The Cardiac Pack

With football season just around the corner, I have already begun to plan out red and white attire for the first few NC State football games. Since I was young, my father and his brothers (all NC State Alum) have been teaching me the 'ABC's' (Anybody But Carolina) along with the 'NCSU Alma Mater' ("Where the winds of Dixie softly blow..."). It does not come as a big surprise that my sister and I also graduated from NC State. Soon after my sister's graduation, my father and brother-in-law made the decision to invest in NCSU Football tickets. Prior to the arrival of each season's initial kickoff, I can hardly bare the anticipation of hearing the wolf howling over the Carter Finley Stadium speakers.

 Nothing quite compares to a fall college football Saturday in Raleigh, NC. Red and white tents are dispersed throughout the stadium's surrounding fields, woods, and parking lots. Music echos from the tailgates and games of corn hole and ladder ball keep spectators entertained as they await the announcement of the pack onto the field. Smells of burgers grilling and liquors flowing spread through the air.  The ladies patiently wait outside the porter potties wearing their cowgirl boots, as the fellas make their way into the wooded areas for a more "naturalistic" bathroom break. Eventually, the reved-up crowd of woofies make their way from the trucks and tents to all gather as one in Carter Finley. The crowds cheers, "WOLF! ---- PACK!"  from alternating sides of the stadium. Smoke fires off and high fives are exchanged when the red and white jerseys make their way into the end zone. It is college sports-spectating at its finest.

Just a few days back, as I was contemplating various ways I could prepare myself for the upcoming season, Idecided there was no better way to do it then to add a new Wolfpack T-shirt to my collection of game day gear. I searched the web and local NCSU bookstores only to find nothing which seemed to fit the bill. I really had set my mind on some sort of vintage-inspired shirt, something unique. After intense Internet searching, I came across the perfect tee that was designed with inspiration derived from the year 1983... a year that all woofies know well.

http://www.homage.com/store/college/nstate

On April 4th, 1983 North Carolina State University Men's Basketball Team won the NCAA National Basketball Championship with the infamous Jimmy V as their pack leader. Just as the buzzer sounded, the players managed to pass the ball from 30 feet down the court and slam it into the basket- bringing the score to a victorious 54-52. The team was known that year as "Cardiac Pack." At this time in Henderson history, my father was a recent NCSU alum, and, although I was nothing but a sparkle in his eye, the wolfpack red was surely running through my veins when I was born the following year in 1984...

Whether it be football or basketball, I was born into the NC State pack and will forever love the sound of the howling wolf echoing across Trinity Road or throughout the walls of the RBC Center.  For the next few weeks I will eagerly await the season's first home game kickoff on September 4th. In the meantime? I will just have to hang my new tee up in a special place- somewhere that I can easily catch a glimpse each day of the wolves howling at the moon, and to myself I will think... "Our hearts ever hold you, NC State, in the folds of our love and pride."

Home

This Saturday morning I hit the heated July pavement with my AC blaring and my panting Boston Terrier in the backseat. The forecast for the day was a scorching 100 degrees in downtown Raleigh. It would be just as excruciatingly hot upon my arrival to a Henderson family shrimp broil being held just less than a few hours down Highway 64. Prior to my departure, I had double-checked my suitcase to ensure it contained every item which may be of necessity to a young lady during southern summer festivities. This included a baiting suit capable of staying intact during taunting pulls and pushes into the swimming pool and a dress for church on Sunday that was cool enough to withstand the hair-frizzing humidity, yet tasteful enough to keep my name out of any Monday morning gossiping at the diner.

About a half hour into my travels, I crossed over Jordan Lake and Miranda Lambert’s, House That Built Me was playing in the background as I listened to my Dad’s voicemail play on the other end of the phone.

“He must be golfing.”  I looked over at my dog- who now had made his way to the front seat.  “I don’t even think he knows I’m coming home.”  Chewie gave me a blank stare and a sniff- unless I was saying “outside, bone, or no!”, my dog had no clue what I was rambling about. After hanging up the phone, I turned up the radio and Miranda sang, “You know they say- you can’t go home again…”


Since around the age of 17, “home” has been a relative term for me. I was raised in North Carolina’s centermost Randolph County. I had a pretty average suburban/country childhood, yet the circumstances of my family dynamic have drastically changed since my youth. Each of my parents fall within the latter years of the Baby Boomer Generation, and, like many others of their time, my parents fell out of their young love and called it quits around the time I headed away for college. My mother now lives with her horses just thirty short minutes northeast of Raleigh- a perfect setup for me anytime I may be in need of an escape from the city life. My father spends the majority of his time in Asheboro either on the golf course, at his desk, in the woods (he’s a forestry consultant), or at his girlfriend’s eating her delicious chicken salad...which I could look forward to eating in just less than an hour...

 ***

Following my parents separation, I began to dread summer and winter breaks from school- or any other time I had to be faced with the realization that my family was no longer “normal.” For some time my father remained in our old 1800s farmhouse in Seagrove. Just right through the woods from this was my grandparent’s log cabin they had built a few years prior. Fifteen minutes up the highway in Asheboro, my dad’s brother and his family resided. My mother’s side of the family would normally gather at my grandparent’s, and my dad’s side at his brothers. After some adjustment, I became okay with only one of my parents being at family “get togethers”. I began to build a stronger and closer relationship with each my mother and father. Eventually, I was okay with them being apart, and just content with seeing each of them happy. Throughout all of these changes, although I had come to peace with my parent's separation, I had slowly lost a large portion of my own identity that had once thrived within our prior family dynamic.

Over the years, the old farmhouse in Seagrove progressively become empty. Each year during the holidays I would live out of my suitcase and travel back and forth between my grandmother’s and my boyfriend’s house in Asheboro. To me, the house in Seagrove represented what was broken, and it only frustrated me to go there. I felt alone in the presence of its uninhabited walls. My frustration began to cloud my thinking with each visit back to Randolph County. It was not that I wanted my parents to be together again. My mom by this time had moved to Zebulon and was doing very well with her horseback riding academy, and my father was the happiest I’d seen him in years. I really could not pin point why I was angry and would repeatedly tell myself to accept things and be grateful for all the wonderful things I did have. Dealing with these feelings was not something that happened overnight. Just until we broke up last year, I would cling to my long time boyfriend, and spend most of my holiday vacation bonding with his family instead of my own.  At the time, I was thankful I had his family as an outlet for normalcy, but this was only hindering the process of me moving on. I was losing my old self and not moving forward to grow into someone new.

I am now 25 years old, and, for the first time in many years, single. My sister and cousins are all married or in serious relationships. I no longer can escape to the boyfriend’s when I am back home. As I approach the holidays, I now dread the, although well-intended, but often probing, “So are you seeing anybody?” question that is inevitably asked by every aunt, uncle or cousin at least ten times before and after dinner. Just this past Christmas, I spent a few nights frustrated and feeling sorry for myself, only to return to my house in Raleigh a day early. I just did not want to face that old farmhouse or answer anymore questions about my relationship status. (By now, both of my grandmother’s even have Facebook—can’t my family just seek out their inquires concerning my love life via my online profile?)

***

Only running a few minutes late, I pulled into my Aunt and Uncle’s driveway in Asheboro for the shrimp broil. I strapped on Chewie’s collar and leash and made my way up the sidewalk. Inside, my dad’s girlfriend was making her chicken salad, my cousins were out back swimming in the pool, and my uncle was under his NC State football tent grilling shrimp and clams with a Corona Light in hand. Bluegrass music was blaring over the stereo system and Chewie began to fall in with the three Shelties and the Yorkie begging for scraps of chicken in the kitchen. Everyone was very happy to see I’d given up my “booming” social life in Raleigh to come and spend a Saturday afternoon with them. My Dad arrived not much later than I, and quickly cooled himself from the heat of the golf course with a dip in the pool. As we sipped on some “fruity summer drinks”, as my aunt called them, I enjoyed laughing amongst my cousins about how entertaining our three hillbilly fathers were with their pot-bellies and mustaches. My dad’s brother’s get-up consisted of a straw hat, no shirt, swim trunks, velcro sandals, and big rubber gloves to avoid burning his hands on the shrimp broil. For the next few hours, I was grinning ear to ear… I truly loved being with my family.

After stuffing myself to the max with an assortment of foods, I was relaxing on the porch contemplating a nap. Before I could even begin to plot which couch I was going to claim, in walks a very tall man with a long, white beard and a tie died “Joe’s Crab Shack” T-shirt. I was surprised to see my father was the first person who went up to greet him. He offered the man some food and then they came over and sat not far from me.


“Abby,” my Dad said, “I’ve got this fella here working on the house in Seagrove. He’s puttin’ up new siding and adding new installation…” The man reached into his pocket and pulled out his digital camera to show me some pictures of his new project. I glanced at the images and was amazed to see the sides of the old farmhouse all torn and tethered. I don’t really remember how the rest of the conversation went. I was not upset, disappointed, or really even concerned with what my Dad’s plans with the house may be- I was, more than anything, relieved. This change was good.


In no time it was eight o’ clock. I had plans to stay at my grandmother’s in Seagrove and attend church with her the following morning. After being sure to hug each and everyone’s neck, my little Chewie and I once again loaded up in the Honda. During my short drive back to Seagrove, I felt a strange sense of relaxation and self-assurance that I normally didn’t feel when heading down 220 South. It was more than just my grandmother’s homemade biscuits I was looking forward to…

By the time I arrived in Seagrove, it was too late to make any pit-stops. I headed straight for my grandmother’s log cabin. Her white fluffy Bichon Frise greeted us yelping at the screen door. My grandmother and I enjoyed one another’s company for a while and I then retired to bed much earlier than I normally would on a Saturday night. The following morning, I felt so at peace as I sat in the church pew and listened to the scripture. This was partially due to the fact that I had arrived prepared with a cool, yet tasteful, summer dress, but mostly because I was beginning to see light through my once cloulded vision.

Following church, my grandmother prepared some black bean salad, breaded chicken, potato salad, ripe tomatoes, and buttery biscuits. We played a few hands of the card game “Spite and Malice”, after which I decided it was about time to make my trip back to Raleigh…I needed to make one stop on my way out. As I loaded things into my car, my grandmother assembled a care-package for me which included fresh peaches and her copy of the book Eat, Pray, Love. (after all- I must read it before I watch the new Julia Roberts movie!).

On my way out of town, I stopped at the old farmhouse to say my good byes. I walked through the back door, and, unlike in the recent years past, I did not feel overcome with despair and loss. Instead, I could feel all the happy memories putting me back together one-by-one, piece by piece. I brought myself 13 years back. Bubba Kitty was begging for food by the refrigerator and the dishwasher was clanging old pottery glasses together. The sound of the television echoed from the living room and I knew my father was in there sitting in his recliner, sound asleep, with the remote in his hand. My mother was working at the dining room table quietly painting the image of a magnolia with her water colors. By the front door, I could hear my dog Blue scratching and begging to come inside. As I climbed the stairs, the sound of my sister laughing on the phone with a friend made me smile. Then, there I was, in my bedroom, sorting through all the blue ribbons and trophies earned at horseshows. I glanced at my old antique mirror, likely wandering if my braces would look better with pink or purple brackets or if I should wear a headband or a hair bow to school the following day. These were serious questions.

***

After making my rounds, I slowly exited the garage door and took one last look back. I was leaving that day with all the memories, good and bad, that had somehow each been forgotten. Prior to this, I was too worried about the memories I thought I was missing out on to even remember the ones that molded who I am today. Suddenly, I could hear Miranda’s voice again, "You leave home, you move on and you do the best you can. I got lost in this whole world and forgot who I am..."

Having closure with my old house was a life changing experience. It was not just that old house that built me, but also the lessons I learned while I was in it- and even the lessons learned while I was trying so desparetely to stay away from it. That may not have been the last time I'd ever walk through that kitchen, and I'm sure the next time I'm enjoying some pecan pie with one of my aunts, she is bound to ask about my love life. Now, I'm okay with those questions. I am okay with who I was and who I am today. Most importantly, I'm okay with everything that old 1800s farmhouse represents- it's part of me and I will always love it. It no longer sits unused and aging, but is taking on a new form just as I am in my own life. Next time I arrive home, I will ride past that house and smile, because, for the first time in many years, I can honestly say, I can’t wait to go home again…

Do you Dig the Streggae in Reggae?

I'm a little bit country... I'm a little bit rock n' roll, but there is one beat that really rocks my soul- It's known as the off-beat, or the "skank" (ha.), and is the first beat in a bar of music. The genre reggae is distinct in that it creates repetitive and hypnotic rhythms of off-beats from the use of only one, or sometimes two, musical chords.

Just as many other styles of music, reggae embodies its own unique sound and can be associated with a particular style or persona. The term "Streggae" is a Jamaican slang term for looking "raggedy or unkempt" and was being used long before "No Woman, No Cry". Just as you have it though, today's Reggae is none other than the dreadlocked, barefooted, tie-dye-wearin', mary-jane loving, Rasta-mon! This all makes perfect sense given that Reggae's birth in America can be attributed to the Jamaican native himself, Bob Marley. Many Reggae artists which have preceded Marley have embraced this persona and passed it down so that later generations have been able to experience the true spirit of JAmmin'.

Now, I by no means am a rasta, hippie, or even come close to being "dreadlocked". Just my being in the presence of pot smoke can result in me having a miserable headache and a bad case of the "paranoids" that has, since I was 16,  kept me standing on the outskirts of any 'smoke circle.' Yet, to the contrary of what one may believe, I love nothing more than to kick back to the beat of Bob's Buffalo Soldier or Ub40's Red, Red Wine-- I mean, really, who doesn't? Although each unique person may relate to a particular song in their own individual way, there is something about the repeated stress of that off-beat that makes you wanna move yo' feet!

Well, it just so happens that some of Bob Marley's little protege will be paying a visit to the Lincoln Theatre here in Raleigh, NC tonight. They call themselves SOJA, or Soldiers of Jah Army. (You'll have to do your own research if you are not quiet sure who this "Jah" may be). Although their liberal and very often weed-referencing lyrics do not directly relate to my everyday life, there is still something about the way they rock their Reggae with some streggae that keeps me coming back for more!

That's Jacob. Okay, I know he is oddly beautiful, but bring you're attention back to me now...

The point I'd really like to make is that for generations people have been using music as a way to express their emotions or creativity, or, simply as a way to link themselves to a certain "way of life". As spectators of their art, we as individuals can take what a musician creates for entertainment and find our own way to relate to their beat or lyrics through our own life's experiences.

For instance, you don't have to be from a farm to wanna slap on your cowgirl boots and take a ride on Jason Aldean's "Big Green Tractor", or a from the ghetto to wanna shake it to some Young Jeezy. Although many times there is one particular genre that a person finds themselves favoring- as it likely closely aligns with their own persona or lifestyle, there also are those artists which are able to compose music within their own genre while finding a common ground with listeners from all different walks of life. I mean, most any American of any given age or background can likely say there is at least one of those Bob Marley reggae tunes they know and love. For heaven sakes, the infamous dog "Marley" was even named after him!

As for me, I'm a little bit country, and, yes, a little rock n' roll too, but, just as I enjoy arriving to Kenny in my Justin Boots, I may tonight just have to arrive at the Lincoln Theatre with a small braid in my hair or perhaps tote a long strap-worn-over-the-shoulder-diagonally coin purse that says, "Hey, little darling Jacob, I'm ready to "Stir it Up."  I think reggae is fun, free, and happy, and, as for the streggae?

I DIG IT.

Where Art Thou, Cinderella?

This one is for all the single ladies out there.

A few weeks back I was at a friend's house and made a rather odd discovery in his trashcan. Now, before I go any further I want to first make it clear that all the events which led up to this object being amongst the contents of his garbage are unbeknownst to me. In these sorts of situations, it's sometimes more fun just to use your imagination and come up with a scenario that brings satisfaction to your curiosity. For me, I was able to take this relatively trivial event and depict a situation from which I could gain some sort of "life lesson". Once I had come up with what was personally, to me, the most fitting chain of events behind this mystery, I felt obliged to share my revelation with all  my fellow Cinderellas out there in cyber space.

DISCLAIMER: For the sake of the privacy of those involved, the names, locations, and events of this story have been changed. (AKA the only part of this story which is based on  fact is that the item in question was found in the trash. All the rest is pure FICTION.).

Once upon a time, it was Saturday. Shelly and McKenzie were on their way to their dear friend--umm..let's call him "Prince"-- on their way to Prince's house. The evening agenda? A baseball game followed by some dancing at the local pub. Shelly and McKenzie were decked out in the most stylish attire appropriate to convert from sport-spectating to shagging on the dance floor. Prior to reaching their destination, Prince called and informed them that he had been out with his boys the night before and needed some Gatorade from the 7-eleven. He thoughtfully had left the side door to his castle open, and he stated they could make themselves at home until he returned. Upon their arrival to the Prince's pad, Shelly decided to dispose of her chewing gum before cracking into some tailgate cocktails. As she gave the trashcan peddle a tap with her foot, her eyes could not believe what they saw.

"McKenzie, come check out what's in Prince's trash!", Shelly exclaimed.

McKenzie ventured over with a smirk: "What, something gross?" Then, there is was. "Is that a--"

Shelly interrupted, "Yes, a shoe. A fairly new, lightly worn, beige, high heel, peep toe, shoe! Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I don't know."  McKenzie guessed. "Maybe size 7.5? I don't think it would fit you."

"No!!! Shelly snarled. "I'm thinking, WHERE IS CINDERELLA?!?!?!?"

Just about that time, in walks Prince. When he realized what the girls were laughing at, his face blushed with embarrassment. Prince was quick to change the subject and ignored all inquiries concerning the whereabouts of the maiden belonging to the mysterious stiletto. Shelly and McKenzie decided to settle on continuing their investigation at a later time.

Following a few home run celebratory high-fives out at the ballpark, the group made their way to the music and dancing at Five Star Pub. All the while, Prince did not seem the least concerned with where this Cinderella might be. Shelly and McKenzie began to intermingle with some familiar faces around the pub while Prince went over to grab a round of drinks from the bar.

That's when they saw her.

Over by the jukebox stood a girl that was not a "regular" at the Five Star Pub scene. She was dressed in a cute, high waist red skirt, a silk beige top, and a beautiful beaded red necklace.

"I like her skirt." stated Shelly.

"Umm.. yeah it's okay," McKenzie added, "But take a look at those awful black shoes. Those sooo do not go with that outfit. That silk beige blouse would look so much better with--- Oh my gosh! With--"

Shelly knew exactly where McKenzie was going with this, "With beige, stiletto, high heel, peep toes!"

"Exactly." McKenzie agreed. "She totally looks like a size 7.5 too."

Just as Shelly and McKenzie had made this exciting revelation, it became clear to them that the girl with the clashing shoes was glaring across the bar at none other than- Prince Charming himself. Before they could make any further assumptions, an observant onlooker joined them and set the story straight.


Turns out, there was a time when Prince Charming and Cinderella were an item. Sadly, she was never to become his queen and they did not live happily ever after. Just the night before, while out with his boys, Prince had ran into Cinderella on a night he was NOT looking for her. She insisted on going back to his castle with him, in hopes that there still may be a possibility he would love her.

Now, all that Cinderella has left is a mismatched outfit and the disappointment that Prince would not be returning her lost slipper. In fact, Prince was already on the dance floor with another girl and the contents of his trashcan back at his bachelor pad were the LAST thing on his mind.

The moral of this story?

If the Prince is not searching the kingdom high and low for you, then standing outside his castle and throwing your "shoe" at him is not going to change his mind. He might invite you back to his castle for the night, but the next day, as you make your way out the door, he is going to be doing the same thing he was doing the day before- not looking for you. You're never gonna get your fairy tale ending if you try and force things to happen, especially if  you give up your shoes! There is a prince charming out there for us all- but please, just like in the fairy tales, let him come chasing after you- otherwise you may just end up in his garbage.

As for our Cinderella in this story? She needs to move to a land, far, far away. Who knows? There could be another prince charming out there who found a beautiful beige stiletto amongst the trash in a landfill and will not rest another night until he finds the Cinderella to which it belongs... After all, one man's trash is another man's treasure.

THE END.

Summertime Blues: What's Your Cure?

If you asked me in September if I missed being a teacher, I would without hesitation reply, "Heck no! I don't miss having all those papers to grade and parents to cater to; That job was just not for me." Well, it is not September right now, it is July. Each day, as I am sitting staring at two computer screens in my dark cubicle within the former memorex tape factory building the government likes to call a suitable workplace for 500-sum employees, others (amy, christine) are either laying out by the pool or contemplating whether to watch Tueday night's Real Housewives of New Jersey "Extension Tension Intervention After Show" versus yesterday's Oprah from their collection of DVR'd drama.  Okay, okay... I know most teachers do not get paid in the summer and the lower salary coupled with the overload of work required during the school year might just be enough to call things even, BUT no matter how much the thought of teacher observation preparations makes me cringe, I still have a serious case of the summertime blues!!! By August, things around Unit 26 at DDS may start to become so dreadful I could turn into Bill Mader's character from this SNL skit freeze frame photo I have featured.

So, in order to avoid any ambulances being summoned for multiple paper cuts to the tongue, I have made it my mission for the remainder of the season to not let the summertime blues get the best of me. My cure?

1. Forget about the rules of traveling every now and then. Whether your on an exciting road trip to the sands of the North Carolina beaches, or just out for your lunch break on a sunny summer day, if your favorite song happens to come on the radio: roll your windows down, turn the radio up, AND no matter how much gas you may be wasting- leave your AC on full force. You don't want the 100 degree heat to ruin the joy of the wind blowing through your hair during your favorite song do you? So, leave that AC blaring and those windows down for that 3 minutes and 47 seconds. It really won't waste that much gas. Summertime blues- out the window!
2. Don't let Monday ruin your Sunday. This infamous quote can be found hanging on the walls of a local bar here in Raleigh. As I am standing at the bar on a Thursday night, in hesitance to order another round of Fat Tire, I find this quote on the wall and think- why not? After all, it is summertime! Besides, half of the workforce is out on vacation on any given Monday or Friday in the months of June, July, and August. Live it up! You'll be good as new just in time for happy hour after work the next day!
3. Wear your sunglasses at night. I mean this more figuratively than literally. To me, sunglasses are associated with being "cool" and can be used to express yourself in all sorts of ways, ask P Diddy. So keep those sunglasses on all summer long! Wear them in the grocery store as you're buying those steaks to grill on a Friday night, rock them while your taking a twilight dip in the pool, or better yet, keep them on all day while you sit in your cubicle, office, or whatever your professional territory may be. I guarantee that no one will be chasing after you with sharp envelopes if your wearing the hottest new Ray-Bans.  The summertime may be hot, but you, my friend, have the key to staying cool all summer long.

Ain't It Funny How a Melody, Can Bring Back a Memory?

As I was sitting at the umpteenth red light on my way home from work today, I scanned through the commercials of Raleigh's radio stations, and, as usual, after becoming annoyed with depressing traffic news and various "miracle-slimming-pill ads", I switched over to my CD player. (My ipod battery only lasts for about three songs these days so I don't even bother bringing it along for the daily commute.)

Once my CD began to play, it too failed to make 5pm Capital Blvd. much more bearable. This mix contains all of my "new" favorite songs from Jason Aldean's "Why" all the way to Usher's "OMG" (honey got a booty like pow, pow, pow). After playing these songs over and over for the past few weeks they have become just as monotonous as the July weather forecast on News 14 every morning. In frustration, I shut the radio off and began to just hum my own tunes in my mind. Oddly, the first song that popped into my head was Michael Peterson's 1997 country hit, "Drink, Swear, Steal, and Lie." (I wanna drink from your loving cup, swear to never give you up, steal all your kisses underneath the moon...). This only got me to thinking, "now what in the world made me fester up such a random tune?" Who knows... could have been some internal memory stimuli triggered by the Ford pickup speeding past;  I could not quite pin point what memory made me think of this particular melody, but it sure did get me reflecting on the truth in the lyrics of Clint Black's "State of Mind"  track. A melody really can bring back a memory, ain't it funny? 

Well, I finally arrived home only to go off on one of my bi-monthly music downloading rampages. The music theme for the day- none other than old country hits. The downloading of course began with the above named Michael Peterson hit. Suddenly, I was thinking up old boot-scootin' tunes that I have not heard in what seems to be years! As each tune began to play, I began to remember all sorts of little moments from "the good old days" of my Randolph County youth. Just to make things fun, below are a list of some of the oldie-but-goodie country tunes along with the random thoughts they bring to my mind...

• Toby Keith: Should've Been a Cowboy- Oh the memories of being on family beach trips in the summertime. The "big girls" (aka Caroline and Leslie) and the "little girls" (aka me and SB) all shared a room which consisted of a pair of bunkbeds. Not to worry when the afternoon storms rolled into Sunset beach, we were playing the board game "Life" and listening to Toby on the coolest tape player ever-- it even had a shoulder strap so we could hang it on the side of the bunk beds!
• John Michael Montgomery: Sold (The Grundy Country Auction Incident)- Greensboro's Whistle 100 FM was always playing on Sara Beth's alarm clock radio; Even during the wee hours of the night- it was on. No matter what night it was, or who her slumber-party-pal may be, SB was NOT going to sleep without her whistle 100! This was all fine and good if Reba's "The Greatest Man I Never Knew" was serednating you to sleep but, "sold to the lady in second row" at 2am did not really help me rest up for the day of "kid stuff " I had ahead of me. I mean really, playing in the Routh's magnolia tree and perfecting my hula-hoop and bike riding skills really took some serious snoozin' to prepare for!
• Diamond Rio: What Might Have Been- This song/video makes me think of sitting on my couch at the big age of 9. I would enjoy watching channel 35- CMT, which only played music videos during these days. I would normally do some music video watching as I completed one of my many weekend chores of matching socks from the ever dreaded woven "sock basket". (I know you remember that, Caroline.) Anyways, the music video always made me cry. That poor old lady.
• Collin Raye: Holes in the Floors of Heaven- When my beloved collie Annie passed away, it was before her time and seemed like the end of the world to me. This song came out sometime around this tragedy; I remember hearing it play soon after and bursting into tears. I still miss that dog.
• Diamond Rio: Meet in the Middle- Nothing was more country than summers in Seagrove. My best bud Hannah and I would time it just right so we could hop on our horses and meet on the dirt road across from her grandma's house to go for a Sunday ride in our cutoff jean shorts and sports bras-- yeah we were some hot farmered-tanned 12 year olds.
• Tracy Lawrence: Time Marches On-  The beat in this song brings back the sound of my paw-paw sitting in his recliner, wearing his overalls and cowboy boots, and tapping his knuckles. He could make this super-human pop noise with them. I know the angels are singin' an old Hank William's songs for him too...
• Tim McGraw: Seventeen- To be 17 again! I remember when my high school partner-in-crime Natalie turned 17, we made sure to each down our age's worth in Bud Lights.. how did we ever survive???

The list could go on and on... from singing "Way Down Yonder On the Chattahoochie" on my front porch swing to skating at the Asheboro "Roll-A-Bout" to "Achy Breaky Heart"...
GOTTA LOVE YA SOME COUNTRY MUSIC!

As Jeff Foxworthy would say, "Ya'll come back now, ya hear?!?!?"

"Happiness Is Only Real When Shared"

It's been quite sometime since I have paid a visit to my little corner of the Internet here on blogspot. For a while there, I really did not feel like I had much to ramble about. Amongst fellow blogger's colorful and exciting posts of new houses, new babies, and dogs and cats with all four legs intact, I started to feel, well, a little uninteresting to say the least! I mean, really, how much fun could it be to hear daily about how much money I saved on SmartOnes ("dinner for uno") at the Wally World or how I really felt stoop for the three jager bombs I took Friday night that resulted in me walking around Churchill's with a bright neon green construction worker's vest on. (yes- that did really happen, true story; Sorry, no pictures to accompany.)
It was not until yesterday while at my mom's house having a relaxing evening that it dawned on me that I spend most of my time away from work and social events sharing all the small happenings of my life with none other than, my mom. As we were casually enjoying our wine, my mom asked me,

"So what would be the first thing you'd buy if you won the lottery?"

I stopped and started thinking about all the pretty houses, horses, nice clothes and other fine things my state employee salary cannot buy me. Yet, much to my surprise, I could not find an answer! Each pair of Prada shoes or shiny David Yurman bracelets that came to mind just did not seem to be the one thing that I could buy with millions that would make my life ever complete. Who would I share all of these nice things with? After all,  "Happiness is only real when shared." -Christopher McCandless, Into the Wild.

Right then and there I realized that it was not all those around me who probably would find my life so boring, maybe it was just no other than me, myself and I that was just making it out to be that way. I really don't need millions of dollars to make it interesting. I have become so caught up in the mundane routine of working Monday-Friday 8-5 and partying Friday-Sunday (well, Thurs-Sun sometimes too), that I have began to overlook all the small things in life that money really just can't buy. It doesn't take a handsome hubby, backyard pool, or Louis Vuitton handbag to be interesting. All it really takes is some insight into the small things in life, and, how those things make you the person that your friends, family, and even your three-legged dog, do find interest in. My newest goal is to really thrive on all life's happenings, whether they be cheerful, sad, funny, annoying, or even embarrassing... they will be shared. So for my random readers (I think there may be a few of you out there?) Get ready for my re-vamp-- cause you're from now on out going to get what I initially promised... The Best of it All!

Stay tuned...