Didn't see that coming!

Well, I’ve had a week of surprises—mostly pleasant ones, thank goodness! It all began on Tuesday, when I was working in my office with the door half-closed, and heard a gentle, attention-getting tap (and the addition of a quietly spoken “Knock knock!” in case I was in doubt as to what was happening….which is not that unlikely, come to think of it…). I pushed the door open to see my co-workers massed (all 5 of them, so not quite a teeming crowd, but you get the picture) in the hallway, with big smiles…and a giftbag. “Happy Administrative Professionals Day” they cheerfully offered, as I sat staring at them, startled and perplexed. After a second or two I managed to reply, “Um…thanks! I didn’t even know that was a thing!”

Apparently, it is—and my lovely work mates even made it into a present-giving occasion, which is obviously awesome and unexpected. I unwrapped the tissue-papered goodies to discover a set of reusable snack bags…and a salad-dressing-mixer jar (with recipes printed on the side—super cute and clever!). They explained that they’d gone to a local store that specializes in crafty, unique, eco-friendly items (right down the street, next to Whole Foods, which I suspect will make it a dangerous temptation in the future). Or, as one of them summed it up, “We thought it was such a you-kind-of-shop!” (Oh. My. Goodness. Do they GET me, or what?)

They told me they’d wanted something with crabs on it—for Maryland—but had to settle for the whales (adorable, nonetheless). And they’d even read the ingredients on the side of the bottle, and determined that they were things I could make, even with my vegetarian/anti-inflammatory/gluten-free lifestyle. So. Cool.

Unfortunately, the second event fell more into the category of…a mild shock. I arrived home from work Wednesday afternoon, came around the car to walk down to the mailbox, and screeched to an abrupt, cartoonish halt when I saw this, neatly tucked into the groove where the driveway meets the garage floor: 

So, obviously it’s a very small snake, and therefore not that intimidating. Honestly, the only reason I even spotted it—given that it’s the same color as all the mud on the ground from our recent 3-day rain—is because its head was up….and its tongue was rapidly sliding in and out in way that I found rather disconcerting. I stood there for several long moments, frozen, before gathering my wits with an effort and carefully approaching it. Now, before you scream that this proved I was NOT, perhaps, fully in control of my faculties, let me explain: I needed to check its coloring, to determine if it was a harmless specimen…or a creature from which I should run shrieking in the opposite direction.

After a cursory inspection, the only really important thing to note was: it doesn’t appear to be a copperhead. Okay, then, what’s next? Why…take a photo, of course (DUH)! Then figure out how to…relocate it somewhere further away from the house. First, I encouraged it verbally to move along, “Hey! Go on, get out of here!” You can guess how effective this was…but it bought me a little time to mull over my options. (I realized later that snakes don’t even have ears, do they? So upon further reflection, I probably just looked like a crazy lady standing in my driveway, yelling at a nearly-invisible critter…fabulous. Well, on the plus side, none of my neighbors seem to have called the mental health practitioners…yet…)

Next, I gathered my courage to enter the Spider Realm of Doom…um…the garage storage closet…to seek an appropriate tool. (To sum up: I had to brave the possibility of becoming entangled in webs…in order to deal with a reptile. This day just kept getting better and better, yeah?) So, a metal yardstick? Too flexible, couldn’t get any leverage to push him/her/it. Hoe? Not enough surface area. Ah, a there we have it: a big-ass shovel to scoop his slithery butt and put it down elsewhere. Even with such a brilliant, foolproof plan, however, (ha!) this endeavor turned out to be more complicated than I had foreseen.

For example, simply getting the edge of the shovel under the little guy was ridiculously difficult. And that was before we even reached the next step: the graceful flinging of the unwelcome visitor into the grassy area beside the house….or at least, that’s how I envisioned it, anyway. What actually happened was that I awkwardly pushed/tossed it a couple of times, moving toward the yard; meanwhile after each assault by the large metal object it seemed like the snake lifted its head a little further, flicked its tongue a little more irritably, and glared at me.

Clearly, it was becoming increasingly irate and possibly plotting vengeance on my exposed, sandal-ed toes (which I tried valiantly to keep well out of reach). Eventually I managed to get the--completely uncooperative, by the way--reptile off the pavement and back into…nature…where I assumed it would crawl off to a more hospitable environment. (So long! Thanks for stopping by! Don’t let the door hit you in the…tail…end…of your…oh, whatever…)

Incidentally, when Derek got home from school and I relayed the story to him, his very first comment was, “Did you scream?” What? “NO!” I exclaimed with a certain amount of righteous indignation. I was a calm, decisive, action-oriented problem solver! “Oh,” he shrugged, “I guess it’s just bugs, then.” Hey—I’ll have you know that I also took care of a spider last night, ALL BY MYSELF, without any drama, and also without calling for male backup, thankyouverymuch. So there!

But if it’s all the same to the universe, that’s quite enough excitement for me, this week. I’ll happily take a nice, quiet weekend, filled with the usual activities. And if by some chance things start to lean toward the boring end of the spectrum, and I find myself wishing for a thrill…perhaps I’ll pay an exploratory visit to the Twig boutique mentioned by my work buddies, and see what other "my-type-of-stuff" I can uncover!

Techno Babble 2017

Depending on how you look at it, you could truthfully say that I grew up on the leading edge of the Computer Era…or the tail end of the Pre-Digital Dark Ages. In addition to the fact that a whole lot of technology was brand new at that time, in the household of my childhood, we weren’t exactly what you’d call “trailblazers”, either. For example, for years my mother—bless her little pea pickin’ heart—utterly refused to allow the purchase of a microwave…her rationale being “I don’t need that--I can cook things just fine without it!”

(She did eventually embrace the kitchen convenience…although without any hard evidence to back this up, I would still state with reasonable certainty that the bulk of the times she used it went towards warming her endless cups of Lipton. The REST of us, however, jumped right the heck on that speedy-food-prep-bandwagon with gusto…)

Oh, and we were also probably the last house on the block to own that newfangled piece of entertainment equipment known as: the VCR. (And if don’t know what that is, you’re probably too young to be reading this—but go ahead and Google it if you like. Speaking of which--us oldtimers? We had to wait until regular business hours, get a ride from our parents, go to the freakin’ LIBRARY, and find a book…using the card catalog, mind you (Oh, just ask Siri what that is!)…to figure these things out. Aaahhh, how far we’ve come (thank goodness)!

Anyway, getting around to my actual, you know, “point”: I was in High School before they started offering classes on how to work those crazy things called computers. Yep, I took a “programming” elective in which I “learned” (this being a verrry relative term, in my case) how to write code…using Basic language. (And since I’m sensing your unspoken question, the answer is, “No, it’s not a relevant tool anymore in the Modern World.”) Here’s an example, lifted from Wikipedia, since—having barely mastered it the first time--there’s no way on God’s green earth I could remember how to do it all these years later:

10 INPUT "What is your name: "; U$

20 PRINT "Hello "; U$

30 INPUT "How many stars do you want: "; N

40 S$ = ""

50 FOR I = 1 TO N

60 S$ = S$ + "*"

70 NEXT I

80 PRINT S$

90 INPUT "Do you want more stars? "; A$

100 IF LEN(A$) = 0 THEN GOTO 90

110 A$ = LEFT$(A$, 1)

120 IF A$ = "Y" OR A$ = "y" THEN GOTO 30

130 PRINT "Goodbye "; U$

140 END

The result would run as:

What is your name: Mike

Hello Mike

How many stars do you want: 7

*******

Do you want more stars? yes

How many stars do you want: 3

***

Do you want more stars? no

Goodbye Mike

Looks fairly simple, yeah? (And inane, of course, but whatever…) But trust me when I tell you that I spent H-O-U-R-S of my teenage life trying to get the most rudimentary program to do what I wanted it to, because if you forgot one stinkin’ comma, or placed one character in the wrong order, the machine would just sit there sticking its tongue out and laughing at you derisively before saying, “Nyah, nyah, nice try, sucker!” Okay, I may be making that part up, but I’m not exaggerating how obnoxiously picky the syntax was, or how discouragingly infrequently I got it right.

But when the magic happened, you’d get your message, like the one above, or in the more advanced stages, text shaped into a picture, such as a Christmas tree comprised of symbols (produced on a dot-matrix printer…snicker. You know what to do--look it up!). Soooo not worth the effort, by the way—the only reason I can imagine that I even took the course is that it….sounded like…fun? Or—much more likely--maybe an easy A to pad the old GPA? Who knows what my silly adolescent girl brain was thinking…

Naturally, we didn’t have a computer at home (see previous allusion to “early aversion to technology among elders”) so when I had homework that was required to be typed, I used an actual typewriter…and LOTS of correction tape…and probably sweat and tears mixed in, because MAN was that a royal pain in the patootie! Even when I went off to college, I had to rely on the school’s PCs or later, a roommate who brought her own (huge, heavy) model. I can’t pinpoint the exact date, but I believe it was sometime in the early 2000s (gulp! That sounds weird even to me!) that Husband and I bought our own desktop version—made by Gateway (now owned by Acer—yes, I just Googled it!)

Then, finally…at long last…ye ultra-modern laptop came into existence….and everywhere students…and even technology-embracing adults…rejoiced. Although I didn’t feel I strictly NEEDED one until a couple of years ago, once I finally broke down and joined the Laptop Generation I must say I have greatly enjoyed being able to stay up-to-date while on-the-go. (Not that my phone doesn’t keep me connected, obviously, but I’m not about to go so far as to create entire blogposts…with my thumbs…on a 6-inch screen. I think it’s safe to say--no matter how much I love my handheld communicator--that will NEVER happen…)

And then the day came…as it inevitably must…when the firstborn required his own device for his High School assignments (which incidentally did NOT include becoming proficient in BASIC, thank heavens…). Somewhere along the line—I don’t have any idea how it happened, really—I got saddled with the role of Team WestEnders Tech Support. (Seriously? Reaaalllly not sure I’m qualified in any way for this dubious honor, but maybe I lost a round of “1-2-3 Not It!” that’s escaping my memory?) Therefore it fell to me to research and select a first computer for Derek.

After much diligent online investigation and comparison, I thought he’d do fine—for a starter machine, mind you—with an uncomplicated, inexpensive Chromebook. Since its entire purpose would be to manage schoolwork, this type would presumably do everything he demanded of it (critically important)…for not a whole lot of…ahem….”initial investment” (strongly…preferred…).

As expected, while Derek didn’t necessarily subject it to super-intensive tasks (composing and editing, web searching, completing online homework…with boatloads of ESPN videos in between), he did put in a sizeable number of hours using it. And it worked beautifully…for about a year. Then one day it suddenly had a hissy fit and refused to acknowledge Derek’s login attempts, causing him to have to call Customer Service and be walked through resetting the hard drive. Oh…kay. However, after its stern professional talking-to, it seemed to revert back to good behavior, so we breathed a tentative sigh of relief.

That is, until just a couple of months later (as in “last week”), when Derek opened the lid one day and got a message that the operating system was… compromised…and wanted some sort of nebulous “Recovery Program” implemented. Ay yi yi. As the aforementioned Tech Fairy By Default in the house, I inherited the burden of assisting…to the best of my…limited ability…with the repair. This involved accessing the website shown on the screen (thanks for that much, anyway) and following the detailed, multi-step instructions for conjuring the…I don’t know, let’s call it “mystical healing app” to which they referred.

I dutifully tried to complete the task: download program, check; unpack files, check; verify content, check…but the whole stupid process kept getting stuck at the “writing to flash drive” stage. After running through it twice, with different memory sticks each time, I was struck by a brainstorm—perhaps the family’s 5-year old Dell on which I was working was standing in the way of progress. So I switched to my own newer, faster, more powerful laptop, and voila--SUCCESS!

Buuuut…not so fast. Even with the fresh new fix-it supposedly ready to run, the *&%$# Chromebook rejected our ministrations. “Nope,” it told us in emphatically, “This has been a colossal waste of time and effort, and you’ve failed,  miserably, so you’d better just concede defeat…and contact an actual Computer Authority who might, if you’re lucky, be able to help you. Or not--we don’t really care. So long, losers.” (The last part was definitely implied…or I might just have been super-frustrated and pretty pissed off by that point. Right, that’s the one…)

Siiiiighhhhh. Well, I’m nothing if not totally pig-headed, so I embarked on a Live Chat with Asus right at that very moment (because what else was I going to do—go to bed? Pfffttt…sleep is for the weak! Yep, probably should have stepped back and let it go, but nooooo, that’s just not my style…). I won’t bore you with the details—as I was, during the exchange—but the upshot ended up being “Send it to us, and we’ll happily fix it for you…but since it’s out of warranty, we’ll charge you to do so.”

Gee…thanks? So let me see if I have this straight: you want me to scrounge up my own container and protective materials, drive the package someplace to have it shipped, PAY the postage myself, wait for it to get to California, wait for it to be repaired (for a fee), and wait for it to be sent back (also on MY DIME), with no guarantee about how much longer the thing will even continue to function, given its recent…defiant episodes. Wow…that all sounds…amazing…but hold on for a second while I decide how I feel about your proposal. Okay, I’ve got it: you must be OUT of your EVERLOVING MIND, Tech Support Person!

Instead, I immediately went to the InterWebs to seek divine guidance…or, you know, a local computer repair company that might be capable of beating a recalcitrant Chromebook into submission….or what have you. The results of my search turned up two recurring themes: 1) “We don’t work on Chromebooks,” or 2) “Sure, no problem! That’ll be [insert a figure that amounts to roughly half the original cost of the device].”

Having uncovered that disheartening information, I felt the time had come to change the course of our studies, as it were, to focus on…a replacement. Clearly, NOT another Chromebook—that machine had ONE JOB, which was to last until Derek graduated from High School, and it thoroughly let us down….so it’s officially FIRED. Nope, this time he gets a Windows gadget, with enough juice to serve him until he needs a seriously kick-butt computer for college…at which point this one will become Riley’s homework helper.

As for me? After I post this (from my laptop), I’m going to make some hot chocolate (in the microwave), and take a looooong sabbatical from my secondary IT job around here. For at least the next several computer-or-other-technology glitches, I’m sending the complainant straight to HUSBAND! Aaannnnd, I’m OUT!

Bunnies and Birthdays (Part 2)

Therefore on Saturday night while he was away, and after Riley went to bed, I stealthily arranged his gifts: wireless earbuds so he can listen to music while running, a Milwaukee Bucks tee shirt because he and one of his friends have inexplicably decided that they're BIG fans, and a chair for his bedroom...so he can practice lounging, for college, or something. (I don't know, but it seemed like a good idea, and he didn't really give me much else to go on, so there you have it.)

Oh, except HOW could I forget the tickets he had me order for him, so he and a buddy could go see the Carolina Courage, NC's first professional women's soccer team, who are just now kicking off (ha! sorry...) their season at WakeMed Park, not too far from here. I had no problem whatsoever purchasing passes to a sporting event for his birthday--seems entirely appropriate for this kid, yeah? But let's stop and think for a hot minute...this marks the very first time that he'll be driving himself and a companion to an activity (I mean, not counting the local fast food and grocery store jaunts, of course)....completely unsupervised. In fact, we actually had to make sure we got to the DMV before the match, so he could upgrade to his unrestricted license and be legally permitted to drive after 9 p.m. Gulp! Welcome to 17? (Mom's gonna need some adjustment time, I suspect. Don't worry about me; I'm sure I'll be okay...eventually...)

But was I finished? Nooooo...I still had to wrack my brains for semi-creative (or at least "not TOO corny") clues to place inside the plastic eggs, so they could find their Easter stash when they got up the next day. As it turned out, when Riley came downstairs on Sunday the very first thing he said to me was, "I saw one of Derek's eggs!" Oh. Good. Grief. You see, I'd placed it in plain sight because Derek is notorious in this house for overlooking things that are literally right under his nose--in contrast, all Riley did was glance over and BAM, he spotted it instantly.

After we'd rousted Derek to join in the shenanigans, they each opened one of their hints and began to puzzle out what it was telling them. Derek's read: "Hope you don't have to work too hard to find a treat", to which his immediate response was, "Pffftt, I'm never figuring THAT out!" (It was hidden in Husband's office--get it? Work? It still took him several more verbal prods, not to mention some lighthearted teasing from Riley and me before he finally located it. Siiiighhh....see what I'm talking about?)

Meanwhile, Riley tackled: "Close your eyes and picture where a treat could be hiding"...and right away began peering intently behind every framed photograph in the vicinity until he came up with his egg...all in less than a minute. Derek snorted, "I would have never gotten that--'close your eyes'? It's not like we have a...meditation room!" (Ay yi yi...forehead, meet palm...) Fortunately, Riley was now available to help Derek again, with the following; "Relax, you'll find it!" This time he didn't even make an attempt; he just turned to Riley and said, "Where should I look?" Riley directed him to try the couches, which he did, with success (if you can call it that...). Finally, Riley's last slip of paper said, "Hope the suspense isn't eating you up!"...which led him to walk straight over to the pantry and pick up his loot.

As they opened their eggs to reveal the sweets inside, Riley (as expected) exclaimed with delight over his frogs. Derek interjected, "Hey, why didn't you get MY favorite animal?" When I glanced at him quizzically, he clarified, "Don't they make...chocolate sea cucumbers?" (Just...no comment...I decline to further examine my older son's convoluted inner thought process...) So if I were giving out awards for Easter 2017, I'd bestow these honors: Word Game Champion--Riley. Undisputed Biggest Goofball--Derek. And to round out what pretty much became his Birthday Weekend, he's making it easy on the WestEnders culinary staff by designating "pizza" as his preferred meal for tonight (whoo hoo--leave the cooking to our esteemed acquaintance....Papa John!).

Finally, we know from experience that it might be easier to wait a few more weeks until the UNC students clear out for the Summer before we try to hit up a popular local eatery, so this meal will be the official last hurrah of Derek's 17th Birthday. Excuse me while I go write down some coded instructions to help him find his slices... (Mwah hah hah!)

Easter-Birthday-Palooza, Part 1

My eldest child turns 17 today--and before I get any further into this post, let's just pause for a moment so I can say: I don't know how that is even possible. I mean, sure, I've been here for all of those years, so it's not like this revelation came out of nowhere, or anything crazy like that. It might just be the fact that he's one year closer to being an official adult that's throwing me for a loop. But let's definitely not go there right now, or I'll reeeaally lose my train of thought. Okay, focus: Derek's birthday....so, how to commemorate another year in the life of a teenager?

Well, the celebration tradition for Team WestEnders usually involves several components--the honoree chooses what to have for dinner on the night of their actual birth-iversary; they also designate a spot for the clan to enjoy a lovely restaurant meal, (usually on a more convenient day, since one's birthday often falls during the work/school week...or perhaps on Easter, for example). And of course there are presents, and cupcakes, blah blah blah. (You'll notice that none of this involves copious amounts of advance planning...or superhuman effort....or wrangling large groups of guests. Yeah, there's a reason for that...we'll call it...ahem..."parental laziness". Whatever, it works for us...)

Which brings us to the aforementioned point--that for just the second time in his young life, Derek's birthday coincides exactly with Easter. We found out the hard way when he was younger that this means finding another time for that whole "eating out" thing, as most establishments are closed. And I was informed this year that, although my boys are (newly) 17 and 13, they still look forward to having a little egg hunt on Bunny (and Birthday) Morning. (Huh...who knew? I admit to being surprised by this--but Derek maintained this was mostly Riley's idea...and Riley cheerfully claimed full responsibility with a glib, "Hey, it's FUN!" Alrighty, then...)

I do suspect it was at least partially a clever ploy on their part, to make the entire day one big sugar fest...but I can also respect that. So on my free Friday, I ventured to Target on a candy quest. Now, this might sound straightforward...Step 1: fill basket with treats...aaaannnd DONE, right? But it's always a bit of a balancing act for me--normally, I'm programmed to avoid the junkiest of sweets, and to gravitate toward the better stuff...primarily, you know, the "dark chocolate" variety. Easter (and its cousin, Halloween) make it darn near impossible for a...cocoa snob...such as myself, however.

So in the end, I had to embrace the...less-than-healthy...and just go with it. I did find some adorable frog-shaped chocolates that I knew would make Riley very happy, and some bite-sized Ghirardelli dark chocolate (yay) caramel bunnies for both of them...and I even stooped so low as to buy them....Peeps. (Gasp! I know, "moment of weakness", what can I say?) In my defense, it was the goofy flavors that did convinced me: cherry limeade, which Riley looooves, and some sort of triple mocha nonsense for Derek. (I'm still not sure if I believe this is an example of brilliant marketing, or the perpetration of a horrifying candy abomination, but the boys actually gave the the thumbs-up when they tasted them, so that's really all that matter, right? Shudder...)

Oh, and as for that OTHER event that happened to occur on the same day? Let me tell ya, this birthday went off a wee bit differently than in previous years. First of all, Derek came to me Wednesday and checked to see if he could sleep over at a friend's house Thursday night, since they didn't have school on Friday. "Um...suuuurre?" I agreed. Then after returning home for a few hours on Friday, he asked permission to dine out with a group of his pals, and came back at his customary curfew time. At some point he also requested leave to attend a Durham Bulls game on Saturday night with some of the same buddies. By this time my response was to throw up my hands in mild exasperation, give him the okay, but also add, "Fine, but you're spending Sunday with your family, so don't even try to do anything else, understand?"

TO BE CONTINUED...

College Tour Kickoff

So, the current academic term is speeding its way to the finish line, with only 8 more weeks to go. Obviously this makes the students in our house verrrry happy, as it signifies the approach of Summer...but this year it also means one more thing...Derek will soon magically transform into a High School Senior. (Excuse me for one moment while I experience the first of what's sure to be a multitude of Mom's mini-freak-outs to come...okay, I've got a grip....for now...) And you know what that milestone means? That's right: the kid had better start getting serious about figuring out where he wants to go next.

No, no, I'm not talking "philosophically", here; he actually needs to start focusing his attention (limited as that may be on occasion due to Teenage Boy Brain) on the grand tradition of Ye Olde College Search. Husband and I--enthused about helping him with the process and excited for him to investigate his options, blah blah blah--have been encouraging him....for months...to provide us with some direction. Thus far his contributions to the discussion have been, shall we say, "minimal"...and also, um..."lacking in substance". (I swear it feels like we're living out our own personal Bueller moment--you know what I'm talking about: "Ideas? Hello, Derek? Anything at all?)

I mean, I do GET it on some level--the kid isn't sure what he wants to do, or in what location he wants to do it...because he's 17 years old, and this is totally normal. All we're asking for is some input into, for example, where he might like to go visit--to have a look around, meet some students, take a tour. Just...some basic, extremely preliminary recon, if you will...no commitment, no pressure, just for FUN, really. Well...his father and I believe this process should be enjoyable, anyway, but the jury's still out as to how Derek feels about it, since he hasn't been so forthcoming on the whole "sharing your thoughts" thing.

Finally, Husband--who it should be noted is generally the much more patient of the two parental units on Team WestEnders--reached his limit and decided to take action himself. Since the Male Posse was making their annual Spring Break trek to see his mom and dad in South Carolina, Husband tacked an extra day onto the excursion...and arranged campus visitation outings for Clemson and the University of South Carolina...regardless of whether Derek expressed any interest in these institutions or not. In the time-honored tradition of "you've gotta start somewhere", he figured they'd at least get an inkling of how to go about this task...learn about two good schools...and who knows, maybe even light a fire under Derek's butt, thereby sparking some useful feedback for future trips.

Well, then....sounds GREAT, right? When informed of the agenda, Derek's response was an agreeable but less-than-super-psyched "Oh. Okay." (Siiiighhhh...I'll take "Times When I Want to Smack My Beloved Child Upside the Head" for $1,000, Alex".) On the other hand, when Riley heard about the additional activities, we got an entirely different reaction: a spontaneous fist pump and an emphatic, "YES!" (Proving once again that although my sons share a very close relationship, and are alike in many ways, they are sometimes reeeaalllly different as well. Also, this indubitably secures Riley's position as the Preferred Child of the moment...ha!)

Having squared away all the details (and with this I'm referring to Husband, not Derek), they hit the road, southbound toward Clemson. Later that day, I got a text showing me a gorgeous fountain in front of the Cooper Library...from Husband. Then a slideshow appeared on Instagram the following day, displaying lovely photographs taken at various points of interest from both sites...posted by Riley. And from Derek, the potential applicant at one of these fine universities? Utter...radio...silence. (Banging head against wall...mentally, not IRL--that would be stupid and painful...I mean, even more so than waiting for any kind of critical analysis, insightful commentary, or even, you know, "first impressions" from my kid...)

Anyway, I chose to hold off on grilling him until he returned home, when I'd be able to corner him and run some version of the Inquisition--I mean thoughtful "question and answer" session...or whatever. Because of my own overnight getaway, I didn't see the boys until Sunday, and Derek had just come back from playing a reportedly rugged couple of hours of basketball at a friend's house when we finally connected to talk. I even led off the topic gently, I thought, with an easy, "How was South Carolina?" which he handled smoothly. Since that had gone so well, I assumed it was safe to immediately jump to the more challenging, "What did you think of the campuses?" Derek shook his head wearily and answered, "They were good."

Uhhh...that's lovely, dear. Now could you expand upon that admirably succinct yet totally unenlightening statement? He managed to add, "I know you want details, but I really need a shower right now....and I'll use the time to think of what to tell you, okay?" Oh. Good. Grief. This is not usually a guy who has any trouble whatsoever describing things, or expressing his opinions, so I have NO CLUE why this particular subject causes him SUCH issues. However, as promised, he emerged from his (I have to admit I agree "much-needed") clean-up ready to communicate...something. As it turns out, both he and Riley actually concurred that they liked both campuses equally well. One stat that apparently stuck with the gang: the student populations are distinct from each other in terms of size (17,000 Tigers vs 33,000 Gamecocks) but the schools nevertheless boast a similar student/faculty ratio (17:1 and 19:1).

Husband noted that their tour guide at Clemson was a perky co-ed named Meredith...with whom Derek declined to interact for whatever reason (the universal "girls are icky" being my best guess), leaving the adult to carry on most of the exchange. On the other hand, USC gave them Matt, who was able to engage Derek in lively conversation, according to Husband. Other than that, Derek stated that, overall, he could see himself at either school. Now, we're talking--an actual starting point! Even though I wasn't personally there, however, if I had to give the edge to anyone, I'd choose Clemson--simply because, within 3 days, before the trio had even rumbled back into North Carolina, a postcard arrived in the mail...thanking them for stopping by....offering any further assistance they might need in the future...and signed....with a heart...by Meredith.

Possibly the most advantageous result of this little sojourn is that it led Derek to identify the NEXT two schools he'd like to see--which, given that they're UVA and Virginia Tech, indicates that our merry little band of adventurers will be headed north, sometime soon. But no matter what he ultimately decides, at least for right now, I'm declaring it: Tigers, for the win!

A Tale of Tarheels

When you live on the outskirts of a college town, certain truths become self-evident. Such as the fact that, during the academic terms, the local restaurants are going to be packed on weekend nights—so don’t even bother trying, unless you like to stand around and waaiiiiit for a table. You get used to the main street teeming with foot traffic, as students and visitors stroll up and down, window shopping--or seeking that elusive establishment that will feed you without you first having to endure a long line. You also get used to seeing seasonal roadside signs that instruct you where to park for athletic events on campus.

And that leads me to mention one defining aspect of our particular little neighborhood: it is a basketball CRAZY place, y’all. Seriously, people go all-out bonkers for the Tarheels during the regular season—the mobs of exuberant fans on Franklin Street after they defeat “that rival from a nearby town whose name shan’t cross my lips” are legendary. So imagine, if you will, what might happen if, say, the hometown school was playing in the NCAA Championship game? Let me tell ya: our whole little corner of the world was in an all-fired uproar, that’s what.

The anticipation…and speculation…and consternation…ran at super-high levels on Monday, leading up to the actual, you know, GAME. When Derek arrived home from school that afternoon he informed me that his plan was to watch it at a buddy’s house—the home of one specific friend, mind you, where their viewing has led to successful outcomes in the past. It seems that no other residence results in a win on a regular basis, so they had to go with the superstitious pick (which, actually, I can totally respect. Everyone knows that in the world of sports, you don’t mess with what works…even if it’s ridiculous and/or illogical, right?).

Furthermore, Derek told me that when everyone got there and settled in, Max’s (not his real name—because who knows if that would be jinxing the situation or not? I’m just not willing to risk it…) mom walked into the room…and promptly rearranged where they were sitting. Apparently the boys needed to align themselves in the exact configuration they’d been in during the victories over Kentucky and Oregon…except of course when things weren’t going well, and she moved them around to shake things up and hopefully kick-start a hot streak for the hometown squad. (Hey, whatever it takes…and for an acceptable excuse to boss around the teenagers? All the better!)

Oh, and the contest itself? I, personally, couldn’t bear to watch—which is normal for me…I just check on the score periodically, but can’t take the second-by-second tension of actually paying attention to the action on the screen. It was getting late….and I was reeeaallly tired…so I almost gave up and went to bed. The score was so close that, not only could it have gone either way, but I expected the last couple of minutes to take FOREVER as both teams went into “foul all the time and hope for a miss” mode. But…I turned the TV on, anyway…just to get a quick update. And UNC was finally ahead…with only a short amount of time left. So it turned out that I did see the happy ending, which was fun…even though I was the only one awake, and had no one to bask in it with me.

I immediately began to hear the fireworks from downtown, as the joyful throngs of people poured out of the bars and eateries on Franklin Street, soon to be joined by  the multitudes who’d been watching from inside the Dean Dome. Then…my phone rang…at 11:45. “Yeessss, Derek?” In a breathless rush, he spit out the following, “Hi, Mom, a friend’s dad is taking people to Franklin Street, I’m not allowed to go, right, you don’t want me to go?” Gulp! I just stood there, stunned, trying to decide how to respond. Because of course my first instinct as a mother was to say, “Heck, no! It’s a school night, and it’s already late, and besides, my baby is not going anywhere near all that…madness!” Fortunately I had a few seconds of leeway, since his aforementioned pal suddenly became audible in the background, yelling, “Please, please, please let him come! It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity…PLEASE?”

Well…I can’t say he didn’t have a point. We do live 3 miles from the university. The team doesn’t win a championship every day. And the next time they do, Derek might very well be away at his own college, and therefore unable to experience the hoopla (Ha! That one was unintentional…) firsthand. Finally, his night of slumber was pretty much wrecked anyway, and he’s old enough by this point that one day of being sleepy during his classes—especially for an exceptional reason like this one—wouldn’t be likely to have any negative consequences. Heck, some of his teachers are UNC graduates, and so I expected the prevailing mood at school would be one of exhaustion, elation…and tolerance for the inevitable yawning.

So the upshot is: after a bit of negotiating about how long he could stay (everyone agreed that a half-hour seemed reasonable) I gave him the thumbs-up…and went to hide under the covers (to try and muffle the continuing booms of firecrackers). In the morning I asked the bleary-eyed-but-content boy how his adventure had been. He managed a grin and replied, “It was NUTS!” He went on to describe the mega-crowd that filled Franklin Street to overflowing…as well as some of the more…outrageous…behaviors. Such as the…daring?...folks who climbed the lightposts…or the telephone poles…including one who managed to get to the top and straddle the post, with one foot on the wire on either side. Derek shook his head remembering this as I laughed, and commented, “We admired his skill—but we wouldn’t want to try that!” (Um….GOOD!)

He also went into some detail about the bonfires that students (presumably) were setting….using random pieces of furniture. The part he found most amusing about this was when he would hear someone—probably inebriated, he admitted--suddenly yell, “Hey! That’s my couch!” Oh. Good Grief. Eh, consider that a fairly accurate preview of some aspects of post-high-school life, son (to be observed…but not repeated! Fingers crossed…). So overall, I’m glad he had the chance to—in a supervised and therefore relatively safe fashion—participate in the Big Win mayhem. Now we can all hopefully calm down, get back to normal…and maybe take a NAP?

More Richmond Roaming

After a full day of outdoor recreation—and an extremely tense, skin-of-their-teeth Tarheels victory that did nothing to calm me down before bed—I prepared myself for Day 2 of Richmond rambling. The first order of business, naturally, was to find a fresh, aromatic, steaming mug of deliciousness…um, “coffee”. (And I’m not talking about the push-button-machine kind that they have in the lobby, my friends—in order to wake up properly and get moving, this java-snob needed quality brew.) So the Subaru and I took to the road, in search of an establishment that could dispense the blessed Elixir of Life. (Was that a little dramatic? Well, that's me in the morning, before my infusion...)

This was the first time I’d gotten an actual look at the neighborhood my hotel was in, and I quickly discovered that, besides the aforementioned cigarette-company-that-shall-not-be-named…there wasn’t much else there. A handful of houses; lots of small, independent businesses in what appeared to me to be shabby, run-down buildings; and the occasional fast food joint. Oh, and a plethora of 7-11s, which of course do provide coffee--but in this case I was seeking something a bit more upscale.

Although I wasn’t finding anything particularly promising (not even a Starbucks or Dunkin’ Donuts, for which I would have settled at this point) I persisted for a few miles. And that’s when I noticed that I was driving on…the Jefferson Davis Highway. Ay yi yi. It was equal parts hilarious…and disturbing…that even though I’d driven NORTH for this excursion, I'd forgotten I was in a city that in some ways still considers itself part of the Deep South. Then (not making this up, I swear) I crossed over the Robert E. Lee Bridge, and decided I’d just better turn around before I dug myself any further into Dixie.

Fortunately, I soon arrived at Brewer’s Café, where I was able to obtain a decaf cup of awesome…with honey and almond milk. That’s what I’m talking about, people. Now let’s DO this thing! Right…what was the plan? Oh, yeah: Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden to start my day—because we’ve clearly established by now that I’m utterly obsessed with flowers, and probably need some kind of intervention. But until I’m stopped, I’m going to continue strolling amongst the blossoms and taking waaaayyy too many photos of the rainbow-hued beauties.

So that’s exactly what I did, wandering the pathways, admiring the colors, enjoying the peaceful setting, and appreciating the pristine weather, all while happily snapping away with my Nikon. I won’t bore you with (any more) details, because, frankly, I couldn’t tell you what most of the lovely specimens actually are, even if you quizzed me (and you know I hate to earn anything below an A, so let’s just not go there, ‘kay? Thanks...).

However, there was one amusing aspect of the visit: the venue was apparently hosting a Daffodil Show onsite…and by this, they didn’t mean “display”, but rather “competition”. As in, judges evaluated, rated, and awarded prizes to the winning entries. Although I confess that daffodils are NOT among my favorite plants—they just seem to be so common in people’s yards, and they all look the same to me--curiosity got the best of me, so I went in to check out the contest. And sure enough, while the blooms were absolutely flawless to my untrained eye…they all appeared to be so…just...uniformly daffodil-y…and I wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart if my life was at stake. Okay—moving on!

My final Richmond hurrah was a “100-acre American estate” called Maymont, which was donated for public use by the millionaire couple who lived there until 1925. Besides the mansion and a few other buildings that remain, there are vast, rolling green spaces, cultivated gardens, and a small farm with wildlife exhibits. All together, it formed a masterpiece of a park, where families and couples meandered the walkways or ate picnics in the grass, kids chased each other around the hilly lawns, and people played catch or threw Frisbees, or frolicked with their dogs. It was an altogether bucolic scene, not to mention a delightful way to pass my last few hours in the city.

After that, it was back to the car once more, for the return southbound trek. I had a wonderful time in Richmond, but during my travels it became obvious that I barely scratched the surface of what the metropolis has to offer. I suspect I’ll need to return at some point in the future to continue my exploration…and perhaps I’ll drag the rest of Team WestEnders along, to add to the festivities! For now, NC--and the return to routine after an extended (or in my case, compact) Spring Break--awaits. So long until next time, friendly neighbor to the north!

Rolling into Richmond

Team WestEnders maintained their traditional Spring Break routine (with one major exception--the inaugural College Visits--but that's a whole other post, folks), with the Male Posse headed to South Carolina to visit Husband's parents, and me planning an overnight expedition to a location of my choosing. This year I selected Richmond, Virginia...because it seems ludicrous to me that I've driven past that city oh, approximately 900 times in my life, yet never actually, you know, stopped to check it out.

Now, typically I make these excursions on Fridays, especially in this case, since that would have me returning home on the same day as the rest of the fam. However, the weather forecast for Friday was, shall we say, reaaallly yucky--as in 100% chance of rain. So with my field trip goals in mind--namely photography and outdoor...tromping around...I made the executive decision to push it to Saturday, when the meteorologists assured me there would be nothing but blue skies and sunshine (and maybe some unicorns and rainbows thrown in for good measure...or I might be making that part up...).

With that settled, I booked a hotel, picked a couple of likely tourist attractions, packed a small bag (and snacks--which would come in very handy later, as we'll see) and hit the road. First stop: Tuckahoe Plantation, "boyhood home of Thomas Jefferson". And let me just tell ya, it's a darn good thing I, personally, don't live in Tom's century, because without my trusty GPS, I would NEVER have found this place. However, even though I have no earthly idea where I was, exactly, my route did take me through some absolutely stunning real estate. Or, as Husband and I like to call it: the High Rent District...where almost every home looks like a stately mansion...the lawns present perfectly groomed carpets of deepest emerald green....and you find yourself trying to peer around the back of the houses, to see where they've stabled the inevitable herd of horses. Yeeeaaaah, I'd bet there's some serious wealth in that neighborhood, y'all.

The plantation itself honestly wasn't super-exciting--in order to go inside the house you need to arrange a private guided tour ahead of time, which I didn't bother to do, for just little old me. But the grounds provided a pleasant place to stroll around for a while...especially after a 3-hour drive to get there. Then it was back to the car for the next activity: a battlefield tour (and you're sooooo surprised, right?). In my pre-jaunt research, I'd discovered that the Richmond Battlefield Park actually comprises a whole bunch of different sites...on an 80-mile round-trip loop. Um...no time for that kind of commitment. So I'd figured the best course of action would be to find the main Visitor's Center, get a map and any other materials I'd require, and most importantly, ask a Park Service professional what they'd recommend with a limited timeframe available to me.

Well...little did I know that the Tredegar Iron Works building, which houses the information desk and various exhibits, is situated on the waterfront of the James River...and the whole area is gorgeous. Picture a canal on one side, the river on the other, and in between, perfectly manicured green space with trails for walking, running, and biking, pedestrian bridges to cross back and forth, and endless spots to hang out while enjoying the views. It was an altogether delightful way to spend the rest of the afternoon, meandering and people-watching.

Oh, and I also did get the advice of the friendly ranger, who steered me toward two particular battlefields which lay in close proximity to each other about 10 miles outside of the city. Sold! While the actual sites were modest--a couple of signs, short trails to cover on foot or from your vehicle--they did manage to fulfill my ultimate goal...which is to see CANNONS by the end of the day...otherwise, I just do not consider my historical experience  to be complete, I always say (and yes, just this once it's true that I DO actually say that...it had to happen at some point, right?) Oh yeah, and speaking of the educational aspect: the battles of Gaines Mill and Cold Harbor are significant because Robert E. Lee's forces were able to hold their position and repel both McClellan's and Ulysses S. Grant's armies, forcing them to temporarily abandon their quest to seize control of Richmond.

That little lesson completed my work--er, "playtime" for the day, which was fortunate, since I'd been subsisting since breakfast on my own rations I'd brought from home...and was now utterly famished. And this is where it usually sucks to be a gluten-free vegetarian...when you can't swing a stick (not that I did that--even in my woozy, calorie-deprived state I recognized that would be dangerous and ill-advised) without hitting a McDonald's...but I'd give my kingdom (or whatever) for a nice...BIG...salad. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention that, in a freakish display of irony, no doubt orchestrated by the Travel Gods and their wicked sense of humor, my lodging for the night happened to be right next to...the Phillip Morris complex. Are. You. Kidding. Me? (Anyone who knows me, give me a sympathetic facepalm would you? Unbelievable...) All I can say is, it's a damn good thing the area didn't smell like tobacco in any way, or I would have hightailed it out of there soooooo fast...as it was, I contented myself with simply glaring at the sign every time I passed it....

Anyway, trust me when I say there was nothing else on my exit whatsoever, so I thought I'd just...wing it (so to speak)...and cruise I-95 until I saw something acceptable on of those handy signs that list restaurants and such. Okay...burger joint...pizza place....the ubiquitous Subway...until finally, a Panera! There's not much there I'm supposed to eat, really, but sometimes desperation calls for....relaxing one's standards. As it turned out, I never saw the promised Panera, but instead, up ahead on the left...Chipotle! Blessed vegetables, here I come! Aaaannnnd, clearly, I've exhausted my brainpower for the evening, so I'm going to stop babbling and call it a night. Besides, I need to rest up for tomorrow's agenda: flowers and farms! Nighty night, Richmond!