look, if you can pull it off - and he could, yes indeed, he could.


I was drawn to him, immediately wanting to make a beeline in his direction but circumstances intervened and I could not.  There was much to do and say to so many people!  Later when I glanced in his direction, he was gone.  Disappoint swept over me.  I had heard about him for years and now, my first opportunity to actually meet him had slipped through my fingers.  He was gone. 


My nephew wandered over holding a soft drink and mentioned that there was a small room at the back of the hallway with beverages in it.  Suddenly I realized I was parched and excused myself.  As I stepped inside the room, there he was, sipping on a diet Pepsi.  Because his frame did not include an extra cell of fat, I wondered aloud, "Why diet?"  "Like the taste" he replied.


The ice was broken and we began a casual, easy conversation.  He began to talk about his friends, his hopes, his dreams and his fear of being abducted by aliens.  I was spellbound.  Here before me was that elusive male that all females dream of - one that will actually talk.  He clearly had far more expertise in physics than I did, but he never once talked down to me.  He gently and patiently explained every concept in words that I could understand, answering my every question as it arose.  The conversation was fascinating!  Time flew by.


My nephew strolled in, glanced our way, came over and asked him if he could do an errand.  Before the entire sentence was complete, he had exited the room, willing to do anything to ease my nephew's pain.  "I was trying to rescue you, Aunt Chris" he explained.  "I'm afraid he can be a bit of a nerd."  Uh oh!  I realized people were noticing how engrossed we were in earnest conversation.  I went back to the visitation room and sank down in a chair in the back.  Soon, he slipped into the chair next to me and we picked up right where we left off, without missing a beat.


After the visitation, our group went to dinner at a nearby Asian buffet.  I ended up seated between my husband and my newly widowed sister-in-law.  He was at the other end of the table, happily surrounded by children.  There would be no further opportunity to talk.  As I walked behind his chair to get to the salad bar, he turned and quietly said, "I tried to sit by you, but couldn't make it happen." 


I had a warm glow in my heart the rest of the evening.  The attraction was clearly mutual!  After the meal ended and we left, I thought about the wonderful gift that this stranger had given me:  the opportunity to see the world through the eyes of a fifth-grade boy.


Thank you, Nathaniel.