so, we need a little christmas

Despite my pledge to avoid Christmas at all costs, I am now in the thick of it. We're heading out to buy a Christmas Tree today from the Boy Scouts (bless them and their coupons), I have fifteen pounds of assorted nuts to turn into presents, and I've even chosen the theme for my wrapping. And all of a sudden, it's Christmas.

I'm still hoping to go on vacation over the big day -- steering clear of overbearing families and unfamiliar traditions. I have not been on vacation since my honeymoon, and after the butt-kicking of 2009 and 2010, I want one -- no, I need one.

Luckily, K. has finally agreed (or broken down, I'm not sure which) and we've decided where to go if (oh, lordy I hope it's when) I get my Christmas bonus. In the meantime, he's actually helped finish a craft or two and will definitely be helping with the Great Walnut/Pecan/Almond Roast of 2010. I almost wrote "Nut Roast" but realized that might cause a certain, ahem, backlash.

Also on board for Christmas, helping out a certain Republican and one flag maker. I'm a little overwhelmed with it all, but - sometimes - I'm not sure what life would be like if my hair wasn't a little on fire.

Grateful.

Y'all, I am so damn grateful.

My husband and I, the sometimes amazing, always ridiculous K., are about to land on the other side of the Florida Bar Exam.  Hallelujah.  Halle-fuckin-lujah.

He asked me last night, after the first day, if I would be mad if he had to take the exam again.  He didn't understand why I laughed hysterically.  1) I legitimately believe he's going to pass the exam.  2) He would be willing to take it again!  AWESOME.  My husband is  stepping up.

When I dropped him off at the test site on Tuesday (and a little bit this morning), I cried.  I was so proud.  My husband made a pledge and is living up to it.  And he was ready - he took preparation seriously.

And I am so grateful.  To the friends who heard me bitch about the Bar Exam.  To my family who supported us with love and emails and phone calls. 

To my husband, whom I believe in, again. Not because he's going to pass the Bar Exam (and he is), but because he took the damn thing.

Gram, this is for you.

I never took a real spring break. Well, maybe "traditional" is a better word. I spent my spring breaks with my Gram in Punta Gorda, FL. It was great. We'd tool around in her best friend's golf cart. We'd play cards and eat pretzels with peanut butter. We'd drink highballs and sit in the sun and visit the weird and random around her community. We'd volunteer at her church. Those weeks were some of the best memories I have of my Grammi. I wish I had been able to do it as an adult -- or at least apologize for the stubborn, hard-headedness of my collegiate youth.

In addition to spending quality Grammi time, we'd go shopping. Gram, who hated shopping for herself, would encourage me to wear teal capris and sweetheart necklines. Never black. (I looked like death warmed over in black). I loved it. And I learned that sometimes, even though a t-shirt and jeans would make me more comfortable, sometimes the situation warrants a little more.

So next week, I'm wearing bright colors. I'm wearing a sweetheart neckline. I'll be wearing lipstick (which is also due to my mother's influence: always wear lipstick when you need to feel happy). And when I have lunch with Grammi's sister and brother-in-law (my favorite great aunt and uncle), I promise not to wear black.

The Crypt Keeper

I have been rather cryptic lately, and I apologize. I've been nervous about letting it all out - my mother reads this blog. And the last last last thing I want her saying is "I told you so." (Or, y'know, sending some horrible missive about how I'm getting what I deserve.)

It's no secret that my husband and I met and quickly realized we were right for each other. Kismet. Soul mates. The joke is that neither of us was really ready to be responsible enough for marriage. Not that it stopped us - oh, no! We got married and thought it would straighten us out.

Ehhh, it didn't. Not that I would want to do it any other way... but it would be nice if my husband - of nearly 30 - had had a car payment before our joining. It would have been nice if I didn't massive trust issues. It would have been nice if my husband was ready to be an adult. We both have some growing up to do. Again, ehhhhh. Who knew marriage would cause my FIRST GRAY HAIRS? Plural people, plural.

My husband and I separated on Christmas night. We did it with the goal that we would figure out why we kept driving our marriage into a ditch. We did it with the hope that as we retreated to our safe corners, our epic love affair would sustain us. We prayed it wasn't, in fact, an epic fail.

And you know what, I love my husband. Heart my husband. Lurve my husband. And he feels the same way about me. This separation thingy is rockin' like gang busters. Yes, it sucks that we live across town. Yes, it sucks that we're still figuring stuff out. Pretty sure we're always going to do that.

But unlike some folks who separate, we realized that we liked each other... a lot, maybe even more than we realized. We're either crazy (totally likely), or we're crazy-in-love (uh oh uh oh oh), or we're a great story that's still being written.

So, my mom can be right. We're going to keep trying. And it's going to be one hell of a story.

Stacking Change

I had the best weekend. Y'all it was amazing. On so many levels - from a perfect drive through Atlanta to a perfect Zuni Chicken to absolutely perfect weather (yes, even with the rain).

There's been a lot of upheaval up in herre. Yes, that's correct - two r's. And what with husbands moving across town and paternal figures leaving nasty messages in the comment section (thank you, IP tracking), I deserved a weekend of nothing but fun. My Third Annual Aunties Weekend consisted of minimal email checking, lots of cooking and laughter that started the moment I woke up and followed me into my dreams.

Nonetheless, as I drove down the state of Georgia and back into Tallahassee, under the gorgeous hundred year old trees, I thought, "I'm home." And it was the best feeling of the whole weekend.

I miss South Carolina a lot. I've lived in Florida for three and a half years - it feels like a lifetime. A lifetime I'm proud of; a lifetime I'm glad I'm still living. I am from Greenville, South Carolina... and my home is Tallahassee. Guess it took starting my thirtieth year to gain that bit of perspective.

Family Stone

Thanks to my Netflix membership, I've been enjoying Christmas movies up the yin yang. We're talking about back-to-back Holiday Inn and White Christmas features, which by the way, I don't recommend. I adore both, but they were shot using the same set, so it's a little strange.

Love Actually had it's moment, as did Meet Me in St. Louis. And now folks, we're on to The Family Stone. (man, is IMDB convenient!) I love The Family Stone. I remember how it was billed as this raucous comedy, when really it's a sweet family love story. Not romantic love, family love.

There's a scene where one of the daughters joins her napping mother. Each time I watch it, I swell with the memory of taking naps with my mom. I can remember the feel of the quilt on her bed, the softness of her pillow and the comfort and safety of those moments. Even though I know I'll never take another nap with my mother - and it's sort of sad - I love how a movie can take me back so viscerally.

That's why I love Christmas movies. You watch them every year, surrounded by familiar objects (my coral painted santa, three wise men and snow babies have been around forever). It smells the same - like evergreen and chocolate chip cookies baking.

And the best part about watching the same movies, over and over, year after year? While the movies don't change - Bing still croons and the Haynes Sisters still dance - you do. Each year, I'm older and supposedly wiser and I bring a whole year's worth of experiences, mistakes, expectations and growth to the tradition.

I know - after this hellacious year - I'm getting something out of this. Mainly comfort, but maybe next year (c'mon 2010) I'll get something even better. Whew, I knew I could make this post end with an optimistic slant.

ps. "You have the freak flag, Meredith, you just don't fly it." - The Family Stone

Tell me a story.

This is one of the coolest things I've seen of late: StoryCorps. Friday (Black Friday to all you shopping people), November 27th is the National Day of Listening. To celebrate, StoryCorps is asking you to record family and/or community history.

Whoa, you're thinking. Have you seen what's going on at Best Buy at 5:00 AM? Duuuude, Target is even having Black Friday sales.

Yes, yes -- but trust me, this is way cooler. During the Great Depression, writers were dispatched across the nation to record stories. It's why slave narratives were recorded, why Gullah was recorded (and some say saved) and was the start of authors like John Steinbeck and Zora Neale Hurston. The Federal Writers' Project seems like something you'd dream about -- and die to be a part of.

As a blogger, I know I'm in some small way contributing. But, my grandparents don't blog. And my aunts don't blog. And I'm pretty sure the old lady across the street doesn't blog (although I could be surprised). So this Friday, I'm calling up my grandparents - and maybe even K.'s - to ask them to tell me a story. And I'm going to record it. Check out the DIY kit here to get ideas on how to record the conversation.

You can do it. Be part of history.

Thanksgiving Part One

Do you stress about big family meals? I certainly do, and not only because there's too many faces around my table. I stress over cooking. Okay, I stress over just about everything -- but cooking? K. thinks I'm like one of the mothers from The Joy Luck Club -- you know the one, my food is never good enough.

I'm sort of a closet, wannabe foodie. And, while I can remember playing in the kitchen as a kid, once I got old enough to make a big mess, I was banned from joining the madness. I didn't know how to cook a chicken breast before getting married. I'm ashamed, yes. I've vowed to make up for it.

Our Thanksgiving is relatively tame this year. No groaning table, no duo de gravy, no multiple wine glasses. We're celebrating with our small family of two on Thursday, and then our friends on Friday. You read that right -- TWO THANKSGIVINGS!

Originally I'd planned on contributing to Friday's festivities, but not making Thursday a big deal. Well, K. almost had a heart attack when he realized he wouldn't be watching Thanksgiving football with a turkey leg and I bent under the pressure. TWO THANKSGIVINGS!

Here's my menu - I'll try to update you mid-week:
Thursday Thanksgiving:
- Turkey & Gravy
- Sausage Stuffing
- Roasted Garlic Mashed Potatoes
- Cranberry Sauce

Friday (real) Thanksgiving:
- Brie Stuffed Mushrooms
- Smoked Bacon & Corn Gougeres
- Grown Up Green Bean Casserole
- Dinner Rolls

Notice the lack of dessert? K. wants a cherry pie, but cherries are nearly $7 per pound right now and I just can't do it. Maybe I'll pick up a store-made one, or I'll convince him that chocolate ice cream can be just as perfect. A friend brought up the idea of a coconut cake, which thanks to Paula Deen, I now consider one of my specialties. Something about it doesn't seem autumnal to me, but I'm willing to consider it. Any suggestions?

Two Years & Counting

Today marks a strange anniversary. It's been two years since I have seen or spoken to my parents.

Take a moment. [ moment ] Whew, glad that's over. Still, seems a bit strange - two years is a rather long time. Now, don't worry -- they still call and send postcards and strange packages and rain crazy all over the house. But I haven't opened those doors, nor do I intend to anytime soon. Or, y'know - ever.

Is it strange? Yes. Do I miss them? Not really... I miss the memory of them, but not them really. It's complex. As is the case with most families. I wish I could have a relationship with them -- but the best advice I got regarding estranged family is this: if it's meant to be fixed, it will get fixed. Don't force it. Some families are just broken.

Mine is. And the forecast for Year Three? Crazy-free skies, yo' -- just the way I like them. I always thought if your life is crazy, it should at least be the kind of crazy you make yourself.

On another note - nothing like complicating already complicated posts - do you think Dancing with the Stars is our generation's version of the Lawrence Welk Show? So not, like, really - but the variety show aspect of it is sort of interesting.

Also, this is my 501st post. Goodness! I started blogging in January 2006, can't believe I'm still writing.

Also...

Not to overdo it on the wedding photos... but tomorrow is a big day for our family.
Good things seem to happen on the Third of November. K. swears that Grami is responsible for the FSU/BC 2007 victory. (Personally I think she may have been a little busy going through intake, but whatev. Let him have it.)

I miss my grandmother fiercely. And while I know it's been two years, it doesn't feel like it. And it's been nearly two years since I've spoken to or seen my parents, but that's really another post for another day.

This is about two of my favorite people in the entire world. I know Grami is aces. And I hope by mid-afternoon on Tuesday K. feels the same way.

The nose.

I was an awkward pre-teen (we were pre-teens then, not tweens). No really, I was. It took some time to grow up into my features -- my huge ears, lips and nose. I was super tall, and ridiculously skinny and dripping with wannabe attitude -- complete with Limited sweatshirts, sweater tunics and patterned leggings.

My family loved me through it - and that includes my no-bullshit Grami. I remember her failed attempts to pay me to grow my fingernails; I'm a still a biter. She would take me shopping, but refused to buy me black - telling me I looked like death warmed over. It took years to figure out whether death could be nuked in the microwave or required reheating in the oven.

During this period - affectionately called the Year of the Snoz, I found a picture* of my grandmother. She might have been in her early twenties - she could have been younger. And she was beautiful. Gorgeous. Lovely. And best of all - I realized I had her nose.

Not my father's slim nose or my mom's cute slightly upturned one -- I had Grami's nose. And I knew it was going to be okay. Just one of the countless times my Grami made my life okay.

I miss you, Grami. Thanks for the nose.

*Nope, don't have the picture. Wish I did. Carol was a looker.

October's Party

And with little time to spare - an October tradition...

October's Party
George Cooper

October gave a party,
The leaves by hundreds came.
The chestnut oaks, and maples
and leaves of every name.
The sunshine spread a carpet,
Miss Weather led the dancing
Professor Wind the band.

The chestnuts came in yellow
The oaks in crimson dressed
The lovely Misses Maple
In scarlet looked their best;
All balanced to their partners
And gaily fluttered by;
The sight was like a rainbow
New fallen from the sky.

Then, in a rustic hollow,
at hide and seek they played
The party closed at sundown
and everybody stayed.
Professor Wind played louder
They flew along the ground
then the party ended
in jolly "hands around".

Nerves.

This was the first weekend in I don't know how long that I was in Greenville - and nothing bad happened. I was having major panic attacks this past week - dreams of my crazy parents, dreams of my late grandmother, dreams of my hometown... And you know what, despite a canceled flight and a whole day delay, once I pulled onto 85 from GSP - I was home.

The whole weekend was fantastic. When I was a kid and my whole family would get together, I would practically shake with excitement. Hearing their voices - the voices of the women that weave together my family, smelling their cigarette smoke. I felt the same way, sitting on that bench at Table Rock. I sat and chatted with my aunt past dusk - hearing the song of the mountains. And you know, for the first time that I can remember there were no deep or dramatic conversations. I didn't need reassuring or assuaging.

We were happy. I love my family - the now family - the family we've cobbled and duck taped together. I met my cousin -- the most beautiful, beautiful baby I have ever seen up close. I know this is cheesy - and it is - my heart is so full.

*Me, nervous about going home? No ma'am.

What's your Christmas tradition, baby?

The hubby and I are spending our third Christmas together. And last night, we were giggling in front of our tree and the fire and talking about memories of Christmas past.

Our family traditions are different. In his, the kids wake up and tear into their stockings while the parents suck down coffee and wake up slowly. It's festive and lovely and there is lots of laughter. We eat eggs benedict with Christmas Eve's leftover ham. And then the family gathers in front of the tree to open presents. Honestly, it's a bit more sedate than my memories, but then again - we all are over the age of 25 and I wonder if that has a little bit to do with it. I have never enjoyed Christmas as much as I do now. I'm guessing, again, that it has something to do with my age.

In my small bag of tricks I bring from my family, the kids wake up the parents, but the kids have to wait upstairs - with clean teeth and brushed hair and made beds, while the parents have their coffee. We wait for the sound of Christmas bells and my father to utter, "Ho Ho Ho!" to know that Santa has finally left the area and we race down the stairs to recover our stockings. I've also never met a family that treated the nativity like we did. Baby Jesus never arrived in his manger until Christmas morning. It was placed under the tree while we slept, so my brother and I always checked to make sure he was there. You know, finally.

Luckily for me, my first Christmas away from my family included the bells and the cookies and trappings that were important to me. My mother-in-law called me and asked what made Christmas for me and she included my traditions into her festivities.

When K. brought up the fact that Christmas will be much more fun once we have little ones - besides gagging - I thought of the beauty of combining our respective traditions and making new ones for just our family. I'm always on the lookout for new ways to celebrate. Am I the only one who not only leaves cookies for Santa but also a small slice of cheese for Santa Mouse?

I love Christmas. We're leaving today for the warmer south and will be down there a week. I hope all of your Christmas wishes come true - and that you are surrounded by the warmth and love of those you hold dear. Happy Christmas!

The Little Lost Angel

One of the many things I miss being estranged from my immediate family is the holiday stuff. No, not opening presents or swilling eggnog, but the very things that help to dress up the holiday itself. The handmade Thanksgiving runner? The kissing Mr and Mrs Claus? The large coffee table book with no words? Yes. Those things.

I hate to admit I miss these things more than I miss my parents, but let's face it - the book Santa Mouse never caused the level of tension in my house that they did. I miss my ornaments, the ones that I always claimed - the ones half-broken with my name scrawled on the bottom. I miss the special dishes and tins, the way certain things were celebrated - unique to my family and my family alone.

I ran across a small used book - the The Little Lost Angel. I remember it so well. I can remember the feel of it under my fingertips. I decided it was my Christmas gift to myself. (Well worth the $4).

Make me a pie.

There's something about pie and the men in my family. PIE! Pie. PIE! They get on a roll: apple! cherry! strawberry! blueberry! peach! Dear lord, it's as if the only way these men eat fruit is when encased in a crust.

For once, I'm not making something chocolate for a family celebration. Nope, we're talking three serious pies. Pumpkin (using Smitten's recipe), Cherry and Dutch Apple. I didn't quite realize it, but the Dutch Apple pie has been passed down from my great-great-grandmother.

I'm excited. I'm not a huge fan of pie -- I hate apple pie for instance (the Dutch Apple notwithstanding). But something about the pumpkin sounds good. I'm really ready for Thanksgiving. I have so many things to be thankful for this year.

I'll let you know how it goes. I'm charging the camera for the making of the apple pie. I'm going to take pictures. Really.

Pancakes

I don't usually like pancakes. Like, ever. I can remember the exact day that my normal American love of pancakes died... My dad was joking around and uttered, "A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips." Ugh! Could he not have said that about - I dunno - french fries? Onion rings? Hot dogs? Nope. Pancakes were ruined forever.

And quite honestly, I'm sort of okay with that. It's not as if I've missed doughy breakfast. Until this Sunday. People, I made some pancakes. And ohmygaw, they were so good I am now a believer.

I used Smitten Kitchen's recipe as a base. But, I didn't have any buttermilk. Instead of using the whole vinegar in milk thing, I added a little sour cream and some fresh ground nutmeg. And I used some leftover cake flour. We're talking light and fluffy. Then, I sliced one apple thinly. Tossed the slices with some cinnamon, nutmeg and brown sugar. I cooked them after making the pancakes and then served the apple stuff on top of the stack. I just now recovered. Wished I'd taken pictures. When will I learn?

Tight

Earlier this week (read: a week ago), I started having trouble breathing. My chest felt tight. I rifled through webMD in order to self-diagnose. I was relatively sure that I wasn't experiencing heart failure. Nonetheless, I couldn't shake the feeling that I needed to remind myself to breathe.

A year ago - right about now - I was throwing clothes, random clothes, into a bag. I packed seven T-shirts and no socks. The fact that temperatures in Greenville, SC tend to be a bit cooler than Tallahassee didn't seem to connect. I was crying and yelling and trying to make sure that we were ready to leave.

I got a call at work around 3:45 pm; it was time to come home... to say good-bye to Grami. My grandmother died a year ago Monday, the morning of November 3rd. This morning, NPR had something on about the Day of the Dead and a woman from NC called in because she would love to know how her late grandmother would have voted. Her grandmother was born in 1891. I would love to talk to Grami about how she was going to vote. We always talked about the elections. She would patiently listen to my opinions and share hers. I imagine that she would have voted for Obama. Not that she would have been jazzed about it - but I think she would have been pissed about Palin. Pissed at McCain.

My chest is tight. Once I finally figured out that the shortness of breath wasn't because of some weird pre-heart attack, but only mourning coming to visit again, it became easier to cry. The radio played a John Denver song about sunshine and I remember her voice clearly - before sickness and age changed it - singing You Are My Sunshine to me.

I miss you Grami. And I love you.

A little late...

I'm traveling up north next weekend (Stamford & Wappingers Falls) and I cannot wait! I've never been to Connecticut or NY during that time of the year and I'm ready see to miles and miles intensely colored leaves.

We've been doing a lot of family history searches lately and we might even spend part of Saturday going to Ellis Island. I am so excited! It's finally getting a little cooler here and the humidity is starting to drop. Hello Autumn! So, without further ado, my yearly tradition - October gave a party...

October's Party
by: George Cooper

October gave a party,
The leaves by hundreds came.
The chestnut oaks, and maples
and leaves of every name.
The sunshine spread a carpet,
Miss Weather led the dancing
Professor Wind the band.

The chestnuts came in yellow
The oaks in crimson dressed
The lovely Misses Maple
In scarlet looked their best;
All balanced to their partners
And gaily fluttered by;
The sight was like a rainbow
New fallen from the sky.

Then, in a rustic hollow,
at hide and seek they played
The party closed at sundown
and everybody stayed.
Professor Wind played louder
They flew along the ground
then the party ended
in jolly "hands around."

Lessons from Evan Almighty

I'm not proud of it, but last night while watching Evan Almighty and waiting for True Blood & Mad Men, I got something.

If someone prays for patience, you think God gives them patience? Or does he give them the opportunity to be patient? If he prayed for courage, does God give him courage, or does he give him opportunities to be courageous? If someone prayed for the family to be closer, do you think God zaps them with warm fuzzy feelings, or does he give them opportunities to love each other?

Ha! I laughed so loud Chris was startled. Not that I haven't heard that a million times, but last night I heard it in a whole new way. I cannot believe some of the things I've been faced with in the last three years. And yet, each and every challenge: every joy and each disgrace brought me closer to God and closer to the point where I now stand. I am so incredibly blessed.

So, do you think if I pray to lose weight, God will help me with the motivation to get to the gym?