The Great Outdoors

Come to find out, I’m the outdoorsy type!  I know – it surprised me, too!!

If you follow me on Facebook (and you should!), you might have seen the pictures I posted from our weekend getaway to Big South Fork Recreation Area.  I cannot recommend it enough.  That place is bee-u-ti-ful!  Having grown up in the East Tennessee area, I had always heard about Big South Fork, but had never visited.  Now, I don’t know if I’ll ever take a trip anywhere else.  And considering that I’ve been there twice in a 3-week period, I think that backs up my statement!

We had so much fun!  We hiked and hiked and hiked.  We saw beautiful rock formations, caves, lush forest and deer.  We climbed on rocks, raced down trails, and climbed steps that went straight up the hillside.  We drove miles of gravel road and crossed old, wooden bridges.  We rode bikes around our cabin and soaked in the hot tub.  We played and spent time together and relaxed.  It was HEAVENLY.

The best part was how much Tessa loved it.  She wore her new hiking boots and carried a backpack and climbed and slid and walked and ran and got dirty…you get the picture.  She was a carefree kid playing in the Earth.  A nature child. 

I loved it, too.  Every time I go on a hike, I remember how much I love it.  I don’t know why I don’t do it more often.  Probably because I’m always trying to stay ahead of the mess.  I think maybe I need to re-prioritize my life.  Put fun, healthy activities ahead of clean floors.  Time with my family ahead of laundry.  De-stressing ahead of emptying the dishwasher.

So instead of the shallow, clothes-addicted, luxury-needing, lazy girl that I’ve always been known as, I’m a farm girl who loves blue jeans and cowboy boots, hiking around mountains, working on the farm, and enjoying the outdoors.  Who knew??

 

Sugar and spice and everything..Nice??

Every now and then, or every other day, whichever you want to believe, we have what I call “100% Tessa” days.  These are the days when my child is full-on HER.  It’s hard to explain if you haven’t witnessed it, but I imagine it’s like having quintuplets.   There seems to be children hanging on to every limb of my body and in my face no matter where I turn.  It goes something like this:

1)      She’s everywhere – in the kitchen, now in my bedroom, now in the sunroom changing the TV channel I’d been watching, then the dining room, her room, back in the kitchen – I get dizzy just watching her go from room to room at breakneck speed.

2)      She’s needy – days like this, she wants to be entertained.  And no quiet entertaining, either; she wants to PLAY.  Lord, I’m such a bad “player.”  Bike riding, board games (which I actually enjoy), Barbie dolls, beauty shop…and the Academy Award of all things I hate to play…PRETEND!  AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!  I am NOT a good pretend player.  Especially when my pretend partner is feeding me lines the whole time.

3)      She’s mouthy – I give you this example:

Me: Why are you being such a pooty-head today?

Her: Because my name is Tessa.

And that’s the only reason she needs.  I can’t tell you how many times she got into trouble yesterday.   And didn’t care.  She made messes, she talked back, and she was LOUD.  I was so tired when bedtime came along, I want to bury my head in the covers and stay for a week.

Today, we had just the opposite.  Today…she was Don.  Now, in my sweet ADULT husband, it’s cute – the Eeyore voice and the “everything sucks” attitude.  I know that his is only 50% real and it doesn’t last.  But in a 9-year-old who already thinks she’s the center of the universe?? These are the days I miss vodka.

Her throat hurt, she was hungry, she had a stomach ache, she had a pain in her side…make her laugh, fix her lunch, play outside…the orders requests never stopped.  This was 0% Tessa; the polar opposite of the day before.  And twice as tiring.

This weekend, we are heading to the mountains for a couple of nights.  I plan on letting her run wild.  Bike riding, hiking, swimming…whatever I can find for her to do that will run the vinegar out of her bloodstream.   

Somewhere, my mom and Don’s grandmother are laughing.  Thanks a lot, ladies.  Thanks. A. Lot.

Quiet...Genius at Work

I don’t like to brag, but I’m sort of a genius.  Oh, not one of those IQ-test kind of geniuses, or the Einstein-type of genius; I’m more of the Forrest Gump brand of genius.  I have years-long periods of dumbness interrupted quite infrequently by a brilliant flash of intelligence.  Today, I had one of those flashes.  And so, I give to you:

THE THEORY OF RELATIVE MENOPAUSATURE

Doesn’t that sound GENIUS???  It has a long, made-up word in it and everything!  Besides that, any title that has “theory” and “relative” in it HAS to be important, right?  Right? Hello?

Here’s how the theory works:

Any woman over the age of 45 will tell you that her body is changing in all kinds of freaky ways.  Things sag and shift and grow and stretch; it’s just not pretty.   One of the biggest changes, and my personal favorite, is the change in body temperature.  98.6 degrees?  Pffft.  Not even close.  We haven’t had a body temperature of 98.6 degrees since we weighed 98.6 pounds.  Nope; we “mature” women have a temperature zone of our own.  The equation to measure this is as follows:

Age x Outdoor Temperature = Body Temperature

For example: a woman much, much older than I…let’s say 48…ahem…and an outdoor temperature of 93, the high in our area today…her body temperature would be 48x93, or 4,464 degrees.

See? Was I right, or what?!   Can I get an AMEN from my sister friends??  And if the humidity is really high, you use the heat index temperature.  Today’s highest index was 103.  Accordingly, my that woman’s body temperature was 4,944 degrees.

I don’t know why someone didn’t figure this out before.  But now that I have changed modern thinking and the future of Mankind, I shall sit here in my own pool of sweat and await the call from the Nobel Prize committee.  Let’s see, the average temperature in Stockholm in December is 34 degrees, which would make my temperature…mumble, mumble, mumble…I’d better pack short sleeves.  Just in case of a heat wave.

Isn't She Lovely?

I spent this past weekend in a gorgeous cabin bordering Big South Fork National Park.  It was HEAVENLY.  I hiked, soaked in the hot tub, ate a ton and slept.  Real, honest-to-goodness sleep, not the kind most mommas and/or middle-aged women get.  I came back home feeling so refreshed and recharged.

Coincidently, yesterday was the anniversary of my mom’s passing.  We lost this force of nature on July 14, 2009.  I didn’t plan it this way, but I believe being away on the date was a blessing.  I was able to remember her and miss her without mourning her.  You get my drift?  Instead of the deep sorrow that I experienced those first couple of years, I thought of all the good times and about what a big personality she had.

Let me tell you a little about my mom.  She was born in Farragut when it was no more than fields and farmers.  At one time, the community that most people think of as “exclusive” now was a poor part of the county.  Mom was one of them.  She was born the second child of six, and the oldest girl.  They were dirt poor and usually dirt dirty!  Mom once told me that the reason she was always so particular about keeping everything nice and clean was that she never wanted to be seen as dirty again.  She apparently had suffered some bullying in school because of this.

But even though she grew up poor, Mom was determined to make a good life for herself.  She married my dad a few weeks before her 17^th birthday.  The following year, my oldest sister, Donna, was born six weeks early.  Although Mom had helped take care of her younger siblings, she was totally unprepared for this tiny baby and her needs.   Two years later, Teri was born, and I came along five years after that.  At age 25, Mom had three young children to take care of. 

Mom and Dad worked hard to provide for us.  We never did without the things we needed, although we certainly didn’t get everything we wanted.  I had a good childhood; although they were strict, I always knew that my parents loved me.

After 32 years of marriage, Mom and Dad divorced.  We girls were all grown and out of the house, so it didn’t affect us as it might have at an earlier age.  But for Mom, it was devastating.  She became harder and tougher.  Her unhappiness trickled down to us and we all went through periods of not getting along with her.  Although it got better, she didn’t fully open re-open her heart to love until she became ill.

Mom’s diagnosis of pancreatic cancer was a shock, to say the least.  She had been having stomach problems for a couple of weeks, but we thought she just had a bad virus of some kind.  On Monday, April 27, she went to see her doctor.  By Friday, she knew she was dying.  Don, Tessa and I were at her house when the call came in.  She hung up the phone and I opened my arms.  I held her while that first good cry ran itself out.

In May, she had a Whipple procedure.  This is basically gastric bypass surgery.  I believe she never recovered from that surgery.  She lost a lot of weight that she didn’t have to lose; when the chemo wasn’t making her sick, the illness was.  She became really weak and really depressed.   I thought that, if anyone would fight to live, it would have been her.  But it seemed she gave up.  Her fear and her sickness overwhelmed her.  She was never the same again.

She had a brief period of health.  She re-gained a little weight and was able to do a little more.  She even got in one last sleepover with Tessa.  But in June, 2010, she once again became ill.  This time the cancer had spread, as it usually does, into her liver.  She had one dose of chemo before the doctors told her there was nothing else they could do.  Hospice was called, and she began her final journey.

The morphine took the pain away, but it also took away her mind.  She had to be taken care of; told to eat, reminded to take her medicine, and helped to wash her hair.  After a couple of weeks, she was bedridden.  A hospital bed was brought into the sunroom, her favorite spot in the house.  She died at home like she wanted, and I think without any pain.  And although we knew it was going to happen, the pain was a strong and as real as if unexpected.

The first three years after that were hard.  H.A.R.D.  Legal fights, family abandonment, and yes, I’ll admit it, a really hard bout of alcoholism formed my world.  Luckily, I was blessed with a husband who stuck by me, a dad who didn’t give up on me, and sisters who stood by me.  We went through the pain together, and we made it to the other side.

I still miss my mom.  We were talking about her just last night, and Don said he wished she were here to help us with Tessa.  SO DO I!!  I feel cheated, not having her to talk to as I travel this road of motherhood.  The holidays aren’t too tough because I had my own little family to keep me occupied.  But there are days when I want to call her, just to ask a question about a recipe, or tell her something Tessa said that particular day, or just to talk to her.  Those are the days I miss her the most.

Last night, Tessa said, “Mom…do you see that cloud outside?  It looks like a woman’s face.  Maybe that’s Granny looking down at us.”  Yes, my love, I believe it is.  I miss you, Mom.  I hope that I make you proud.

Juanita Marie Humphrey Crawford

May 14, 1939 - July 14, 2009

Hello, Loneliness...I've Missed You!

I am in A MOOD.  Not just a mood.  A. MOOD.  Yes, of course that means a bad mood, you silly gooses!  You know me too well.

There’s no real reason for it, unless you count the (still) broken A/C units (yes, plural), the TWO broken lawn mowers*, the continuous rain, the mile-high grass and the humidity.  Add a cranky kid, hot and dirty dogs, chickens pooping all over my newly-painted gazebo, and a husband tired of me complaining about all of the above. 

It’s mid-summer, my friends, and I am at my melting point.  BUT…thanks to my sweet hubby, I’m getting a break this weekend!  A real break!  Away from the house and the animals and the heat…and best of all…BY MYSELF!!!

TWO WHOLE NIGHTS in a cabin in the mountains.  Hiking, swimming, reading, sleeping…A HOT TUB…

I cannot wait. Of course I love my family and I’ll miss them, but…TWO WHOLE NIGHTS!! ALONE!! A HOT TUB!!

I’m feeling better already.

 

*In the interest of full disclosure, I guess I should admit that one of the mowers came back tonight, fixed.  So the grass will be mowed tomorrow and that will be at least one thing back to normal.  But I still get the weekend!  Right??

 

You Say You Want a Revolution?

I’ve always been lucky with waiting.  All of my current doctors, dentists, pediatricians and orthodontists are really good at getting us in at our scheduled time.  Although there was that one time my gynecologist left me waiting on the table wearing only a pair of socks* and a paper gown no bigger than a tissue while he hurried away to deliver a baby.  When I finally saw him at my rescheduled appointment, I told him I felt like I had been dumped on a date and that he at least owed me a dinner!  But I digress.

I bring up waiting times because today I faced the most dreaded wait of all…the cable man.  Our lovely girl, Macy, is a chewer.  A couple of nights ago, while Don and I were watching TV, I saw something going on out of the corner of my eye.  In the same instant that I realized she was chewing on the wire, the show we were watching disappeared.  Yep…she had chewed right through the cable wire.  Luckily, it was just the one that goes into the sunroom.  Can you imagine if we didn’t have ANY television for longer than a few minutes?  I shudder to think.

So, I call our provider this morning and request a service call.  I’m told they can send someone out anytime between 8-12 on Tuesday morning.  That’s fine with me.  We still have two other televisions that work just fine.  I go ahead and plan my day accordingly.

But then they call me back…they can come today!  Hurray!  And they can be there anytime between 12-4! Hurray!  Wait…what?  Huh…four hours…you can’t narrow it down any more than that?  There’s a lot I can get done in four hours.  I need to go to the grocery store and we need to clean Tessa’s room , not to mention I’m still trying to get the HVAC guy back out to complete our repairs.  Nope.  It’s a four-hour window, no matter how you look at it.

Guess what time he arrived?  That’s right…3:51 p.m.  He made it with exactly nine minutes left in that long, long time period.    Really, you couldn’t at least have told me it would probably be towards the end of that period?  I mean, you have a schedule, right?  You know what you’re going to be doing, right?

Sigh…I know these people are busy and it’s hard to plan exactly.  But when did our time become so unimportant?  What about those people who have to wait hours at the doctor’s office?  Is his time more important than yours?  I think not.

Here’s what we should do – let’s start a waiting revolution!  When we call to schedule any type of visit, let’s give THEM a time frame.  For example, call your doctor and tell the office you will be there sometime between 10-2.  And then show up at 1:59 demanding to be seen immediately.  Or call the cable company and ask them to wait outside your home for the entire afternoon and when you’re ready for them, you’ll let them in the house.

I can see this working for any appointment where we have to work.  Make the professionals have to conform to OUR schedules!  Take back our time!  Be in charge!!  Power to the people!!!!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I promised to make dinner tonight.  I plan on having it ready any time between 5-8 p.m…

*For you men, the purpose of the socks is two-fold: 1) it’s usually REALLY cold in those rooms; and 2) wearing socks makes us feel just a little less vulnerable.  Because covering our feet really takes away from the awkwardness of lying on a table with your feet up in the air, wearing nothing but a skimpy gown and trying to make small talk…

P.S. For any of you that might be, know or love a cable repair person, I’m sorry.  For many reasons.

Waiting for the Cable Guy

Help Wanted: Must Love Kids

WANTED:  Auxiliary Mom

 

Extra mom needed to cover shifts during times of back-talk, defiance, shouting and whining. 

Must be on call seven days a week, 24 hours a day, as moods are subject to change instantaneously.

No pay.  No benefits.  No vacation time.  No sick time.

 

Qualifications should include:

Hard head

Strength to break down locked doors

Complete lack of caring

Deafness is a plus

 

Candidates in any stage of menopause will not be considered.

Must provide own transportation, housing, food and depression medication.

Husband not included.

 

Candidates may call: 1-800-MOM-QUIT.

Note: If you care about what your children say or do, this job is NOT for you.

 

What Being an American Means to Me

I have never been a particularly sentimental person.  Oh sure, I cry when I’m sad and sometimes music might move me to swallow hard and tear up, but on the whole, I’m just not.  But even though I might not outwardly show it, I am a Proud American.

I love being an American.  I feel blessed to live here and I’m always proud of my country.  I don’t wear my flag on my sleeve, so to speak, but that doesn’t lessen my patriotism.  I don’t rally against the government or protest against policies I don’t agree with, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care.  I don’t push my politics or shove my ideals in people’s faces, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have convictions.

We display our flag 365 days a year.  We cover our hearts with our hands when we say the Pledge of Allegiance and listen to the National Anthem.  We pull over for funeral processions and say a silent prayer for the families.  We believe in an all-knowing God and are lucky enough to be able to send our daughter to a Christian school.  We vote.  We are Americans.

Don is a retired 21-year veteran of the Air Force.  He proudly served our country and two former Presidents.  He watched as fighter jets were deployed over Washington, D.C. on September 11.  He had friends killed in action.  He was in Desert Storm.  I could not be more proud to be married to him.

For me, being an American is not about shooting fireworks or grilling out or riding in a parade.  It’s not about hating our government or sitting on Wall Street or complaining about our politicians.  It’s not about insisting on all American-made products.  It’s not about the right to bear arms or reading the Constitution to suit our needs.

It is about family.  And faith.  And honor.  It is about freedom to choose.  And freedom to disagree.  And freedom to love.  It is about respect.  And courtesy.  And helping those in need.

Just like being a Christian, I believe that being an American is not what you say or how you say it or what you do.  It’s about how you LIVE.  It’s about setting the right example for your children and their children and their children.  It’s about sacrifice and blind faith.  It’s about believing even when you don’t think there’s anything to believe in.

This year, I will show my patriotism by doing the same thing I try to every day; by loving my family and my God and my country.  The rest is just icing on this big American cake from which we are all allowed to eat.

Won’t you join me?

 

 

Pardon Me, But Have You Seen My Inspiration?

Sometimes, Inspiration eludes me.  It hides behind the curtains, in the closet, or under the bed.  It peeks at me from around the corner, taunting me, daring me to chase it until it gives up the idea tucked into its back pocket.  It’s a slippery little bugger, alright.

Today is one of those days.  I’ve searched everywhere: in the notes I sometimes write down; in my recollections of the funny or not-so-funny things that happened today; even in photos of past adventures.  It’s not there.  Tonight, Inspiration has left the building.  It’s climbed on the bus and headed to the next stop of the tour.  It may even be hiding out with Elvis.

What’s that?  You say Inspiration isn’t a tangible, living thing?  Oh, I beg to differ!  Inspiration is as real and alive and human as you and I.  It has its good days and its bad ones.  Some days it feels funny or silly and some days it’s quite serious.

Inspiration is fickle.   If you give it a lot of attention, it stays around, giving you vision and creativity.  It puts power in the words you write and gives them meaning.  If you ignore it, it leaves.  No “goodbye;” no “Dear John” letter…it just walks out the door and down the long, lonely path to nowhere.

Sometimes, if you let it know how much you need it, Inspiration will turn around and run back into your arms.  It will leap into your brain and fill it with the words you’ve been struggling to find.  It pushes the ignition button of your imagination.  It instills itself into your blood, running straight to your heart.

But tonight, Inspiration doesn’t want to play.  It needs a rest.  I’ve been using it a lot lately.   Tomorrow, I’ll read some of my favorite writers’ words, listen to my family’s loving banter, and watch the world around me.  Instead of chasing Inspiration, I’ll give it the space it needs.  Because sooner or later, it always returns.

 

"The greatest inspiration is often born of desperation."  Comer Cotrell

The City Folk and Their Wall

Some of you already know this story, but it’s one worth sharing again.  I suspect it’s been told quite a few times down at the Grizzly Pig. (That’s the name of our one and only store in Philadelphia.  For real.)  For those of you who haven’t heard it, it is 100% TRUE!

Our house sits near the road, giving us a VERY small front yard.  When we moved here, there was a short wall, maybe three feet tall, that bordered the end of our driveway and curved around directly in front of the house.  The front porch was obviously not original; we had seen pictures of the house with a different porch, and with no porch at all.  When we asked about these things, we learned that, on more than one occasion, an errant driver had driven off the road and either onto the property, or into the house itself. 

Now, people who don’t normally travel on our road would be surprised to find out that it is the Philadelphia equivalent of the German Autobahn, especially on the little straight stretch in front of our house.  Seriously…people S.P.E.E.D.  So it wasn’t hard for us to imagine another car mistaking our front yard for a drive-in window.  We knew we would eventually have to make some improvements, but the need arose sooner than we expected. 

One evening during our first year here, Don was working outside and Tessa and I were watching TV in the master bedroom.  Suddenly, Don comes crashing through the back door yelling, “Call 911!  There’s been a wreck!”  After I pooped  myself (not really; that’s just funny!), I grabbed my cell phone and ran outside.  Sure enough…there it was.  A car.  On our wall.  Not AGAINST our wall or crashed INTO our wall…ON our wall.  Behind it was a trail of destruction: a mailbox crushed beyond recognition; the post in the ditch across the street; several birch trees with branches ripped off and more than one completely mowed down; glass and car parts strewn over a wide path.    And the wall…THE WALL, you guys!!  This vehicle had demolished it and was sitting half on what was left, and half on the other side of where it had once been, in our front yard.

I called 911 while I processed all of this.  I found the driver and determined that she was not injured.  I’m not saying she was “all right”, but that’s a whooooooole different story!  After I hung up the phone, I realized that there was another occupant in the vehicle.  Actually, make that TWO occupants: a young boy…and a rooster.

That’s right, my friends…there was a rooster in the front seat!  No, he wasn’t buckled up; that would just be silly (said with heavy sarcasm).  The boy was sitting in the seat, holding the rooster as tight as he could.  And through it all…running off the road, crashing into the wall, the abrupt stop…he had never lost grip of that rooster.

Before you get all worried about the rooster, he was fine.  More than that, he was the CAUSE of the wreck!  Apparently the mother was deathly afraid of roosters.  Which makes perfect sense to have one in the front seat, but whatever.  The rooster, not loving the ride, had angrily flapped his wings, as roosters will do, scaring the mother.  She lost control of the vehicle and the rest is history.

Now...I grew up in the country (as country as Karns could be) and Don was from Etowah.  So we’re not exactly city folks.  But Don had lived and worked for 11 years in Washington, D.C., surrounded by very important and famous people.  I lived there for three years myself (surrounded by not famous and not important people.  Wait…important to me, just not famous.  Or whatever I need to say to make my DC friends still love me).  Many of our friends were what we Tennesseans would consider Yankees.  So…imagine trying to tell these people that a wreck had occurred on our property and it was caused by a rooster.  To say we heard a lot of dirty farmer jokes is an understatement.  Because really, how many people can claim such an inspiring story??

All’s well that ends well, however; nobody was badly hurt, their insurance paid for the wall to be replaced, and now we have a partially-built prison retainer wall up closer to the road to stop any more cars from landing in our laps.  We’re taking bets on when that might be…