Around here, when someone asks “Where you from?” (and that is how they say it in this area-even the metropolitan south).  They are really askin’ “You from around here?”  and that means has your family lived in this area for the past 70 years at least or are you from some where else, may as well be another planet if you didn’t grow up here.  I have  a feeling it is like that in most southern small towns.

It could be argued that Louisville and the surrounding areas are not “REALLY” the south, but we do have some of those quirky behaviors.

I will say we are getting better or maybe we were forced to change because we did such a good job with our local schools people who move in the area with their jobs aren’t from ’round here and if they had a choice wouldn’t have picked HERE, but they don’t and because our school system rocks, so here they are.  Some of them like it and stick around and I guess after about 15 years (instead of the standard 100) they are from ’round here.

But something that I have only discovered in Kentucky and is even listed on those “You know you are from {insert area here} when lists”-our “Where you from” goes one step further.  Where did you go to school and honey, we don’t mean college.  Not because most of us didn’t head off to university, we did, we just can glean more information off your high school.   And out here, I can tell not only about where you grew up but MAYBE even how old you may or may not be because until the early 90’s there was only one high school out here, now there are 3.

If this question gets favorable results or someone says, I didn’t grow up HERE, but my mom and dad met in college and moved back here, you get to say “Oh really, who’ is your daddy? or your mama?” and chances are that your daddy and their daddy played basketball or football together and you recognize the name like it were your own.  In some unfortunate cases you discover that their mama and your daddy dated and your mama isn’t a big fan of their mama, in which case, you really don’t run off and call your mama and daddy to tell them who you just met in the parking lot of Kroger.

Just keep that one to yourself.

I have discovered that I do this with my son’s friends, just like my daddy used to do it with mine, because you see, my daddy grew up here and my mama did not.  I would have friends come over and my dad would say “Claypot…well, I don’t know any claypots, where you from?” and they would reply well my dad isn’t from around here but my mama was….

“Awww, what’s your mama’s name?”
“Jones, sir”
“Sally Jones?”
“Yes sir.”
“Oh, I know your mama, she used to be a cheerleader and was the nicest thing, how’s she doin’?”
IF he knew them, but if he didn’t he would say…
“Sally Jones, aw yes, she used to come over to my house to eat chicken…’(and then he would say shit, under his breath) he would die laughing!  I can honestly tell you that I was in my mid-20’s before I understood that my dad was telling these kids that their parents ate chicken poo at his house.

I have promised my son that I will not use the eating chicken line, but I will and do ask the other questions everytime a new kid comes over.  Because some traditions are just worth preserving-child embarassment!

So, where you from?  where did you go to school?

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Listen up because this is important!

One day, your kids, the ones that drive you absolutely insane, won’t be kids anymore.  If we are blessed, they will be grown ups-even responsible ones with children of their own.  So, please listen to me when I say:

Spend as much freekin’ time with them as possible.
Before they think you are a nut job-which around here was middle of his 12th year.

And then after they love to pretend you don’t exist.
EXIST….
in their world, A LOT.

Volunteer to work the concession booth at their sporting events.
Chapperone dances.
Work at youth group events.
Go on the school trips if you can swing it…and not just the field trips to the science museum, the ones that are over night-out of town.

“Why on earth would I do that? While they are at {insert any event here}, I can have much needed ME time.”
WHY? You ask?
Because it shows them you care, even if they act like they are going to die of pure embarassment, they want you there!

REALLY.

Because you pick up on a lot of things that you would never know about your kid if you aren’t there.  Like that your son gives the girls great advice on guys.  Or that kid that you were hesitant to let your daughter hang around, really is a great kid and a good role model, they just don’t conform.

Do you remember when YOU were like that?

Being there, ALWAYS there prevents them from making bad impulsive choices.
Now, I am not saying you follow your kid around like a lost puppy.  All kids need some freedoms and some responsibility as they grow or they will never really develop the skills needed to survive in the big bad world.

That is priceless.
And they know.

My son has friends who’s parents never have the time to be anywhere for their kids and when it is required (like a band concert) it is obvious they are so put out.  (I once had to endure a woman on the phone DURING her childs performance-I didn’t say anything because she scared me!)  Their kids get the impression that they are not loved and do not matter.
It Breaks my heart.

Being there for your kids, incase they need an answer to life’s big question.
And they will.

REALLY.

And, they will know you will be there.
So, listen up, because THIS is important.

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Sports.

yeah, whatever, let me change one little thing.

Soccer.  For me and my family, it IS the only sport.  Now, let me just say that I am not a very athletic person.
I played soccer ONCE in my life and couldn’t walk for a week after.

Not a good memory, not something I wish to repeat.
That does not prevent my son from trying to get me to help him practice.
I think he secretly hopes I will fall so he can laugh hysterically for at least 5 minutes (like all kids do when their mom, or grandmother steps on a ball and goes ass.over.tea.kettle)

Oh, but I am getting off the point.

See, soccer season has started around here.
Yesterday was the last day of school tryouts and….well I AM the team parent.
I have soccer ball stickers on my car.

Actually, we have soccer ball stickers on BOTH our cars.

February 23rd is the first school practice and the club team doesn’t start far after.

For the next three and a half months I will live, breathe and eat soccer.
We will practice.
We will go to games.
We will travel.
We will turn on Fox Soccer when we get home.
We are obsessed.
We watch games where David Beckham isn’t even on the field!

As exciting as it can be, you either love or hate the game, there isn’t any “soccer is OK” it either IS or it is NOT, THE sport.  My kid is a soccer player who is also interested in other things, but as soon as the black and white ball touches his foot, all other distractions fall away.  For him, the act of playing or even practicing can be very calming and meditative-or it can be stroke inducing, depending on the spirit of the game and the teams involved.

People talk about soccer mom’s as a demographic, but really soccer parents are some of the nicest, most passionate people I know. I also can not deny their ability to take that passion a little to close to “total nut job”, I have seen it more than once-but, usually the kids of those parents take up something like tennis or golf.  I can’t say if that is because those sports are more of an individual effort or if the crowd has to show a certain respect and cursing at officials is NOT tolerated!

I like to think that I am one of those parents who can appreciate a spectacular move by a player on an opposing team, or cheer when their keeper makes an outstanding save.  I know I have, sometimes at the dismay of the parents on my own team.  I appreciate good players.

I also appreciate the hardwork that these kids put into their games.

How they will stand on frozen ground shivering with handwarmers in their socks just to keep a little warm blood pumping before the game.  How they can play soaked to the bone scanning the sky for lighting WHILE keeping their feet on the ball.  How they can look so mature while they are rushing down the field on a breakway only to jump straight in the one puddle on the field and get everyone around them soaked in muddy water.  How they jump and cheer and pat each other on the back after a great play and offer the same pat on the back after a failed one.  How these kids see a younger player who doesn’t quite know the ropes and they bring him a long and train him in the ways of the game.

I have seen these same boys since they were 5 years old grow and become young men.  Not all of them have always been on “My” team, but part of them will always be “my” kids.
I have talked to the other mom’s who have watched my 14 yr old grow in the same way.  I am not unique in that feeling among soccer parents.

I suppose there are football or baseball parents who feel the same way, I just don’t think I have met them.
So, you see, change one little thing.
It isn’t “sports”.
It IS soccer.

Art.

Oh yes, that word does bring up quite the controversy for me.  I have a long and sordid history with the “art”.

I have been linked with art since I was a small child.

“Oh, she is so creative!”
“What an interesting child, she MUST be an artist!”

I get the feeling where I grew up, art was synonymous with peculiar, bohemian or straight up odd and in trying to not destroy my sensitive little spirit they gave me “art”. Which I am very thankful for, they could have given me something like typist or picture hanger.

From a very early age I had this relationship with art. (I do think it is mostly because I could color in the lines more than my mad drawing skillz) Art, or in this case “coloring” was my friend, my escape.  As I grew older and started picking my own friends, they were always more creative types.  Punk Rockers, Hippies, Artists (funny we all had that label).  So, you see, I KNEW art, or thought I did.

My senior year my arch nemesis Mr.B became the Art Teacher replacing a much loved teacher who unfortunately had boundary issues with students (she thought that liquor laws were so barbaric and, well you get the idea…).  I had a history with Mr. B, he was my Art Teacher in elementary school, I remember that I really didn’t like him then either.  The VERY first day of school he gave us a writing assignment-IN ART!  (I was so put off.  I didn’t take art to WRITE, Mr.B!)

“Please write a one page essay on the topic of what YOU think is Art. Due Tomorrow.”
Oh, ok, I can do that, after all, Art and I, we go way back.

So, I wrote it.
I was proud of it.
I think I even skipped when I handed it in.

I got it back the next day with a HUGE RED F written across the top!
What the heck?
Yo Mr.B what is up with the F?
“You my dear did satisfactorily answer my question.  What you supplied me with is NOT the definition of art, it was drivel!”

Oh the agony.  He just told ME that I DIDN’T know art.
And now I was failing a class ON my dear old friend.  Oh the misery!

Looking back, he was probably right in saying what I called art was certainly NOT because I vaguely recall something about the way the light shines through the trees.  Or maybe anything that has been created is art because it is an expression of beauty.

I don’t know.
I do remember arguing with him for a good 10 minutes about the wording of our assignment.  IF he had wanted a DEFINITION, don’t ask for an OPINION.
I still got an F and I still haven’t gotten over it.  22 years later.
Maybe I should.

After all, I now know that he was not making a personal call about me and my dear friend art, he was just saying that my writing sucked!
(hey wait a minute….)

Regrets…

One.

We didn’t buy a generator after a hurricane hit Kentucky in September.

5 days with out power then.

7-10 this time.

biggest difference…in September it was in the 80’s.
now, mid 20’s.

(Hotels rule)

Pilgrimage

15 years ago this March.
March 12, 1993 my best hippie friend Karen and I had tickets to two Grateful Dead shows in Clevland Ohio, part of spring tour.  We never got to go on spring tour because the shows were always so far away, but we got lucky this time.

I remember people talking about there may be snow, I wasn’t worried, I had just inherited my dad’s old Caddy from him and it was a beast, especially in the snow, it was able to make it through spots that police cruisers were immobile.  At the time I was working in a restaurant and we decided we would leave after my shift and drive all night.  (don’t you remember being young enough to be able to do that!)

After work, we headed to the grocery and picked up a bunch of snacks for the road and ran into a guy who played for a local “dead” cover band, he wanted to go with us, but needed to be back for his show on Sunday, but we were planning on staying for that show too.  We also knew of at least 20 other people that would be up for the show and thought he could get a ride home no problem, so the three of us set out on our pilgramage-paying homage to (at the time) our gods, the grateful dead.  We were young and idealistic.  We had no worries beyond our rent and electric bills getting paid.

Free spirits and nomadic were we.

The snow started just north of Dayton, at first nothing big, small drizzly flakes.  The closer we got to Medina, where we were spending the night, the bigger they got.  There were times that I wanted to turn around, but I also really wanted the experience.  We arrived to our hotel at 6 am, but the room wouldn’t be ready until 10…we had several hours of nothing to do.  We were exhausted and slap happy.  We sat in Bob Evans driving all the locals nuts until I secretly suspect the restaurant manager went and begged the hotel guy to let us have a room!

The snow continued to fall.
I continued to be optimistic, after all in snows in Cleveland like in July guys! They are NOT going to cancel the show.
But, cancel, they did.
Rumors were that was only the second show that The Dead ever canceled due to weather.  I am not a stickler for stats, so I don’t know.

So, my friend, the band guy, just rode in a car for over 10 hours to sit in a hotel with kids half his age drinking near beer because that is all they sold at the store down the street.
At some point we drove to another hotel across town that had a bar and we all sat there for several hours.
There we met several friends and a guy I was living with at the time and I can’t even tell you why he didn’t ride with us-I said we were nomadic right.
Heck, I might not have even told him I was heading up.

As long as we had money for a hotel and food to eat, we didn’t care if we saw a show or not, half of adventure was the community that the Grateful Dead created.

March 14, 1993 the show went on and I do have to say that it was one of my personal favorites and, my last.
I am very glad that I was able to get away and take the time to go, spend that with my friends and have one last hurrah.

The next spring brought news of a baby, a marriage, a huge move across country and Mr. Garcia’s death.
Nothing in my world would ever be the same…
for a lot of that, I am thankful.

Richer or Poorer.

So many images are invoked by those two simple words.
Richer.
Poorer.

I wonder how many people reflect on those words spoken at their weddings and think “OK God, I was great with rich, didn’t really think we would have to deal with poorer.”  After all, this is America we don’t do poor.

And, by the rest of the world standard we aren’t poor, not a single one of us; however, when we are busy keeping up with the Jones’ the American version of poor can bite you square in the rear end.  The number of people having to declare personal bankruptcy is growing by the day.  The ones who wanted so desperately to live a life they could not afford is now costing them greatly.

My grandparents generation didn’t use credit.  They only borrowed money for their house.  My grandparents paid cash for every car they ever bought.  WOW.

My generation…
Well, we finance everything-even our toilet paper (for those of us who have used a credit card to buy groceries).  Some of us think as along as they keep sending offers for credit cards, my credit is fine.  Only to realize 6 months later that the bills are coming and they cost us more than we make.

I am so very thankful to be married to a fiscally minded spouse.  We have only been married a little over a  year and we have cleared out all our debt except for the car and our house.  We have contingency plans for if something should go wrong.

But, I worry about my friends and other people of my generation-we have never had to want for anything and this current economic “correction” has many of them running scared.  After all, the last time there was a recession, we were children.

I certainly do not want to wish poorer on anyone because-well, I just don’t think many of us have the grit that past generations have had.  I don’t think many of us (myself included) could live through a depression.  Heck, many of us, wouldn’t know the first thing about being truly self sufficient.

Which one would teach us the most?
Richer.
Poorer.
Hard lessons to learn.
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I Believe…

Wow, those words rolling around in my head came upon the Apostles’ Creed.  Which is true, I do believe all of those things-except the Decended to Hell part…oh where was i…
Ah yes…

I Believe….

Oh for petesake and a volkswagon!  Now the old Don Williams tune is chasing the Apostles’ Creed down the street in my brain….I Believe in You.

I Believe that song has stirred up some memories.
I Believe I won’t be sharing them here!

I Believe that there is some truth to that old country tune (and by the way, it is a CLASSIC Country tune)-and somethings I don’t believe. (I am a huge fan of Organic Food and I drive a Honda!)

I Believe we are entering in a very exciting (if uncertain) time in our nation’s history with our first minority president.
I Believe that to many people are living in and breeding fear over the state of affairs in this country.

I Believe in the spirit of Christmas and the wonder of a child when you speak of it (and Santa)
I Believe that Sonic ice is the closest thing to manna (from heaven) that we have today here in America.
I Believe that Sonic ice also has me spoiled rotten.

I could go on with this thread for hours, however…
I Believe I will go play with my Christmas gifts now.

I knew instantly…

When I saw the subject line of the email, “Fwd: Psalm 2008-2012″ it was not going to be good.

Several factors gave it away.
1.  It was from my grandmother, and God, I love that woman but in the past several months (mostly since my popaw died-or maybe she has always been this way, but he was our buffer) -well, past several months she just ain’t been right.  (Bless her Heart).

2.  It was a forward.  My momaw doesn’t write many emails but she sure as shootin’ forwards EVERY ONE of them.  NO matter if they talk about aliens, or the old lady who will rob you blind in the Target parking lot.

3.  There is a biblical reference-but wait I am no biblical scholar and sometimes it seems like there are 3000 psalms, I know in reality there aren’t nearly that many.

Oh, I get it…thems dates!
So, I open the email.  (Bless my Heart)

And it is a poem about Democrats.  Well golly gee- I didn’t see that one comin’.
And it is a really bad attempt to parody the 23rd Psalm.

Because, well that one really doesn’t Rhyme.

I think I might have to start filtering my momaw’s emails because never once in the 5 years she has had her AOL-has she ever written me an email.

I just knew instantly, it should have been deleted.

It has been a few weeks since I was able to participate in Sunday Scribblings and this is one of my favorite topics: A Winter’s Tale (which translates to me SNOW STORM!)

Right off the bat three storms come to mind.

January 16th 1978, January 17th 1994 and March 7, 2008.

All three of the storms had record level snow fall the two in January were over 15 inches in a 24 hour period and the one in March was about a foot-but it was MARCH!

The first storm I was 9 years old and it seemed like school was cancelled for a full month. School was cancelled for so long that the local PBS station started broadcasting “school” for kids to keep up with some of the things they learned. We also had to add 45 minutes on to every day so that we wouldn’t be in school through most of the summer (I guess it was alot!) My sister and I spent alot of time at my grandparents farm. I remember the fence in the front yard colapsing under the weight of the snow. My great uncle Emanuel had snowmobiles that we got to ride all over the back 70 acres. We would come in after an hour of bone numbing cold and warm by the fire and eat snow cream. It seems that the whole family stayed there for days, but that could just be one of those fabricated childhood memories.

The next storm was about as much fun but I was much older-25 and the night the snow started several of my friends and I went to see our favorite local band play- The Merry Pranksters. During set breaks we ventured outside to have snowball fights and make snow angels in the middle of Bardstown Road. Yes, the MIDDLE of the road-no one was driving anywhere. I think that the 150 or so of us who were crazy enough to stay out in that storm WERE the only people in the city who did so. By the time the band was done playing at 3 am there was already at least 12 inches of snow on the ground.

By the next morning-16 inches! It took us over 2 hours to dig my car out of the snow. My 1988 Seville was the only car on the road that didn’t have any issues with the compacted snow. We even passed police cruisers sliding down Lexington Road-backward. My friends Andy and Carrie had spent the night at my apartment but we thought it would be better to go to her place because she had a working fireplace-so we did! After we found an open store to buy food and firewood-the only open store in the entire city. That time it was a full week before everything was back on track. We worked at a Mexican Restaurant and between the three of us and a few other people that lived above it, we were able to work when the owner couldn’t get out of his house for another 4 days. Ah-good times were had by all!

And the last storm-the most recent.
This past March.

The 13 yr old had a soccer game that was thankfully cancelled-mainly because you would not be able to FIND the ball in a foot of snow. So, spouselet, the 13 yr old and several other kids from the neighborhood went to the bottom of the hill and rode sleds, garbage can lids and peices of plastic for hours. Spouselet took tons of video that he is still editing. I made snow cream-for the first time in almost 20 years.

I think the dogs had more fun in the fluffy white stuff than the kids did as the picture above displays.

I love a storm, but the ones in winter will always be my favorite!