A Frosty Retrospective

Well, here we are in the waning days of February, and at this point I think it’s undeniable that we’re also finishing up The Winter That…Wasn’t. I say this because in a typical year the cold period (such as it is in lovely Chapel Hill) is usually winding down right about now--as evidenced by pleasantly warming temperatures and the first brave (if somewhat reckless, depending how fickle Mother Nature behaves in these transitional weeks) flowers and buds popping out around town. But in 2020 those things began happening toward the end of JANUARY, which was super-freaky at the time, for sure, but also not quite believable, like “Yeah, yeah, daffodils and dogwoods, I see you, but don’t get used to hanging around, ‘cuz you’re gonna be awfully sorry…and frozen…when things get back to normal!” But that’s just it…the entire season was mild, which to me made it feel like some kind of weird, I don’t know…post-Fall limbo?

1983

As the odd situation dragged on through the first several months of the year, it slowly started to dawn on me that we might make it through the whole Winter without seeing even a solitary particle of white stuff to appease the Frost Giants…or what have you. And imagine my surprise when I found myself feeling…disappointed about that. I mean, this is ME we’re talking about, the person who detests being chilly…who’s struck by Spring Fever around Valentine’s Day every year (not coincidentally, when pitchers and catchers report to camp)…who moved to NC at least in part to escape the boundless freezing precipitation and endless shivering. 

And yet…I realized that if we did somehow manage to avoid the s-word, it would mark the only time in my existence—to the best of my recollection, at least—that I’d ever experienced a flake-free year. Huh. That in turn led me rambling down Memory Lane, to reminisce about some of the more noteworthy storms in my lifetime, of which 3 sprang instantly to mind. So, join me if you will for a stroll through the archives, as we examine a few snowy incidents from my past:

The first occurred in 1983. I’d gone to school as usual in the morning, and all through the day what had started out as a vague curiosity about a possible impending weather event built into excited chatter based on the prediction that we could be hit with a foot or more of accumulation. However, my biology teacher, whom we knew to be a meterological hobbyist of sorts, flatly refuted the forecast. “We’re getting 36 inches,” he stated…undeterred by the vocal skepticism of his class. And whattya know: the professionals woefully underestimated the totals…and Mr. Hoffman was bang on target.

1996

Thus blanketed by mounds of snow, our area was gifted with an unplanned week-long vacation...but the effects went much further than that. For example, my father had undergone a knee operation, and my mother was told she had to either take him home slightly ahead of schedule, or be prepared to leave him in the hospital until they dug out. (She opted to retrieve him early.) Even more…exciting…our next door neighbor evidently cut themselves with a sharp knife and called 911. But we lived on a cul-de-sac, in a rural setting, which realistically wasn’t going to glimpse a snowplow for several days, minimum. So the ambulance stopped at the top of our road, and paramedics rode a snowmobile the rest of the way to the house, then loaded the injured person onto a SLED, and dragged them back to the vehicle. I’m telling you, this was pretty wild stuff for our quiet little corner of the world, folks!

That brings us to 1996, the first time I think I heard the term “snowpocalypse” applied to a wintry scene. In this case, the story unfolded over the course of a week, in which the clouds delivered a foot of fresh powder…several different times! Given that I was living in Maryland—rather than, say, the Midwest--localities simply didn’t have the resources to launch a targeted clearing effort on the existing snowfall before the next round arrived…so it just piled up some more. I was working for a school system at the time, and you can guess that we were closed for the duration. I remember a conversation with my mother, who was sweetly concerned that I—a single woman living alone—would somehow be stranded without access to food. I reminded her that while this might be an issue for her, still living in the same house in which I grew up, in my location I could literally walk (or, you know, cross country ski, if necessary) out my front door…and stomp 50 yards across the street to the Safeway.

2009

Even better: a couple I was good friends with also were enjoying the unexpected time off, and we hatched a plan to take an impromptu trip to the nearest ski resort. While the initial excursion miiiiiight have been…um…”ill-advised”, as it involved white-knuckle navigating through blizzard conditions to reach the resort, we were abundantly rewarded by having the slopes pretty much to ourselves (yeah, yeah, because no one else was foolish enough to risk it, whatever), with pristine fluffy natural cover on the hills, the likes of which is rarely seen by East Coast skiers. We proceeded to do it again twice more during our little hiatus…thus spoiling me for any other kind of ski-bunny adventure, to be honest. Oh well, it was awesome while it lasted! 

Finally, we jump to 2009-10, which represented the first time the boys were around for significant snowy shenanigans. That season made an impression because we got socked by a major storm in December, causing everyone to dust off the “snowpocalypse” designation again—it had been a while, after all, so I guess we can forgive the newspeople for repeating themselves. But then, we got another biggie in February—and if I remember correctly it had been frigid enough that not all of the leftovers from the first go-around had melted, so it just landed on top, and inspired the journalists to scramble for an updated hyperbole…which ended up being “snowmageddon”. 

Of course, by this time it was my sons’ turn for an extended midyear break, so stop me if you’ve heard this before, the academic year was suspended for, blah blah blah, however many days it took to get us dug out. I do recall, though, how much FUN they had--riding their sleds, building snowpeople, romping with the neighbor kids, having snowball fights, etc. I also remember the less…entertaining….aspects of such an episode, like the extraordinary amount of shoveling required to clear our driveways and part of our dead-end street (the upside being that we residents all helped each other, so it ended up being somewhat social as well. Silver lining!). Not to mention the preposterous process of outfitting my little yetis with all the gear they needed to withstand their time in the tundra…several times a day with the “on again, off again” nonsense as they came in and out of the house to eat, rest, dry off, thaw out, etc.

2020

This brings us full circle back to present day. Lo and behold, no sooner had I lamented our lack of flurries, than we were lightly brushed by the…I don’t know…Ice Fairy?...who pirouetted through, waved her crystal wand, and bestowed upon us just a taste of Winter. In my opinion, it was actually perfect: picturesque drifting down from the heavens, just enough on the trees and grass to be photogenic…but not so much on the roads as to impact our daily activities very much. (And yes, of course the NC Powers That Be canceled classes…for one day before any precipitation fell at ALL, and the second day for the dusting that showed up. Having spent the last 5 years here, I can’t help but be amused by this…while also shaking my head.)

So, this fulfilled my requirements for a not-completely-lame Winter, even if just barely. It’s hard to explain, but in my mind I was beginning to feel like we hadn’t earned Spring, in some way. However, NOW we can move forward in good conscience toward the season of baseball, balmy days, and brisk breezes. (Sure, I do understand that’s not how it works…but nevertheless…) And I don’t know if you noticed, but this cycle—at least in Maryland—seems to come around every 13 years…kind of like climate clockwork! Hmm…so we’re technically still in the Mid-Atlantic region…let’s appreciate our good fortune for now, and make a mental note to brace ourselves for the next epic tempest…in 2022!

Sampling Savannah (Part 2)

Unfortunately for us intrepid Savannah tourists, Sunday featured a whole lot of water falling from the sky. (Which by the way I also hadn’t packed for…sigh. You’d think I wasn’t a veteran traveler, for crying out loud…) However, the Moms on a Mission were not to be deterred from venturing forth into the city and having All. The. Fun—albeit seeking out more sheltered options to try to prevent the dreaded Drowned Rat Syndrome. (Again, lacking the proper gear, this couldn’t altogether be avoided. So, damp clothes and dripping hair became the natural order of the day…and yet, she (we) persisted…)

Just how inhospitable was the weather? Well, we even resorted to driving the van we’d rented…the one that had sat dormant while we hoofed it all over town on foot on Saturday. The party bus first stopped at the American Prohibition Museum, a site one of our group had found and suggested because it got good reviews and sounded like something that would interest us (i.e. a close-knit band of uber-nerds…or, you know, “my tribe”…).

And let me tell ya, she—and the critiques—hit this one out of the park. I realized I didn’t actually know that much about America’s dry period, and we’ve already established how much I love to learn stuff, so I found the information itself absolutely fascinating. Plus, they did a fabulous job on the presentation, using plaques you could read, videos that illustrated some of the events and personalities of the time, actual artifacts and photos from the era, lifelike wax figures that lent realism to the stories, and costumed docents who added layers of details to the exhibits.

Because I can’t help myself and am dying to share what I picked up, here are some of my favorite take-aways:

--the law was in effect for about 14 years, from 1919-1933

--Savannah’s waterways were actively employed for the smuggling trade, and the city in general tried to dodge the rules as much as they could get away with (yay, rebels!)

--Maryland was one of the holdout states that never enacted its own statute

--the unintended consequences (that eventually led to the regulation’s downfall) were staggering, including the meteoric rise of organized crime (Al Capone et.al.), detriments to public health from concocting and consuming poorly made, unregulated, and/or dangerous substitutes; the rejuvenation of the Klan, who twisted the prohibitionists’ reasons for the war against alcohol to justify and further their own anti-immigrant, white supremacist agenda

--it was basically unenforceable, due to a lack of manpower and resources in the overextended FBI

--of course, a direct result was the proliferation of secret speakeasies, some of which were…let’s say “classier than others”, but there were myriad ways people got around the ban

--based on all the previously legal activities that were now forbidden, there were more arrests and folks being brought to trial, which taxed the judicial system and led to the inception of plea bargaining and probation, to ameliorate crowding in the already jam-packed prisons

--and finally, I was highly amused by the moguls of the nation’s large beer companies, who ingeniously turned to manufacturing other products, to wait out the suspension of their primary livelihood. See if you recognize some of these: Coors (started a ceramics division, still in existence today!), Pabst (cheese, which it then sold to Kraft when Prohibition ended), Yuengling (ice cream and dairy), and the ever-visionary Anheuser-Busch (ice cream, soft drinks, truck parts (!), and the first non-alcoholic beverage).

Whew! Yes, it was a LOT to take in, but highly entertaining and well worth it. We weren’t done yet, though, as there was another tour we wanted to squeeze in, that only offered one timeslot. So we slogged a couple of blocks to the First African Baptist Church, where we settled in and prepared for a very different but equally enlightening educational experience.

I wasn’t sure what I’d expected, but what we got was a 45-minute interactive lecture given by a young man with a bountiful gift for storytelling. At the outset he stated, “I don’t like to see people just nodding at me, ‘cuz that means what I’m saying isn’t really making an impression.” So he left deliberate pauses in his narrative, for us to finish his sentence or answer a question. If we got too quiet for his taste, he’d prompt us to respond to his latest comment with a, “Yes, no, maybe?”  (It. Was. Awesome! I wish there’d been a test, because he was an exceptional teacher, and I was ready!)

Anyway, he told us about the institution’s founding in 1773 by a freed black man, although given the timing, all of its early attendees would have been enslaved people. At first the worshippers gathered on the banks of the Savannah River, until the congregation grew too big for this to be feasible, at which point they solicited contributions from members—who donated from their paltry earnings, sometimes meaning funds they’d been saving to buy their own freedom--and began to build an actual sanctuary.

Eventually they needed even more space, so they expanded the lower level, and added a balcony. When we trooped upstairs to see the newer section, our leader made a point of debunking a common stereotype: that enslaved people couldn’t read or write. In fact, he assured us, many were allowed to learn, if their masters leaned toward the progressive side, and those who gained the skills then taught others. He used this to preface the fact that each pew in the balcony bore symbols that at first glance could be mistaken for simple scratches, but were in reality Hebrew and Arabic characters. Amazing.

It was just one of a plethora of intriguing tidbits about the church and its followers. For example, in the main sanctuary, somehow the oak pews and floors, as well as the stained glass windows, remain in pristine condition. (I mean, they seriously look like they could have been installed, like, yesterday.) And then, for the grand finale, our guide addressed a famous highlight of the church’s background—the assumption that it acted as a stop on the Underground Railroad and assisted slaves in escaping their southern owners. He smiled enigmatically as he declared, “Now, I can’t confirm anything about that. You see, no written records of such events exist…because that could get you thrown in jail or killed. But here’s what we do know…and you can draw your own conclusions.”

So we sat, mesmerized, as his true talent for weaving a tale unfolded before us. First, he pointed out that the floorboards in the basement (where we were currently located) beneath the church proper were made of Georgia White Pine, rather than the hard oak upstairs. It’s softer, more pliable, and more moisture-prone, so it had to be treated and dried out before being used to build. However, that meant it wouldn’t creak—for instance, when someone was trying to move silently across it…perhaps to hide? Next he described the crawlspace underneath our feet, presumably designed to allow airflow for the floors to stay dry and resist warping…but also theoretically big enough for humans to hide in…if the need arose.

And finally, he drew our attention to the identical, clearly defined patterns of holes drilled into said floors at intervals around the large room. These, he explained, took the shape of the BaKongo Cosmogram, an Ethiopian religious symbol. So, if someone were to kneel down next to one, lower their head, and appear to be praying, it wouldn’t ring any alarm bells…like it would if they were actually communicating with someone concealed in the crawlspace. You see what I mean? Absolutely compelling stuff.

After that, our brains were chock-full of newfound knowledge…but our stomachs were profoundly empty. Thus we braved an annoying downpour (complete with sneaker-drenching puddles, if you weren’t alert enough) to find a suitable lunch venue. We ended up at Two Cracked Eggs, a quirky joint serving southern delicacies like shrimp and grits, corned beef hash, and biscuits that were almost as big as our heads (plus warm coffee, which at that moment for me was the true selling point).

Warmed up and sated…but still somewhat bedraggled, we headed back to our rowhome to regroup and relax. This quickly led us to a unanimous decision to just stay in that evening, throw together a meal from the varied contents of our refrigerator (homemade tapas FTW!), lounge around in pjs, and enjoy each other’s company before we all went our separate ways the next day. Since there was a temporary respite from the showers, I opted for another brief walk around our charming neighborhood to admire the dazzling architecture and delightful atmosphere one final time. 

Alas, Monday morning arrived all too quickly, and our fabulous whirlwind getaway came to an end. Even though I’ll miss these lovely ladies until our next trip, I’ll console myself by recalling the abundant laughter, special bonding, and precious memories we made together in Savannah. Another super-successful mini-vacay with some of my favorite Mom Friends…and a shoutout to Savannah for the heartwarming southern hospitality. Besides, we’re already scheming for 2022, so let the countdown commence! 

Savannah Saga (Part 1)

At long last, after much parleying, planning, and preparing, the highly anticipated Playgroup Moms' Getaway II arrived. This year's version would have us uniting in Savannah, coming from our various compass points in several different modes of transportation. To wit: the gang from Maryland booked a flight together; one pal from Wisconsin had her own airplane odyssey (including a bummer missed connection); the Atlantan opted to Greyhound over for the "sit back and relax" factor...and as for me, I chose to motor the 5+ hours from North Carolina because...well, in retrospect, I'm not totally sure why...but that's how just how I roll? Sure, I do love traveling, and driving doesn't bother me. But I'm gonna be honest, after about the 3-hour mark I was like "Ugh, are we there yet?" (Stop me if you've heard this before: Diet Pepsi saves the day...)

Eventually, of course, we all convened at our (gorgeous, incidentally) AirBnB rowhouse, at which point it hit us...we're all heeeeere! After two years, we were finally together again, and sooooo excited to see each other. To get the party started, we toasted with some chocolates that one of the thoughtful husbands had sent--so that was an appropriate and delicious beginning to our long weekend o'fun. Then the wheels started turning...specifically "Now that we're settled, where should we eat dinner?" (Yeah, we're nothing if not practical...and food-driven...)

After agreeing on a local establishment that sounded yummy--and seemed to be close by, according to the ever faithful Google Maps--we set out on foot to attempt to actually locate it. Which ended up being a comedy show in and of itself, as a small cohort of very intelligent, competent, and generally street savvy women literally wandered in circles, staring at the screen, wondering why the mystical eatery wasn't appearing to us. Seriously, it got so silly that we even stopped to ask a group of GIRL SCOUTS if they knew where it was. (They didn't, sadly...or just didn't want to assist us because we didn't have cash for cookies? Sigh...)

Of course, we did eventually stumble onto the correct block (mumble mumble...right around the corner from our accommodations),...but we'd forgotten to take into account the fact that it was Valentine's Day, meaning there was no room for our sizable band that evening. However, those treat-hawking young ladies had been stationed right in front of a Kroger's grocery store, so the backup plan quickly became "buy food and eat in". Done, and done!

And it worked out beautifully, since that allowed us to hang out, chat, and catch up all in the comfort of our own kitchen...right up until we took ourselves off to bed...because believe me, we had a BIG DAY of activities coming up, so we figured we'd need our rest.

In fact, the next morning--after partaking of some of our supermarket delicacies for breakfast--we hit the ground running...or, you know, "strolling", as our first order of entertainment was a walking tour of the downtown historical district. We meandered under the soaring canopy of trees lining the quaint streets, listening to the engaging guide tell stories about Savannah's past, including its involvement in both the Revolutionary and Civil wars--all of which was utterly fascinating. As a first-timer to this picturesque city, it seemed to me like every building was an architectural work of art, and every block boasted either its own grandiose church, or a charming park, complete with a significant statue commemorating one famous person or another.

Not to mention the edifices that were actually important, such as Juliet Gordon Low's house (founder of those non-helpful Girl Scouts...just kidding about that last part!) and General Sherman's headquarters (we northerners nodded politely and kept our mouths shut about that one!). It was my favorite kind of thing: both educational and amusing. I mean, how could you possibly miss with a leader who--upon spotting an apparently familiar local man, who wears a flowered jumpsuit and George Washington-type wig and offers to take selfies with tourists--dryly commented, "In Savannah, we don't hide crazy....we put it out on the porch and hand it a cocktail!" Priceless, I tell ya!

At the conclusion of our wonderful excursion, we moved on to the next endeavor...lunch...and preferably inside! You see, despite the weather forecast promising us a sunny 60*, the reality turned out to be much nippier than that...and quite blustery to boot. We were...honestly somewhat miffed; after all, we came to the SOUTH, for crying out loud, so what gives, Savannah? Anyway, suffice it to say that several of us...me included....had packed slightly more....optimistically than conditions warranted. (Yeah, yeah, I was freezing--are we surprised? But we shivered...and sucked it up...) Luckily we found a quirky little joint called Kayak Kafe where we enjoyed a tasty meal full of organic, freshly made goodness. But then we went and undid all our hard-earned toastiness by standing in a fairly extensive line for Leopold's, a beloved ice cream parlor we'd been told was a must-sample. (Also incredible hot cocoa, so I was able to re-warm. Win!)


Thus fortified (again) we continued our pedestrian spree by visiting the breathtakingly beautiful St. John's Cathedral and bustling, scenic Forsyth Park. Whew--that was a chock-full day of sightseeing, folks! We hoofed it back to our rental to regroup and spend a bit of downtime...before we had to eat again, of course. This time we'd managed to secure a reservation at the tiny Tulum Cantina, where we noshed on excellent Mexican fare to finish off our Saturday.

Happy-but-tired campers, we now find ourselves ready and yes, eager to repeat the sleep portion of our agenda...so we can get up and do some more cool stuff tomorrow. Whoo hoo! Or, good night, Savannah...zzzz

Working on my chill (spoiler alert: I have a loooong way to go!)

So, it's been a minute (or, you know, "5 years"…yikes!) since I showed my face--or the rest of my creaky middle-aged body, for that matter--in a yoga studio. Initially I had to stop going when my left hand started acting up, such that putting any weight on it, like in the downward dog pose, for example, caused me agonizing pain. (Very much NOT what you’re seeking in an activity that’s supposed to enhance one’s overall sense of calm, centeredness, and physical well-being, amiright?) And unfortunately, right on the heels of that issue, other body parts started clamoring for attention…luckily only one at a time, but it was still enough…internal complaining…that I didn’t feel like I was going to benefit from trying to go back.

But hey, for whatever reason, the new year ushered in a fresh burst of optimism. So even though I’ve accepted that at my age there will probably always be some random joint or muscle or whatever giving me grief, I figured what the heck, let's give it another shot. (I mean, what’s the worst that could happen--it hurts and I need to quietly excuse myself? Eh, I’m also old enough to be beyond embarrassment about these kinds of things, so can live with that…)

Now, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t prepared to do anything crazy-pants, like sign up for an entire series of classes. (Because that’s me: breezy, plan-less, no-commitment chick, right? Ha! Never mind…) Instead I checked local businesses for drop-in prices. (And let me tell ya, folks, there are a plethora of options around here. Sheesh, you can’t swing the proverbial stick without hitting a wellness-related establishment of some kind…’cuz apparently, that’s just how we roll in Chapelboro, y’all…)

I found a couple of intriguing sessions, where you either paid a flat $5 fee (perfect for “testing the waters”, so to speak), or offered a donation of your choosing, with the suggested amount being $5-$20. I registered for the less expensive Community Class, which according to the website would be taught by an instructor-in-training (hence the reduced cost, I’m sure). I decided that, given my own potential…complications…that could crop up during the lesson, I was totally okay being a guinea pig for someone else to hone their technique on…or what have you. After all, it’s yoga, for crying out loud—how bad could it be?

 So I dusted off my mat (literally, since it’s been spending the long interval away from its true purpose by acting as a…tushie cushioner…during bootcamp, outside on the grass or a gritty basketball court) and showed up for the evening hour of zen. Our leader first shared that her theme for the practice would be: showing some love for…your feet! Seriously….could it BE more perfect? (Thanks, universe, I get it--I’m supposed to be here…)  

We began by sitting cross-legged....weeeeell, in theory, at least, because I quickly discovered that was gonna be a HARD PASS, as the hips were vehemently making it known that they were having none of it. Ohhhhkaaay, then…not such an auspicious start, but moving on to the next…oh, hello, knees, how YOU doin’? They, also, had many things to say, which went something along the lines of, “Ow! Not cool! What is this torture? We hate this! What'd we ever do to YOU?" (I swear, they're sooooo melodramatic...) Aaannnnnd, this was quickly followed by "A pleasant good evening to you, shoulders!" who replied in a similar vein "What. Is. The. Meaning of This? Dislike, Dislike! Cut it out right now!"

So yeah, there was…all of THAT.  Meanwhile, I’d instigated a silent dialogue with…all of the protesting parts, in which I admonished them “Shut up, we're stretching! It's helpful and necessary for flexibility and good health, and blah blah blah. Get with the program!” (What, everyone engages in internal shouting matches with their recalcitrant appendages, right? It's totally normal! Mmm…let's go with that...thanks for playing along...)

Although this was not as distracting as you might imagine (probably because I talk to myself all the time, so I’m used to it…wait, does that make me sound weird? Oh well…) I still found myself struggling with some aspects of the poses…such as “balance”. This was disturbing to me because when I used to incorporate yoga regularly into my life, I enjoyed (but probably took for granted, to be honest) a pretty good sense of equilibrium. However, I must dejectedly report: that’s pfffft, GONE…yet hopefully only temporarily? Memo to me: start working on building it back up, stat!

And then of course there’s all the (attempted) reaching of...things. Or…ahem..not so much. (Actual translation: hahahahaha  you want me to put my hand where? Nice try, lady. Let's try something else, shall we?) In short, I'm not as limber as I believed I was...even with what I thought were realistic expectations…siiighhh (Yeah, yeah, I suppose that happens when you're lazy about incorporating the bending and whatnot into your daily routine. Who knew? Right…absolutely everyone…my bad…)

Returning to the tootsies that were meant to be the focus of this endeavor, the movements seemed to aggravate ye olde plantar fasciitis, but I'm hoping that's a transitional side effect and will fade back into the background over time if I resolve to make this a weekly event. BUT, with all that being said, I’d definitely deem it a positive experience, overall. And I strongly felt like...it could eventually lead to restoring some of that erstwhile grace and flexibility that I didn't even realize I was missing…but now am motivated to replenish!

So to sum up: tomorrow I do expect to be sore…in various hot spots. And then, I'll plan to do it all again next week, and see what happens from there. Nama…staytuned! (Sorry!)

A tangled web we weave...sort of....

Since we're currently immersed in my least favorite season, "Chilly and Dark", it seemed like a good idea to use the extra hours stuck inside to start pondering one of my...well, let's not call them Resolutions, because that implies too much commitment. So, Potential Action Items?...nah, too corporate. Self-Improvement Goals? Maybe...eh, let's just go with "stuff I want to try this year, which may or may not work out, and that's totally fine, so no pressure or judgment"...which is a terrible title, but sums it up nevertheless.

First stab, so to speak

Anyway, as I was saying before I hijacked my own train of thought, I wanted to explore some kind of hobby to occupy the longer evenings at my disposal, since all of the activities I normally like to engage in happen outside. One thing I kept coming back to was knitting, but I've never had any interest in learning this skill, primarily because you have to, you know, MAKE things like sweaters or blankets or whatnot, which doesn't really appeal to me. But then...the universe intervened...or at least the Internet. You see, an author I follow on social media started posting all of these cute projects she'd created...with crochet. First, adorable hats and scarves (which still doesn't resonate with me, since I don't wear either of them), and then even more precious wee stuffed dolls and such...until poof, she thoroughly snagged my attention with her rendition of...Baby Yoda.

Even though I still couldn't quite envision what my purpose was going to be for applying this technique, I was ready to give it a shot. (It did occur to me that perhaps I could make little beanies for newborns, and donate them to local hospitals...which actually fulfills a couple of items on my List, so...we shall see...) The next step, at least in my case, was to find and sign up for a workshop of some kind, to get the basics actually shown to me by a live person, in an interactive format. (I'm not sure if it's due to my age or just my personality, but I'm not someone who prefers watching tutorial videos online. Sure, I'll look up stuff if I need to problem-solve or whatever, but not to master something for the first time. For that, I like my instruction to be hands-on...ha! Sorry...)

It turns out that Michael's offers such sessions (no big surprise), so even though the nearest one was in the capital, I considered that "close enough for jazz". (As Husband always says, probably based on the Van Morrison song...which yes, I DID just have to look up. The things you never thought to question about someone you've known for 25 years...until you use them in a blogpost. Sheesh!) Thus I registered for the class, and dutifully purchased my recommended supplies. (Yay! Bonus field trip to craft heaven!)

Playing around at home

On the day of the big event, I headed over to the neighborhood (that would be Northwest Raleigh, for those curious) a bit early to scope it out, since it was new territory for me. And I discovered that Brier Creek is the most fabulous shopping center that I never knew about, just over 30 minutes away--and filed that for future reference. (See? Even more knowledge gained. I'm telling ya, it was an educational day, y'all!) When I showed up at the designated time, there was only one other student, which made for a cozy group. This ended up being super-helpful, since I had an inordinate amount of difficulty grasping the very first stitch the teacher showed us!

Seriously, for about a half-hour, I was frustrated enough to wonder if this was even worth it, if I simply lacked the aptitude to pick it up, if I should quit, excuse myself, and slink out in disgrace. (In such an up-close-and-personal setup this obviously would have been difficult to do without making a scene, but it's a testament to how annoyed I was that I considered it.) Fortunately, it eventually did click, and I was at least able to string together a series of the most basic stitches. Whoo hoo!

I mean, I'm not saying they were particularly pretty, or demonstrated flawless execution, or anything, but let's be honest: the bar was verrrry low at this point in the game. From there (after I think both the instructor and I breathed a shared sigh of relief) we moved on to single crochet and double crochet, both of which I was able to accomplish (again, at the Pass/Fail level) with supervision. (See photo above for the finished...product? I TOLD you it's not that attractive...or neat...or on its way to being much of anything at all. This is one of those times we must remember: baby steps, my friends...)

Making great chains! And nothing else yet...

Regardless of how hard I'd had to labor to wrangle my yarn into that one small accomplishment, when the 2 hours were up I left with a sense of pride and yes, excitement to practice, improve, and create something recognizable and even--dare I hope--useful. Therefore it felt like a success that I could build on by working on it in my free time, which was the original intent, right? So, in order to try and cement some of the lesson in my brain and fingers, I went home and attempted to replicate what I'd been taught...with mixed results. Clearly I proved I can whip off chains of those first building block stitches...which can't actually become anything without the other 2 more advanced add-ons...that I was unable to demonstrate on my own.

Siiighhh...but honestly, that's kind of what I expected. I imagined I'd have to seek out other resources to continue to progress, because let's face it, a couple of hours one time isn't likely to be enough to just run with a new skill...unless you're some kind of prodigy, which we've already established that I'm most definitely NOT. But having completed this introductory step, I now have other options available to me, such as the aforementioned YouTube, but also playdates with pals who also partake in the yarn arts, and local meetups with other crochet groups--all of which might be able to show me again how to do those pesky stitches I'm struggling with, and nudge me along when I inevitably get stuck.

So, yeah...in terms of how this fits into the Big Picture for 2020...let's say, at the moment I foresee an undetermined end...and a winding path...and no expectations about the outcome, but just enjoyment of the journey. Yep, sounds about right for the new year--okay, let's do this thing!

Mom's Taxi Service...is out of business? (Gulp...)

Once upon a time there was a little tyke who loved playing with toy cars…and trucks…and trains…basically anything with wheels, that he could push around the living room, over the furniture, into his brother, or what have you. I’d have to say his attention to all things vehicle-related peaked with his Thomas the Tank Engine obsession, which lasted for several intense years during which his loyalty was apparent all over our house, in product form (books, clothing, sheets, sippy cups…etc.) and of course best represented by the model train layout that occupied a place of honor in the boys’ play space.

Now, for many kids, this early childhood fascination matures and develops into an interest in the mechanics of stuff, or just an overall passion for automobiles. But for Riley—except for a continued fondness for locomotives—it just kind of stayed behind, like a part of his younger self. Which is a long-winded way of saying that (like his older sibling before him) when it came time to actually, you know, learn to operate a car, he reacted with…let’s call it a lukewarm reception.

I mean, sure, he got his Learner’s Permit and started logging the required practice sessions. But for him, it’s always seemed like more of a chore than an enjoyable goal. In fact, there were stretches in the beginning when he (or one of his parents) would realize that weeks had somehow slipped by without him getting behind the wheel for some training, and we’d hustle to schedule…a tune-up, if you will.

Eventually, Riley recognized the problem: he got bored seeing the same roads over and over again…and there are only so many fake errands you can make up, in order to get out of the house. (Imagine, he wanted to have an actual reason to GO SOMEWHERE, rather than the journey being the purpose…or whatever. The nerve of him…) Add to that the demands of his Junior year, and it created a recipe for…well, not making a whole lot of progress towards those elusive 60 hours.

So, his 16th birthday came and went, and we found ourselves nowhere close to being ready for the next step…which kind of acted as a catalyst to kick us all into a higher gear. (Ha! I am ON FIRE with the car puns today, y’all…) We started grinding out the trips—scraping up 30 minutes around town by taking winding routes rather than the most efficient path from Point A to Point B; working in the Costco run, which adds up to an hour there and back; and finally allowing him to take a shift on the December Maryland excursion, since he felt ready to conquer the interstates (and we agreed).

Honestly, though, if you left Husband in charge Riley probably would have reached the target much sooner, because I swear, the number of times I had to vehemently veto his questionable Dad Advice to…ahem…”fudge the numbers”…was significant. For example: “Whew, that was a long one--just write down 2 hours, I’m sure that’s close!”…for a quick jaunt to the nearest grocery store. Okay, okay, I may be exaggerating a smidge…but I did catch him recommending the old “rounding method” on more than one occasion, and had to nip it in the bud. He was…mostly kidding…but that stuff’s not gonna fly if you try to slip it past a rigid rule-follower such as moi. (So yeah, you see what I’m dealing with here, right? I’m telling ya, managing Team WestEnders is a full time job, folks…)

Finally, of course, the magic number was reached…and then it became a super-fun game of “Ugh, now we have to brave the cursed DMV to take the test.” Unfortunately, the planets didn’t align for us to make the attempt during Riley’s holiday break from school, which added the extra wrinkle of “how do I convince this young man, who’s generally 100% opposed to missing even a minute of class, to commit a weekday morning to this task”? Surprisingly, he was immediately on-board, however. I suppose by this point he was motivated enough to want to get it done, so he deemed it an acceptable trade-off for a few hours (hopefully) of postponed academic activities.

I even tried to reach the department ahead of time to set up an appointment, which is something they (theoretically) allow you to do. But when I finally got someone to answer the phone (on the 7^th call), they informed me that their next available slot was in…late April. Um…no thanks? I guess we’ll take our chances with the %$#@ line…siiiighhh. So Riley and I settled on a mutually acceptable, parentally approved “skip day” to get this done. As fate would have it, a friend happened to take her daughter earlier in the week for the same thing, so she had valuable insight to share, which mostly consisted of “get there waaaay before they open, to snag a good spot in the queue.” Noted!

Really, though, it turns out that I got off easy, because Husband—the notorious “morning person” in this dynamic—offered to take the first stint. (Assuming the worst, that this would wind up being a multi-hour ordeal. Meanwhile, I pledged to be totes supportive in spirit…while sitting in my pjs in the warm house drinking coffee. Go get ‘em, guys!)

Therefore, I was still asleep when they headed over to the local branch—where they reportedly hung around outside for 40 minutes or so before even breaching the front door to take a number and begin the REAL wait. And I held down the home fort, with bated breath, sending good luck vibes out into the universe, and hoping for cheerful news…or at least updates on the proceedings.

It was around 9:30 when Husband texted to let me know that Riley and the examiner had just gone out to the car. This meant that he’d already successfully completed the written portion, so that was a big YAY, not to mention half the battle won. And then…at 9:45 we could all exhale in relief, as the message came in, simply stating “Passed”. Whoo hoo! What does that mean? A fully licensed Team WestEnders, my friends!

Of course I sent him electronic congratulations immediately, since he was continuing on to school for the rest of the day. When he arrived back home I was able to get the rest of the pertinent details, which can mostly be summed up by 1) he was reeaaally nervous (expected and understandable); 2) the DMV dude actually inspected the turn signals and rear lights to ensure they were in proper working order (notable because…well…I might have…scoffed a bit at Husband for being paranoid and whisking the car to a repair shop yesterday to replace a burned out bulb that had him worried. Yeeeaaaah, I expect to take a lot of flack for that. Anyway, my bad…but on the plus side, dodged a bullet, right?)

And finally, there was really only one more thing I needed to know: “Where are you thinking about going, on your first solo ride?” He laughed and replied, “I’m not sure!” But if you’re wondering how excited he was to achieve this new status and independence…he was in the house approximately a half-hour before he announced that he’d decided to go for a drive. He selected the library and grocery store for his inaugural destinations (which honestly could NOT be more on-brand for this guy)…and off he went.

Whoa whoa whoa…now hold on just a second…WHAT just HAPPENED? Ohhhh, right…my baby took the car out for a spin. And I didn’t contemplate it before (because Mom Denial is sometimes a necessary and precious thing) but this might be even harder than when Derek did it. Because at that time, it was just ONE of them reaching this momentous rite of passage, but now…the younger one is suddenly also just too dang grown up for my comfort.

What I’m saying is, there are many feelings that will need to be sorted through and handled…and I’m gonna need a whole lot of time…and chocolate, and I appreciate you respecting my fragility at this difficult juncture. Ha! Just kidding—oh, never about the chocolate, though, so feel free to send a bit of the dark stuff my way. Or…heeeey…I can now ask the beloved son to Go. Get. Me. Some. Okay, I’m remembering the silver lining in all of this, everything’s going to be fine! (However, with a brand new navigator in the fam, please join me in keeping your fingers crossed for safety and serendipity, thankyouverymuch!)

A (future) Southwest Saga

During the time that Team WestEnders was all together for the holidays, we opened the discussion we like to call “where in the world should we go for our Summer vacation?” And lemme tell ya, it’s always…ahem…a spirited conversation, to say the least. Mostly because Husband and Derek tend to amuse themselves by throwing out random places chosen strictly based on how 1) inappropriate (“we’d NEVER go there”); 2) undesirable (“why the heck would we even WANT to go there?”); or 3) sheer ridiculousness (“seriously, guys, NO ONE EVER goes there, for good reason). So yeah, it’s…a process.

Frankly, the only member of our merry little band to express, you know, reasonable and valid sentiments about the destination was (not surprisingly) Riley. But rather than brave the onslaught of nonsense being perpetrated by his father and sibling, he pulled me aside privately later to share his thoughts. His first point made a great deal of sense, when considering things logically: he noted that our successful recent forays have involved a combination of nature appreciation and urban exploring. In other words, he wanted to make sure we didn’t just go on a hiking expedition, but also had a city to wander around as well.

His second idea sprang from a more personal preference, however; he lobbied that we NOT stay at any more AirBnB properties. When asked for a reason, he shook his head ruefully and admitted, “It’s just…not my thing.” Further gentle prompting elicited, “We’ve just had some…weird experiences.” Why, whatever could he mean? Well…I suppose he might be referencing the condo in Boulder, where the owner evidently stockpiled every partially-used shampoo bottle ever left by guests…and provided a pantry chock full or expired Power Bars, presumably for her renters’ culinary delight.

Or for that matter, the chic, upscale townhome in Vancouver last year, which lacked a couple of modern conveniences we (admittedly spoiled Americans) take for granted… such as central AC and a cable subscription…but nevertheless boasted skylights in the bedrooms that graciously allowed the 5 a.m. sunrise to beam directly onto the less-than-grateful faces of its slumberers.

Oh….kaaaay…I’m gonna go ahead and give him this one. “So what you want,” I clarified, “is a name-brand hotel chain where all the locations are designed to be exactly the same, and you therefore know what to expect ahead of time?” “YESSS!” he enthusiastically replied. Alrighty, then…Marriott, here we come!

After that minor detour to the planning journey, we could get back to the business of actually nailing down someplace we’d all like to visit. Since I’ve mentioned that my people weren’t inclined to be what you might call “helpful”, I wracked my own brain and came up with…Arizona…as a potential answer. After all, it automatically fulfilled one requirement, in that I’m the only one of the fam who’s been there before (just once, to the Grand Canyon, a loooong time ago). Plus, I knew that the others were intrigued by the Southwest, as a region they’ve never set foot in at ALL.

So, the one assistant I could count on—that would be Riley again, of course—did some research with me on activities, environment, blah blah blah, to try and decide if it would suit our needs. And whattya know, we discovered natural wonders galore (a national forest, a U.S. park, a tourable cave), and an interesting variety of landscapes (mountains, desert, canyons)…all just outside of (drumroll, please…) Tucson (estimated population just under a million, fulfilling our demands for “civilization” to balance the “wilderness”). Ding ding ding: I think we have a winner!

The rest of the Male Contingent were mostly amenable to this suggestion—but to be honest Derek’s only comment was that we’re “continuing to live out a Chainsmokers song”, thus he was totally cool with that. (You see what I’m working with, here? Goof. Ball….although if he insists that we stick with this trend, the only choice for our next stop would have to be…Paris…so perhaps I shouldn’t shut him down just yet! TBD…) Husband, on the other hand, voiced—admittedly rational--concerns about “how HOT it’s going to be in that part of the country…in July”. While this is certainly fair…there’s also not One. Damn. Thing. we can do about it, sooo…I think we’re just gonna have to commit to some early morning jaunts to beat the worst of the blazing sun….and otherwise suck it up.

Whew! Dealing with the Getaway Committee can be so challenging at times! But once we had…Board Approval…I dutifully scouted and booked our flights. And then I was free to tackle…the accommodations conundrum. The problem here is that we are now 4 basically full-sized humans, who need space to spread out and not be on top of each other for 5 days, and especially enough beds so that we can sleep comfortably. (Hence the reason I’d moved toward private rentals, which sometimes can land you at the sweet intersection where affordability meets square footage. Buuuuut you also take your chances on the…quirky…which apparently I’ve been forbidden from doing. Siiiighhhhh….)

Fortunately, I finally figured out that what we really need from here on out is: a 2-bedroom suite (with Queen beds). Once that became clear and I knew what I was seeking, it was just one more small step until I reached…yep, one of the Marriotts! (Riley was thrilled…) And as usual, that’s all I can do ahead of time, so now…we wait… but we can dream of cacti…caverns…and cowboys to come! 

An Unlikely Tiger Tale

One could argue that I've been kind of a one-sport wonder my whole life, as an avid follower of America's Pastime...but not so much the other professional leagues. In fact, my family would take this one step further, and call me out as someone who...well, "hate" is a word I try not to use, so let's just go with "detests"...football, in particular. Now, in a house full of passionate supporters of college athletics, you can imagine this was not a popular view--even though I defended myself by explaining that while I looooove me a beautifully thrown pass, a thrilling catch, a masterful run...it's just the whole, you know, "pummeling one another" that turned me off for so long.

Naturally, this left me out of many a Male Trio dinnertime discussion during the Fall months, as they would enthusiastically rehash and analyze the most exciting or important contests of the day amongst themselves. Then Derek chose the University of South Carolina...thereby joining Gamecock Nation, and instantly becoming wholeheartedly invested in his SEC squad's fortunes on the field. (Although to be honest, he and Riley had been following them for quite some time, since Husband's parents actually live in the other Carolina, and had been buying them school-related gear for years. So it wasn't even a little bit of a stretch to become a super-fan...)

And while I of course want the best for Derek's favorite team, and--more importantly--reveled in hearing all about his experiences at Williams-Brice Stadium, attending the actual Saturday afternoon events that comprise the center of campus life from August to November...I still remained more or less an outsider to the...gridiron culture, if you will. My only concession to the...pigskin pandemonium...was that I did like to keep abreast of the headlines on the ESPN website, just so I knew basically what was going on, who some of the best players were, which contenders were doing especially well or poorly, that kind of thing. The way I figured it, at least that way I could participate in a minor way in the family chats, without sounding like a complete ignoramus.

Okay, so that's the ancient history...which brings us to the 2019 National Championship. True to form, Derek was watching with his High School buddies at one of their houses, but it was also showing on our TV as well, with Husband and Riley keeping track of the action. Obviously, at this point I'd never been one to actually sit still for even a quarter of a football game, so I wandered through periodically to check in with the fam and see what was happening on the screen for a few minutes or so. I'd been keeping track in the weeks leading up to the playoffs, enough to know who was competing, and sort of how the experts expected it to go. So, during one of my visits, I noticed by the numbers on the scoreboard that things...didn't seem to be unfolding according to the script I'd studied. And then I happened to witness one of those aforementioned exhilarating touchdown drives by the underdog...you guessed it by now...Clemson Tigers...the execution of which even a casual observer such as myself was able to appreciate.

However, it was when the offense returned triumphantly to their sidelines to be congratulated by the rest of the orange-clad crew, and the quarterback removed his helmet, that my mouth fell open. I remember sputtering, "Um, who's the really tall surfer dude throwing the ball for Clemson?" And that, my friends, is the moment I began paying attention to college football...for real. I think I was honestly mostly fascinated by that QB (aka Trevor Lawrence) because the announcers kept mentioning that he was a "true Freshman" (I'm not kidding, if this had been a drinking game, everyone would have been utterly blitzed--ha!--by halftime. Sorry...). Translated, this meant that he was...Derek's age...and also, incidentally...kind of ridiculously talented. So yeah, it was pretty easy for me to get sucked into that saga.

Clemson of course went on to seal their defeat of perennial powerhouse Alabama and capture the Natty, and then...that was it. I kind of forgot about the whole thing during the Spring and Summer, and everything went back to normal (meaning another season of Orioles suckage, but we don't have to get into that...pretty please...). But then of course August rolled around and it was time for Derek to head back to Columbia for his next semester--stoked to get back into the swing of academia, sure, but even more eager to jump back into South Carolina's tough conference schedule. Aaannnd with the subsequent return of football coverage in the media...I found myself once more...intrigued...by the defending champs. So much so that, for the first time in my life, I found myself voluntarily not only tuning in...but even rooting for the Tigers. (Confession: I did resort to DVR-ing some of the action, so I could skip commercials...and the more boring sections. What can I say? I can't fully change my... stripes--at least not overnight!)

Well, lemme tell ya, this caused quite a stir in Casa WestEnders, folks. Husband admitted bemusedly, "I'm...just not used to you being a football fan." Riley shook his head and chuckled indulgently, presumably at just another example of Mom's idiosyncrasies. But Derek...ah, Derek. At first he was simply aghast...which quickly escalated into indignation at what he deemed my betrayal of his precious Gamecocks. This made for some hilarious Sunday convos, such as the one when he mock angrily reminded me that "You do know that you pay my tuition at their RIVAL school, right?" and then followed this up by loftily informing me that "all of his friends were mad at me too" for my misplaced loyalty.

Eh, I shrugged off his...concerns...by reassuring him that it was most likely just a brief phase that would pass quickly and harmlessly. Yet...as the season marched on, I found myself instead starting to admire the skills of other standout players--and being able to recognize them by their numbers when they were scrambling around the field. (This seemed to cause Derek more distress than any of the previous occurrences, as evidenced by him snapping at me in exasperation, "Seriously, can you even NAME anyone on my team? Jeez, Mom..." Ahem...I believe we can pinpoint this as the exact second when Derek shook his head, threw up his hands, and grudgingly accepted the new reality...)

As for me, I'm not gonna lie, I found this unexpected...hobby...somewhat disconcerting, and yet...also oddly satisfying in a way I can't fully put into words. On second thought, perhaps it's not so difficult to understand--could it have something to do with the potential for bonding with my guys? Um....that's an emphatic YES. You see, around this time Derek apparently decided he'd better just go ahead and lean on into it--so he began treating this like a normal situation, and actually talking to me about it (which was awesome, since he's my undisputed favorite in-house commentator)! This meant that we ended up with texts like this, after the big cats were victorious over the fighting chickens in the fierce Palmetto Bowl, a Thanksgiving Weekend tradition, with the winner claiming SC bragging rights:

Yep, I can't even tell you how pleasing this development was for me. Not only did I now have a previously unexplored topic to toss around with Derek, I'd also gained access to his insightful thinking process and ability to answer my questions and teach me about the game. This, my dears, is the very embodiment of a Win/Win! And to his credit, once he accepted his...new responsibilities...he applied himself to his duties with grace and good humor, such as when he messaged me after the ACC Championship game between Clemson and Virginia:

But I knew we'd really turned some kind of corner when, as the holidays approached, he began proclaiming, in what I assume he meant to be a threatening tone of voice, "I'm gonna buy you a shirt for Christmas...and you'd better wear it!" I think he was laboring under the impression that I'd be, I don't know...embarrassed by this?...but on the contrary, this actually solved a dilemma I'd been having, in which I couldn't bring myself to purchase any Clemson-related swag because, well, as a very recent convert to the fan club, and a non-alumni to boot, I couldn't really claim a valid reason to do so. But if HE happened to provide me with a gift item of apparel, then I really couldn't NOT display it proudly it, right? Whoo hoo--sounds like another of those double-win outcomes, y'all!

And then, all too soon, another season came to a close. A nail-biting victory over Ohio State...a much less favorable result when up against the juggernaut embodied by Joe Burrow and LSU this year...and it was over. But that's okay, because I seem to have officially been welcomed into the Team WestEnders football huddle...and my source for all things sports is on the job keeping me up to date on breaking news:

Oh, and my "surprise" tee finally arrived, so I'll be appropriately attired for ALL THE GAMES in Fall 2020. Speaking of which, according to Clemson's social media (because of course I follow them, duh!) Spring practices start in a short 6 weeks! Hmm, you don't think I need some kind of an intervention, do you? Actually, nah--normally at this time I'd be anticipating pitchers and catchers reporting to Florida and Arizona for Spring Training, but with another futile Os campaign ahead of us, we've gotta have something to look forward to, yeah?  Suuurrrre, let's go with that...and I'll keep you posted!

Adios, 2010s!

New Subaru and BABIES, March 2010

Like many of us, I think, I'm inundated by a hodgepodge of feelings around the beginning of a new year--typically nostalgia about the uplifting parts of the previous 12 months, along with eagerness to put the less pleasing aspects firmly behind me, mixed with a healthy measure of excitement and anticipation about what I know is coming...plus the possibility of (hopefully positive, of course!) surprises during my next trip around the sun. But...2020, y'all. That has such a...momentous ring...doesn't it? And we're just going to skip right over the debate about whether the previous decade truly ends at 19 or not, blah blah blah, 'kay? For me, it seems like as good a time as any to reflect upon the past 10 years and see...well...what's happened in this little old life. So without further ado, here's a...hmm...let's call it a non-comprehensive highlight summary of The Chronicles of Me...with substantial guest appearances by the Male Trio.

--First of all, I wrote NINE HUNDRED EIGHTY blogposts. I just...I can't even...whoooaaaaa. That's a whole lotta stories, creative punctuation, made-up words, and general nonsense. Which neatly leads me to some of the reasons for said "creative license"...

--Team WestEnders was fortunate enough to be able to do some pretty epic exploring. Our wanderings kicked off with a cruise (with stops in the Bahamas and Virgin Islands), and a super-scenic road trip (encompassing Boston, Niagara Falls plus a bonus visit with Rochester friends, and Cooperstown, NY). In what's come to be known as our "Central American Phase", we visited Mexico, Costa Rica, and Belize. When I was still laboring under the impression that I could get everyone on board for relocating to the West Coast, we did a nice long look-see in the Bay area of California. Even though my diabolical scheme ultimately didn't work (more on that in a moment) it seemed to lead us to our current "Westward Ho" agenda, in which we've already touched upon Seattle, Colorado (Denver and Boulder), and Vancouver, BC.

--In the middle of all this, of course, we did pack up and move the fam...from MD to NC. This has given us a whole new state for gallivanting, which was part of the reason I was ready for a literal "change of scenery"! We've had a blast getting to know the Triangle (Raleigh, Durham, Chapel Hill), as well as roaming further afield, to cool places like Asheville (the lovely mountains!), Wilmington (aaahhh, the beach!), Greensboro (minor league baseball's Grasshoppers...and a cool science museum!) and Charlotte (waaay too many delightful things to list!). On my own, I've also meandered through some other interesting towns, like Winston-Salem (Wake Forest U.), Fayetteville (charming holiday festival), New Bern (birthplace of Pepsi! You know, among other nifty stuff), Mt. Airy (Andy Griffith's childhood home, and the model for TV's Mayberry), Halifax (colonial re-enactment, for a change) and Carolina Beach (again with the sun, sand, and surf...yes, please!). And just because we happen to enjoy it so much, we've made our way down to Atlanta a couple of times for long weekends o'fun.

Mid-decade: Costa Rica 2015

--Not that all of our wandering is so large-scale: we've also taken quite a few field-trippy-type excursions, either with the full squad, or me and the boys on school-free days. If you're paying attention, you'll undoubtedly notice a couple of recurring motifs here, but I'll make it easy on you by saying that most of them involve either Civil War sites, hiking...or both. For example, I dragged--um "introduced"--the kids to Manassas/Bull Run and Winchester (VA), Antietam/Sharpsburg and Cumberland (MD), and Gettysburg and Hanover (PA). We all ventured to Harper's Ferry (WV), Valley Forge and Pittsburgh (PA), Catoctin (MD), Great Falls and Williamsburg/Jamestown (VA), and Charleston (SC). On my own, because I'm not only a history nerd, but also just a little bit inexplicably obsessed with battlefields, I added Fredericksburg, Petersburg, Chancellorsville, Monticello, Montpelier, and Richmond (all in VA), and nearby war-related locales like Bennett Place and Bentonville in NC.

--And sometimes, believe it or not, we do actual...leisurely things! Like enjoying America's pastime, to the tune of countless Orioles contests (both at Camden Yards and on the road), 14 minor league affiliates (mostly Durham Bulls), and 8 stadiums while on vacation (AT&T Stadium of the San Francisco Giants, Coors Field for the Rockies, Braves' Turner Field and SunTrust Park, Fenway, Seattle Mariners' Safeco Field, Nationals Park, the Pirates' PNC Park). Mind you, on other occasions we do somewhat less sitting around...and more, say, "running". In fact, since we took up 5K races as a hobby of sorts in 2013, our scorecard looks like this: Husband 13; Derek 18; Riley 27 and yours truly...34. (Whoo hoo! What do I win? Please tell me it's chocolate, after all that effort?)

--Since we're on the subject of, well, ME, the 2010s marked my first complete decade as a full-time, committed vegetarian. And, as I've written about in some detail over the course of this period, I switched-up my career (not voluntarily, but as an expected consequence of the transfer to NC...and I rolled with it), and held 3 (very different, but all fulfilling in their own way) jobs during that time. Who knows, maybe the current (still pretty brand new) one will hold me through the 20s...is that even possible? (Stay tuned...) Meanwhile, Husband continues rolling contentedly along in the industry he's been a part of since he graduated from college...and with the same company for the past 15 years...who incidentally allowed him to keep his position when we vacated Maryland and simply convert to a home-based model. So he basically gets up in the morning, throws on weather-appropriate athletic wear, and stumps downstairs for coffee and meetings. Yep, somebody's gotta be the stable partner in this relationship! (1-2-3, NOT IT!)

Holiday photo 2019

--And finally, as you can imagine, the sons have gone through some pretty major changes in the last 10 years of their young lives (besides the obvious GROWTH). Let's see, both of them "graduated" Elementary and Middle Schools, and Derek finished the whole enchilada when he earned his High School diploma in 2018. During the latter stages of that process there were naturally college tours (Clemson, University of South Carolina, Penn State, University of Maryland, UNC Charlotte, James Madison, Virginia Tech), on which some or all of us accompanied him. Then he selected the Other Carolina--becoming a proud member of Gamecock Nation--and I got to tag along for the Admitted Students event, Orientation, and all too soon, Move-In Day...also called "Mom Has a Breakdown" (I'm fine, it's all good, I recovered..eventually!) Now Derek is cruising through his Sophomore year...and as an 11th-grader, Riley's ramping up his own research about where he wants to end up for his collegiate experience. And the inevitable process of Growing Up continues unabated....siiiiighhhhh....

Woooow....that was...a lot. I know I said this little ramble down Memory Lane was meant focus on the joyful happenings, but as we move forward into the fresh decade, I also want to recall the special people we lost--my mom, a treasured great-aunt, and my sister-in-law...watching over us, sharing our triumphs, commiserating in our failures, and no doubt cheering on our next set of adventures. And there you have it! In the immortal (unapologetically stolen and paraphrased) words of Buzz Lightyear: To 2020...and beyond!