Welcome to Charlotte

Goodbye, sweet Charlotte

2010-08-02T11:20:00.000-07:00

Goodbye, sweet Charlotte!

Friday was our last day in the Queen City and we were running. Running to and from banks, dry cleaners, stores. I was exhausted yet still had a ton to do, like pack. Kevin had done most of the packing/purging and was ruthless. I'm sure a bunch of my stuff will have gone missing and some other hipster will be enjoying my things.

Thanks to my friend Melinda, I managed to round up the last of place, plus get some cleaning done too. She directed me when I was too overwhelmed to know what to do next. A little of this, a little of that and a lot of wine and we wrapped it up by midnight.

Poor daughter had a far too teary goodbye with her bestest friend and stormed off to bed. Would she ever forgive us? I sure hope so. I want this move to be good for all of us and so far, she's convinced it won't be. Wait til I drop the uniform bomb!

After an unbelievably restless night, it was time to get up and get moving. We frantically picked up our temporary bedding, did some more vacuuming, cleaning and primping of the house and closed the doors. Our neighbors Russell and Dee Dee came out to say goodbye, take some photos and wish us well.

We were off.

Now that we are NOLA bound, another blog will follow. Stay tuned...

Love to all our wonderful peeps in Charlotte. You know who you are.

Summertime, and the Living Ain't Easy

2010-07-06T19:09:00.000-07:00

Okay, it hasn't been too bad. But, it's going to get a helluva lot crazier this next month. As any of you who read my blog (all five of you!) know, we are moving to the Big Easy. The countdown is on and we now have exactly 25 days to get ready to go. Thankfully, we aren't taking our furniture quite yet so the actual moving of things is postponed until we sell our house. But, we're moving just the same and that is never easy. Even if it is going to the Big Easy. Sorry. I just wanted to say that again.

It would seem wise to take a couple of weeks off work to get prepared, but current finances don't really allow for that and our company is smack-dab in the middle of a complete web redesign. As the web editor, it's kinda my job to make sure it works. So, I'm working to the very bitter end. Keeping the balance of staying motivated at work and at home is tough and I've been a little tired and cranky as of late. Plus, it's summer vacation.

I want to say at this point, thank you to the folks at Zenith Gymnastics for making summer camp exciting and entertaining. If it weren't for your program, I may just be bald. I, nor anyone who knows him, cannot imagine what Keller would be like if he had nothing to do for 74 consecutive days. Hell, he can't go 74 minutes without stuff to do! Keller's summer has been a good one so far. IF we can keep him occupied until the day we leave, things will be much easy to maneuver and I will stay sane. And, he'll master the front flip.

As for Cyre, she's having a completely different vacation. Up all night, sleep all day... sounds like a Robert Johnson tune to me. Until this week when I forced her to take up tennis lessons, she's been a lazy lima bean. Except for the fact that she has a regular babysitting gig. Next door. With time off and flex hours. The Uslans might need to be nominated for Charlotte Parent's top 50 family-friendly companies! The regular pay and freedom to pay for movies, new clothes and accessories has been completely exhilarating and I'm not sure she'll ever be jobless again. Yeah.

Kevin continues to deliver mail to residents of Charlotte, hating every last second of it. However, it gives him plenty of time to think about things (he now has a plan to single-handed save the US Post Office millions of dollars every year) and he knows there is an end in site. The gigs he has are sweeter than ever, knowing he'll be blowing his horn into the soft winds of the Mississippi soon.

Plans for NOLA are coming along too. We've landed a place to stay on a month to month basis which fits our budget and our moving plans. We're hopeful the kids have been accepted into a very prestigious school there and will get the education they deserve. I've had a couple of interviews for jobs there and feel hopeful I will land something great soon.

Though everything is somehow working out, ("you two could fall into a bucket of sh*t and still land on your feet" according to Jo) I've still hit some bumps along the way and wonder if it will always be this way. My clumsiness never seems to go away, despite great balance and coordination. I fear I'm permanently distracted and need constant distractions to keep me from being too distracted...

Here's an example. Twice this past month I have screwed up at the bank drive-thru. Yes it's made for convenience, but I somehow manage to make it the most inconvenient process on the planet. Late one day I rushed to the bank to make a deposit to cover off checks coming out. I was elated to arrive with 4 minutes to spare. By the time I got home (minutes away) I had already received a phone call from the bank, requesting I return their tube. Oops. You would think I would have figured out what that "rolling around" sound in the car was.

Fast forward a few weeks and it's an early morning drop to once again deposit money into both Kevin and my accounts. I'm careful to leave the tube in its place before driving off. Thing is, I left my bank card and statement in it too. Once again, I arrived home to listen to yet another call from the teller, asking me to come back in and pick up my card. How can someone be that distracted??? It's easy when you've got a million things on the go, I guess.

This weekend we say goodbye to many friends at a farewell party on Burtonwood Circle. It will be extremely bittersweet but the right thing to do. Saying goodbye ain't easy. Even if it means going to... you know where. So if you're around, join us in a toast to the town that has been so good to us.

Cheers.

If you love... then you should buy our house

2010-05-24T15:26:00.001-07:00

People, we need to sell our house.
Pronto.
Help us get the word out so we can move forward. Here's a hint on the kind of person who will get it. Not everyone will love our little jewel of a neighborhood with muscians, artists, school teachers and even politicians. But, if you know and love us, I'm hoping you might know someone else who's kinda like us and would love our home.

If you like fiesta ware, then you should buy our house.

Wish you could take a trip to the Pacific Northwest and see the magnificent Redwoods? Then you should buy our house.

If you dig on trying new foods, eating at South American restaurants, ordering sushi as take out and own your own chopsticks, then you should buy our house.

Shop at the farmers market? Then you should buy our house.

If you appreciate turned wood, artisan jewelry, North Carolina pottery and craft shows, then you should buy our house.

Volunteer to help the homeless? Then you should buy our house.

Love playing disc golf? Our neighbor across the street is one of the country’s leading designers of disc golf courses. You should buy our house.

Do you listen to NPR? You should definitely buy our house.

Have jazz and blues on your iPod? Our house is currently owned by a Grammy-nominated jazz artist. You should buy our house.

Think David Sedaris is a genius? Can you recite even a smidgen of one of his monologues? You should buy our house.

Read Creative Loafing? Our house is currently owned by a contributor to Charlotte’s edition. You should buy our house.

Do you appreciate mid-century architecture? You’d love our neighborhood. You should buy our house.

Have you ever attended a Pecha Kucha event? Both owners have participated in one. So, you should buy our house.

Would you stop and admire a deer in the yard, without wanting to get out a gun? You should buy our house.

Are you a dog person? You will love our neighborhood. You should buy our house.

Have friends who play for the other team? Some of our neighbors do (and it’s not a secret). You should buy our house.

If you love…then you should NOT buy our house.

If you love manicured lawns, you should NOT buy our house.

If you love the suburbs, you should NOT buy our house.

Belong to a prestigious country club? You should NOT buy our house.

Go to church because it’s a great way to network? You should NOT buy our house.

If you love sitting on the board of a HOA, you should NOT buy our house.

If you believe in volunteering as a mean of resume packing, you should NOT buy our house.

If you believe Glenn Beck makes perfect sense, you should NOT buy our house.

Tell your friends, relatives, neighbors, people you sit next to at work, chatty friend at Zumba class...

Thanks for your help. We'll keep you posted on the next phase of our journey!

Bright Lights, Big Cities - Toronto

2010-05-16T06:15:00.000-07:00

It doesn't matter how often I go or what time of year it is when I arrive, a trip home to Toronto still gives me butterflies. Our visit was planned around the kids' spring break and a series of gigs Kevin put together. It was like the travel gods and the gig fairy met at Starbucks up in the heavens for a latte and decided to smile down at us. It all worked out!

The drive to Canada was relatively smooth, considering we got a late start. I was needed at work and had a bunch of things to get ready for an upcoming event. Had anyone in the office known our server was going to temporarily blow up while I was gone, I'm sure my PTO days would not have been approved. Anyhow, we arrived at our friend Chris' house quite late but managed to find her key in its secret hiding spot and tumble into bed by 2 am.

It was so strange to wake up in someone else's home in another country! Know what that's like? You have to stop and mentally recount your voyage just to make sure you aren't hallucinating. At least I do. It's probably leftover from my college years...

Up early, we didn't waste a second meeting up with friends and family. That's how it always is. Every trip we SWEAR we aren't going to over do it, over schedule ourselves and spread the Clark love too thin. And, every year we do. But, this time it didn't feel quite as crazy. A trip to Kensington Market was first on the agenda. It's one of my very favorite hang outs. The plan was to look for some cool tees, buy something fresh to eat and people watch. I'd never seen so many people in such a small radius!

Seeing as this was also Easter weekend (I guess the holiday muse met up with the other two at Starbucks!) I was prepared for weird weather. There were many times I traveled home from New Orleans at Easter with sandals and shorts on, only to be greeted with falling snow. This time however, I brought sweaters, jackets and boots. But, for absolutely no reason. It was hot in Toronto. So hot in fact, I was convinced I was witness to the effects of global warming right there in the market. Unbelievable!

I know I'd spent far too much time in the bible belt that is North Carolina cause I had forgotten that Toronto is a region that celebrates many holidays. And, stays open for them too. I knew Charlotte was going to be a virtual ghost town on Good Friday, except for church parking lots. Worried that stores might not be open, I was hesitant we'd find anything to do. Ha! The place was jammin', with grilled seafood being served up right on the street, musicians everywhere and people packed in the park. Again, hadn't seen so many people side by side in quite a while.

After lunch and visiting with friends and family, it was time for another adventure. I was going to meet up with a few friends from high school at a restaurant in the next town. Thanks to social media, I had learned that another friend living in the US was also traveling to TO and we decided to grab a drink together. She let others from high school know and before long, we had ourselves a mini reunion. It was great fun. Bizarre, but fun. You know how some people never change? Sometimes that is so true, as is the case of the friend from the US. She was as nutty as ever. Hilarious, outspoken, warm and outrageous, but still capable of eliciting a jaw-drop at any time.

We were racking up the miles on the car and had dinner plans with more friends at the other end of the city. Though it's definitely not my favorite restaurant, no trip to TO is complete without spaghetti at the Tulip. Our friends Job and Zarica and their daughter Ava joined us and Chris for dinner. The spaghetti was exactly the same. So were the super smelly washrooms. The place is always packed so they cannot be hurting for money. Someone ought to tell them to invest in a new sewer system!

Though I was exhausted, I had promised my brother we'd meet him for yet another drink. Kevin had also made plans to sit in with a few friends at a club downtown so it was going to be another 2 am night. I can't even remember the last time I'd done that in the past YEAR, and here I was pulling two late nights off in a row. I met my brother and his "friend" at a pub in our old hood, which was great. I was glad to see that she was quite good at poking fun at him. He definitely needs it. Again, another person in my life who remains consistent. He too is outrageous, hilarious and outspoken. The warm part, hmmm... jury is still out.

Now it was close to 11 pm and I was so ready for bed. But, Kevin really wanted to see some guys he used to play with, so off we went to the Pantages hotel. It's a chic little lounge, where pianist Robert Scott and drummer Great Bob Scott (no relation) did their thing. They were thrilled to see Kev and have him sit in. I settled in with a soda water and enjoyed listening to my husband play. He's a different person when he's got his horn... Just as he was getting ready to say goodbye, in walks man-about-town and jazz DJ, Jaymz Bee, with 20 or so jazz fans on one of the infamous Jazz Safaris. Watching Jaymz's reaction to seeing Kevin playing was priceless. His eyes bugged out and he furiously starting whispering to all the jazz fans. I knew at that exact moment that we weren't going anywhere!

Somehow we managed to get ourselves back home and to bed, but this time it was past 2 am. Thankfully, I didn't have to get up too early. Chris had shopped for us which meant we were going to feast that next morning. We had a lazy breakfast, then made our plans for the day. Cyre was going to spend the day and night with her friend Ava and Chris, Keller and I were driving to Guelph to meet up with Lydia and her daughter. Kev had a gig in Waterloo and was looking forward to all the accolades he was due for.

It was a long haul but great to see Lydia and Evelyn. She still has the same dry wit, wicked sense of humor that I so depend on. We managed to find ourselves some excellent Asian cuisine in town and cruised a few vintage shops while there. I never seem to have enough time to spend with Lydia but I am content to steal them whenever I can. She and I have been through so much together in our personal lives and I know we'll always remain friends.

As the afternoon faded away, I was glad to be back on the road to Toronto and was ready for a little down time. We planned dinner at a nearby restaurant with another super close friend, Deb and her son Henrique. Derrick was also going to join us. I just couldn't imagine a trip to TO without spending tons of time with my man! It was fantastic to catch up with Deb, watch Keller laugh with Henrique and eat delicious tapas. I try and eat as much ethnic food as I possibly can when I go home cause I just can't get as much in Charlotte. After dinner we went back to Chris' place for more wine. It was an awesome night and I managed to get in bed by midnight.

Sunday morning we dropped Kev off at his gig at the Distillery and headed to the One of a Kind Show. I had forgotten that the shopping gods were also with us!!! Yes, I was going to be in town for my absolute favorite retail experience!!!! Tickets to the event weren't expensive but the $3.75 bottle of freakin tap water was a shock to my system. "I hope it's from the bloody Nile" was all I could come up with when I was given the bill. The poor girl working behind the counter apologized, like somehow she was responsible for the gouging. Whatever.

Birthday gifts were found for both Kevin and Keller, and Chris and I drooled over all the gorgeous handmade clothing and crafts. Of course no trip to the One of a Kind show could ever be complete without sampling a chutney, a veggie dip or a handmade piece of chocolate something-or-other. I just couldn't believe my luck! Thank you, gods.

We picked up Cyre and Kevin and headed north to see my brother and sister-in-law which meant more fantastic food, lots of laughs, a comfortable bed and a walk in the woods. Now this is the part of the trip I never prepare for. You would think I'd know to bring one crappy pair of pants and some totally un-adorable pair of boots. But no, I always end of borrowing clothes and footwear from someone else. Jo-anne joined us and she and Sharon planned a dinner that included presents and birthday cake for the boys. It's at these moments I miss my family most; when we're sitting around the dinner table swapping stories and laughs.

As always, it was too soon before we said goodbye and headed back to the city. We had made plans to spend a night with our good friends Chris, Leigh and Jasper. But, before we made it to their place, we stopped in to see Steven and Mary Frances. Mary looks totally different every time I see her. I guess that's the beauty of being a teen. You can change your look, your music, your muses and your identity at random without anyone thinking anything of it. If only adults had that freedom!

It was starting to feel a bit nutty at this point and I was ready to stay put for at least one day. We planned on spending at least 24 hours with the Lamonts. They had just been to Charlotte a couple of months before and we couldn't wait to see them again. Their son Jasper is the cutest thing with a totally serious side and a wacky toddler sense of humor. It's a delicious combo! We had another great meal, set the kids up with some TV and built us a fire in the backyard. To be sitting outside at night in early April in Canada without freezing our asses off was very, very strange. It made me a little nervous. However, copious amounts of wine helped.

The next day we took a walk around Etobicoke and stopped by the lake for a view. That's one thing about Toronto that makes me sad. The lake always seems like an afterthought, not an integral part of the city. You know, "let's have a look," rather than "OMG look at that magnificent body of water!" I really cannot imagine it ever getting the attention it deserves. Not in my lifetime.

Chris and Leigh live close to High Park and we always try and spend time here so we can eat at our favorite Polish restaurant. Cyre's second most favorite food is perogies and Polonez makes some of the best. I ordered Borscht, which pretty much grosses everyone else out. I do love beets but it's the idea of ordering something that's readily not available anywhere in the south which secretly makes me happy. After a lovely lunch and a trip to a couple of vintages stores (score on the groovy blue leather boots!), we bid adieu to the Lamonts and headed over to our friends Benj and Pascale's place.

Kev had a gig at the Old Mill and I was going to take Cyre along. Keller was thrilled to be spending the evening with boys, doing boy things like playing soccer. My oldest friend Klara (I'm talking years, not age) and her beau were going to meet us, as was my brother Michael. I was looking forward to hearing some more great music. The show was a CD release party for a female singer. The band was great but the leading lady was not. It was like watching "April" from Glee get bombed and putting on a variety show; only Kristen Chenilworth can really sing and this babe could not. There were moments that were absolutely cring-worthy, and they had nothing to do with the band. Oh well. It was great spending time with my big brother and one of my bestest girlfriends. And, it was so exciting to take Cyre along, to a very adult evening. She behaved magnificently and managed to not be too bored.

We managed to get home by a decent hour and to bed almost early. which was a nice change. Kev had to be up early for a clinic and the kids and I had plans to head downtown to spend the day with my sister Jo. We were going to have breakfast together and then hit the mall for some shopping. It was amazing to walk past my old university and see how much it's changed. But, nothing prepared me for Dundas Square. It really is trying to be a mini Times Square and it's succeeding. Even the all-cross traffic lights were something to marvel at. It just didn't feel like the Toronto I knew.

Unfortunately, by mid day I started to feel ill and we wound day our big day. All the dashing from one end of the city to the other must have caught up with me and I was in desperate need of a nap. After many hugs, we said goodbye to auntie Jo and headed back west. Thankfully, Benj and Pascale have a ginormous house and I was able to get some rest. We had planned a dinner together with our friends which again always includes amazing food. Thank god our friends know we are total foodies! Waheeda had just arrived back home after an amazing trip down under and managed to sneak over for a few hours. Before I knew it, I was parked in front of subway saying goodbye to my buddy way sooner than I wanted to. But, I know she'll be down to see us before long.

We packed our bags that night and prepared for the second part of the trip, to another big city with bright lights... NYC. That, however, will have to be another blog entry.

The Only Gay Eskimo in my Tribe

2010-03-13T08:53:00.000-08:00

My heart is a little broken. I knew this day would come, I just didn't think it would get here so suddenly, and I'm a bit confused on how to deal with it. Finding one's own identity is tough. Just ask my eight year old boy. He's a brilliant, funny, obsessive weird little dude, and I say that with the most love a mother can muster. Despite the fact that most adults absolutely love him, most kids do not get him. It never bothered him until now, when the awareness of who we or he in this case, are in relation to others. It has finally sunk in. He is not like the others.

Every parent wants their kid to shine, to be a bright star in their own world. Who doesn't want their child to be loved, have a butt load of friends, be asked to all the birthday parties and called on to play on someones team? I do. Keller should have all of these things, and yet, does not. It's certainly not for lack of trying. He isn't mean, a disgusting booger eater, or a jerk. Well, on occasion he acts like a jerk. He marches to his own drum and lots of kids don't hear it.

First of all, he looks different. His hair is longish, and usually not brushed and stringy because he spends so much time outside chasing after imaginary Dutch soldiers. Keller's favorite outfit consists of a pair of blue khaki pants that are too short with worn out knees, his old dress shoes a.k.a. "hobo shoes", a grey army shirt with tiny holes around the neck from chewing on it, and a dress jacket that makes him feel like James Bond. And, a belt. He ALWAYS has a belt on, usually pulled too tight. He likes the outfit cause he can stuff toy guns, lucky charms and his M6 identity card in all the pockets. He is happy when he wears this outfit, so I let it go. He isn't allowed to wear it to school or church or out in public, really. But when we're home and he's just going to save the world, I let him have at it.

Keller acts different, which is the biggest reason why kids don't always relate. He obsesses about many things including Egypt, mummies, weapons, wars, littering and whatever television show his sister is into. Hie is very sensitive and his feelings are easily hurt when he is slighted. I know how hurt he is because it usually ends with him whispering in my ear about a not-so-nice situation. Bedtime means plenty of snuggling and serious talks about school, troubling encounters with classmates or a specific scene in a Batman movie that I've seen a bazillion times and don't really care to hear about again, but which totally gets him going. It's much.

If you didn't know him, you would think he is nothing but a know-it-all. Sometimes he acts like an annoying smarty pants, but mostly he's just a walking encyclopedia who is dying to share new things he has learned with anyone who will listen. I often think he just needs to get it out so he can make room in his brain to fill up with more knowledge. Some kids in his school slot him under the annoying know-it-all category. Others think he is a bore or too smart for his own good. Some are in awe of his brain, but they usually don't say much. I think he has a tough go at school.

I know he does. There are a group of kids, boys and girls, who have been making fun of him for the past few weeks, telling him he is worthless and that no one wants to be his friend. He is, of course, priceless. But the truth is, he doesn't have too many friends at school. He has one buddy in a higher grade with whom he hangs with. But their friendship is somewhat dictated by the fact that his parents and grandparents are friends of ours.

Last week as I was tucking Keller in bed, he told me about the kids telling him he was worthless. I of course wanted to march to school and flick them in the side of their heads, but refrained. What I did tell him was that tons of people think he is cool. And then, it came out out of his mouth, like a sad truth we never want to face. "No I'm not; I'm a geek," he answered. As much as it broke my heart, I knew it was sorta true. He is weirdly book smart. He dresses strange.

"Not everyone will get you. Not everyone will be your kind of people," I answered. "And, you cannot worry about them. Just know that many, many people love you that will grow as you get older." It's the best I could come up with on the fly and it is the truth. Thankfully, he sort of accepted that. It's going to be a little lonely for him but he'll manage. He'll learn from it and something great will come out of it.

For example - there's a hilarious song from a defunct Toronto band named Corky and the Juice Pigs, that sums up this feeling. "The Only Gay Eskimo in my Tribe" is one of the saddest, funniest songs I've ever heard. Every time this band played this tune, it would send the audience into hysterics. I loved it too, but not just because it was so weird, but because it was sung with such conviction, I had to believe there was some true feelings behind it. I do not think my son is gay and he is definitely not an Eskimo. He is often lonely and misunderstood. But one day he will laugh with the world ,and honor loneliness and being different. I cannot wait.

My Tween is Like, Almost a Teen. Seriously.

2010-02-19T18:43:00.000-08:00

Today my daughter has taken another skip toward teendom. Toward the era of darkness, as my boy so wisely predicts. Her 12th birthday is exciting for her, bittersweet for me. I've had an entire year to consider her maturity, the changes she will experience, the excitement, the agony that begins for both her and her parents. And yet, it snuck up on me. Damn.

I spent the week thinking about how to celebrate this birthday. Should I take her out for a nice meal? Should we do the typical trip to the mall? A meal at home with the family wasn't in the cards. Hubby was gigging and I had an appointment around dinnertime. I wanted it to be special. She had talked about a sleepover or a night time party, but her best buddy was out of town and so the party would have to wait.

As the day neared, we scrambled to get her the most important gift of all, a cell phone. As much as I dreaded the foray into triple digit texting frenzy, she was now of the age where she could stay after school for football games. This meant another step toward independence for her, which means we had to find a way to stay tethered without her feeling or knowing it; a cell phone, unfortunately, is a solution. Let the texting begin! I am afraid. Her best friend sent over 100 messages HER first day. What on earth could they say???

I soon found out. Immediately after picking her up from school I was told she'd been invited to a movie with her friends. We would go pick up her phone so she could text, not call, and get the details. We headed out to her favorite bakery where we indulged ourselves with pastries and text messages. Yes, we sat directly across from each other and texted our plans for the rest of the day. As ridiculous as it was, I went along with it. Kids today! As weird as it seems, it makes her happy and feel connected. To me it seems like a total disconnect but what do I know?

On the way to pick up her brother, we took a detour to a home decor/consignment store which was great fun. We found a dresser and a cool table for the foyer. And some great chairs, outdoor set and a pinball machine. We didn't walk out with any of those items, but instead purchased a $2 pair of purple earrings for Cyre. Happy Birthday!

Next on the agenda was a visit to the doctor. The kids were great. They played with toys, read books and played with cell phones Sometimes technology had its moments and this was one of them. If it could keep the peace for an hour, then I was down with it.

We grabbed homemade pasta and Chinese at the grocery, a movie to watch and headed home. We had only moments before the texting began. Where, when, how would she meet her friends? The constant beeping indicated a new text was just received was enough to develop a new tick. And this was day one...

As I pulled into the movie theater and saw her friends huddled together with laughter, it hit me. She had crossed into another time zone, another stage, the era of darkness. This was a huge moment. Remember your first "alone" movie with friends? I do. Westwood Theater, Etobicoke. That was hard to swallow.

At least I still had my boy. We celebrated the evening with a dance/military/marine party. After wearing me out, Keller suggested we watch a movie with a "hero" which meant I could request James Bond. A win/win for everyone!

Shortly thereafter Cyre came home and answered a slew of "Happy Birthday" phone calls. She has since spent the rest of the evening setting up voice mail, texting and celebrating her new found youth.

A happy birthday indeed.

She's a Dancing Machine

2010-02-07T08:23:00.000-08:00

Dancin, dancin, dancin!!! She's a dancin machin-ine...

That's right, I'm back at it. It's been a long 15 years or so since I've attended a dance class or hit the floor in a serious manner and it's wonderful. Part of the new year, new world order is that I take care of myself and do something just for me. Some folks buy gym memberships, hire personal trainers or train for marathons to get in shape. I'm doing the foxtrot, the rumba, the cha cha and the west coast swing.

Sure, I need to tone up, drop some pounds and get fit. But truthfully, I'm taking dance classes first and foremost because it makes me happy. Not just put a smile on my face happy, but singing inside, dance around like Snoopy, happy. Why have I let it go for so long if that's the result? Have I just been a miserable person for the past 15 years? I don't know and no. I haven't been unhappy for the past 15 years, but I could have been happier. And now I am.

Since moving to our home on Burtonwood, I pass by the Fred Astaire Dance Studio twice a day, going to and from work. And for the last six months, I've told myself I'm going to stop by and sign up for a class. But, life gets busy, the holidays were approaching, money got tight, time slipped away...shit happens.

It took a really busy week at work and an even busier weekend for me to get grumpy enough to take action. After complaining about my schedule for the umpteenth time, it dawned on me that only I could change things and that doing something completely for myself that would make me feel good in every way, was the ticket. I called and signed up for class.

Most of the folks taking classes are either young couples working on learning to put on a decent show at their wedding, older couples looking for some new element to add some spice to their lives, or single guys looking to improve their chances of meeting a chick. Oh, and a couple of single ladies looking for...I don't know. I can only speak for myself. Happiness.

And, as luck would have it, once again I have a dance teacher who has a fabulous Latin name and hips that do some serious damage. I fondly remember Fernando, the Fred Astaire of Chile who was so hot, even extreme hetro guys had to stare. My current teacher doesn't have quite the same effect, but he's got some incredible moves and is excited that I don't step on his toes too often. It's a good fit.

My husband does not love dancing, and understands that these classes are really just for me. He's not at all interested in coming to class and I'm sure totally relieved I haven't asked. However, once I told him about one of the female dancers who was showing everyone the west coast swing and forgot (I hope) that she was wearing a full skirt and a thong, and gave us all a FREE SHOW, his ears perked up. He may show up one day unexpectedly...

All this time learning to dance is going to help me more than physically. It's going to help me mentally as well. I'm forever being told to do something for myself, be nice to myself, and enjoy life. Learning to spend some money and time on just me is tough. I'm used to putting the kids first. Their lessons/activities always take precedent. But, all work and no play makes for a grumpy mummy and that doesn't make for a happy household. So, I'm learning to indulge. Just a little. I'm a dancin machine once again.

2010: The Countdown to Our Death

2010-01-01T13:58:00.000-08:00

Just kidding. But that's what my kids were discussing last night, in light of the impending year 2012, signifying the end of the Mayan calendar,a new blockbuster movie, it's-the-end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it (thanks REM) 80s rock anthem and some other stuff. That was a mouthful, huh?

Actually, we had a wonderful NYE. And a busy, exciting Christmas. (That will have to be another post.) After working a full day (not planned, but necessary. Sort of.) I hurried home to find a house full of kids. Our dearest Heeda is visiting and was gracious enough to play child wrangler for the afternoon. I seriously owe her one. The kids are nearing the end of a two week at home period, and it was starting to get ugly, in a "I'm bored" kind of way. They both managed to swing play dates with friends and apparently spent the afternoon killing off the Dutch (imaginary...no offence, people), saluting neighbors, practicing their sharp shooter skills, playing on their DS games, dancing, and chasing each other. Wrangle on, Heeda, wrangle on.

Kev had been working all day and arrived shortly after I did. He was thrilled to have a few hours between gigs to rest, eat, shower and throw back a few beers. I caught up with events at home and played on my brand spankin new Crackberry. SIDE NOTE: This is a VERY dangerous development. I can take photos, upload music, facebook and respond to emails ANY time I like? Oh, and use the phone? It was more than once that W, husband and children had to remind me of their presence.

After a couple of hours, it was time to get ready for our evening out. I loaded up the kids, kissed the husband goodbye and drove off. We dropped off Keller's friend and headed east toward the most amazing Salvadorean restaurant ever. I had recently discovered the wonders of amazing coupon deals thanks to restaurant.com. Spend $10 ($6 if it's your first try) and get a $25 discount after spending a minimum of $35. Sounds complicated, but it's a total deal. I got two coupons and plan to go back for more.

The restaurant is unassuming, outside of the ginormous neon sign out front. El Pugarcito is now on my top five restaurants in the Queen City. The chicken tamales were the best I've ever had, beating out anything here, in TO and NYC. Their shrimp cocktail (it sounds better ordered in Spanish, but I can only remember French) is full of juicy, fresh salsa, huge chunks of avacado and huge shrimps. Keller ate them all, along with two beef tacos. I know, I still have no clue where he puts all the food...tape worm? Cyre had a pupusa and some of the sizzling hot fajitas W and I ordered. There was so much food left over, we took an entire meal home for the hubby. Hard to believe we ate all that, had two sodas and two beers and only paid $39. Total. Including tip. Seriously.

You would think we were stuffed and unable to eat one more thing, but no. We ate on. A quick trip over to Amelie's in NoDa meant we had to snarck back some french pastries. Have I ever mentioned their salted caramel brownies are dreamy? As my friend Leslie so wisely advises, "just smear it all over my body". Just as we were ready to go, I spotted my dear friend, Mr John Love. Have I mentioned he could quite possibly be the grooviest man in Charlotte? (outside of my husband, of course.) And, W was with me so she could totally confirm that he is the long lost, twin brother of another dear friend, John James, stylist and general raconteur, and resident of TO. These two just gotta meet!

The kids played dominoes, xs and os, etch a sketch and tag while W, John and I discussed meditation, goals for 2010, astrology, music, and internal plumbing. The cherry on top of the whipped cream? Crystal Dempsey, THE social media, social butterfly of Charlotte was there too. Yeah!!!We were close to wearing out our welcome and it was time to go. After a long goodbye, we got in the car and headed home.

It was time to watch the Times Square show and countdown to midnight. Cyre then reminded us that 2012 is only two years away, and perhaps it was time to start the countdown to our death. Yeah, OK. I tried to get everyone to focus on the television show which was a big mistake. Maybe it's cause I'm a honkey, but I don't get JayZ or Rhianna. And, they su-ucked. But, I always love watching the crowds and how excited people get, amazed at how long they will stand out in the cold, crappy weather wearing a "Happy New Year from Nivea cream" hat. That's when one of the cameras zoomed in on some European couple who proceeded not to kiss, but rather, swap spit, tongues and smash faces. "Lose the tongue people, it's a family show!" was all I could say.

Hubby came home in time to watch the countdown and quickly changed into his jammies. And start cooking. Of course. Keller then began his own minute-by-minute countdown, absolutely freaking out that we wouldn't be able to put on shoes, grab some pots and pans and make it out to the lawn in 20 minutes. Somehow we managed to make it to the last minute. Poor Alfie missed the countdown. Somehow he escaped outside and was desperately trying to get back in. After it hit midnight we did all run outside and made as much noise as possible. Kev light off the last of our firecrackers to which there was absolutely NO response from the neighbors. We really do live in a quiet, little sleepy hollow.

We ended the evening curled up on the pull-out bed, with a Harry Potter movie and a whole lotta popcorn. It was a joyous way to end the year.

Here's to 2010. And to the rest of our lives.

I am Thankful

2009-12-02T14:11:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving has come and gone which means my birthday is just around the corner. It's the perfect time to reflect on the past year and do a little inventory (which I can later analyze in my next therapy session) on what I am thankful.

In no particular order...

I am thankful for my in-laws and their beautiful beach house, which is the perfect getaway. (note to self - must go again this winter!)

I am thankful for my in-laws, kindred foodies, who shop, talk, swap and live food.

I am thankful for a fine car, which takes us to and fro throughout the southern US to visit friends and family. (I'm not always thankful though on the 5th of every month, when my car payment is due.)

I am thankful for toddlers, who exhaust my patience and expand my heart. Love to Landon, Cameron and Ella!

I am thankful for my children who request that we rent "An Inconvenient Truth" to watch and discuss global warning.

I am thankful that my son can quote Socrates, never mind even knows who the dude is.

I am thankful that my daughter never has to be told to practice her instrument, but picks it up spontaneously and is developing a beautiful sound.

I am thankful that my husband went to ten stores (so he says, maybe for dramatic effect?), tried eBay, Craigslist and Zappa, before finding me the perfect purse for my birthday.

I am thankful that my boss, who apparently has my number (figuratively, people) never calls me on it too often, but gently nudges me in the right direction despite it sometimes being out of my comfort zone. Thanks, Eve.

I am thankful for Facebook (do NOT insert your finger in your mouth out of disgust!) which allows me to follow old friends from high school (Dave Buchanan, you are groovier than I ever imagined), slightly less older friends from college (Forrest Dogger, Steve Brearton; ladies, you know who you are) and chums from the hood (Michelle Lawrie, stop playing frickin poker!).

I am thankful for the extremely cool folks I have met in Charlotte (too many to mention) who give me hope that this town is more than football, banking and pleated pants.

I am thankful for salted caramel brownies from Amelie's. Nuff said.

I am thankful for my husband who negotiated a case of wonderful, French Beaujolais wines as part of his payment for a recent gig. Cheers!

I am thankful to the Hornets Nest Girl Scouts troop who took me to do the "ropes", and allowed me to face my fear of heights, and learn to trust total strangers.

On the same note, I am thankful to Jay with the UUCC who encouraged me to participate in a Sunday service, and face my fear of public speaking.

I am thankful for my friend Melinda, who has faith in my abilities and never stops telling me so.

I am thankful for friends and family who juggle their lives and schedules to come visit us in Charlotte.

Thanks, all.

High Fidelity - Hero Style

2009-10-06T17:19:00.001-07:00

"High Fidelity" is one of my favorite movies. It's wry, honest, angst y and totally cool. The main characters are absolute music snobs, something I have been accused of at certain periods of my life. Rob, played by John Cusack (pre leading-man-in-a-blockbuster attempt), sorts his life out via lists. (Something else I can totally relate to).

Though they seem to be dying a slow death, indie record stores still exist and their employees' antics were completely lifted by Nick Hornby. I've met a few of these guys in my time, but it has been years since I've ventured into one of these places. I miss them, the staff, and their absurd conversations they have totally out loud, showing complete disdain or indifference to anyone within earshot.

What I didn't know, is that these situations, these characters, can cross into other arenas where the staff are equally passionate, knowledgeable and downright nerdy. I met a group of them last weekend with my kids at the local indie comic shop. My son had been invited to a birthday party and knowing that his friend was a GI Joe fan, we decided to buy him a few comics as a present.

Heroes Aren't Hard to Find is a superbly cool place to be on a lazy Saturday afternoon. First of all, the store itself is fantastic. There's a giant comic book character with weird, silver silo-ish arms sprouting from the counter and into the ceiling. The comics and books are in pristine, and I do mean, no reason why you couldn't find anything, order. Like the floors, the glass cases are sparkling clean, and have an awesome assortment of characters for sale. I will probably NEVER buy one of these, but I love looking at them and never fail to give them more than just passing glances when there. Heroes is painted a dark blue, but with bright spots of secondary colors. For example, the bench is a sunny yellow, and the perfect spot for perching with a book.

My daughter did just that, happily so for the entire stay. Our dog, relegated to sitting outside the door, enjoyed being petted and cooed at by all the passersby. One enchanted stranger brought him a bowl of water and Alfie made the most out of all the attention.

Keller seemed to have forgotten how cool Heroes is, and was amazed at ALL the books there, just waiting for him to pick up and read. He immediately grabbed some comics for his friend, threw them on the counter and then went hunting for something else to read. Within minutes, he found a series of Indiana Jones books and got so excited, he didn't make it to a chair or bench. He just plunked himself down on the floor in the middle of the aisle, right in front of the Indiana Jones section. He was completely oblivious to the other patrons who had to jump, side step or step over him. No apologies either...

But Heroes is the kind of place where they aren't needed. Everyone there gets it. Seriously. Neither the Barry or Dick character cared that my son was completely blocking traffic. What's more, neither one of them were at all disdainful (out loud, anyway) of Keller's comic choice. I'm guessing it was a good one because before I knew it, some guy my age wanted to know what Keller was reading, what his favorite Indie movie was, what he thought the best part of the movie was, and why. And this guy wasn't being polite! He was WAAAAAY excited that he and Keller both agreed that the third one was the best. (I cannot for the life of me, remember the title right now)

His enthusiasm caught me off guard. At first I thought "Is this some weirdo who likes little kids?", quickly followed by "Is he trying to pick me up in some round about way?", ending with "He has found a kindred spirit!" Naturally, I was intrigued.

I watched as this guy made his way around the store, talking to every single patron about something, and eventually winding his way to the cash register where he, Dick and Barry swapped "top five underrated story lines" etc etc for the next 40 minutes. I couldn't believe it! It was the comic book version of High Fidelity, only with less snotty, more friendly staff.

After nearly an hour, it was time to go. I rounded up the kids and headed over to the cash register. Mr. Enthusiastic, who was still there, told me and my kids that I was an awesome mom for hanging out, and that they had better be good to me on Mother's Day. Again, not quite sure if it was a nerdy attempt at flirting, or pure enthusiasm. Either way it was funny.

What struck me as I walked out the door and looked back? Besides my own, there wasn't one single kid in the shop. Just guys, grown men, swapping knowledge, stories and ideas, name-dropping insider-type writers and collectors, and arguing the merits of their favorite comics. It was a great way to revisit High Fidelity, Heroes style.

Why I Love Being a PFA - Our 2009 Trip to Canada

2009-09-02T17:33:00.000-07:00

That's what islanders call folks who live there part-time, are seasonal or frequent visitors. It means you aren't a born and bred islander. The island I'm talking about of course, is Prince Edward Island, or PEI, Canada. Eh? In case you are stumped, a PFA is a "person from away". Okay, eh?

I love my life on the island and wish it lasted longer than just a couple of weeks a year. But with only two weeks vacation a year, sneaking extra time to escape to the farm can get tricky. Add two full days of travel (each way)and time on PEI becomes more and more precious. Tack on time spent cleaning, fixing, trimming and fuming over plumbing, and hours spent biking, sunning, eating ice cream and watching lobster boats becomes more than just precious; it is downright sacred.

We have spent the last two years dreaming and scheming about getting back to PEI and reminiscing about what life is like there. Or what our experiences of life on the island are like there. Keep in mind we've never set a frozen toe on the island in the middle of a long, cold March so our perspective is one of a warm, breezy, uber green land full of festivals, trips to the ocean, lobster suppers and bike rides. We haven't done the cold, bitter winter white, isolated island that sometimes requires a ride on a snow plow less than a mile down the road in order to get to work at all, never mind on time. That's a glimpse of winter courtesy of my wonderful friend and neighbor, Paula. That's right, she had to ride the snow plow to work one day last winter. Brrrr. Just the thought of it...

Anyhow we couldn't wait to get there this year, after having missed a trip in 2008. We were anxious to repeat our "magical" experiences from 2006 and 2007 and were a little worried that we might have imagined our time there as a time that was so completely freeing, it was "other" worldly. Kevin spent many nights during the past two years dreaming of our home. He would imagine hootenannys in our barn, celebrations with family on holidays and entire summers at the beach. As sweet as that sounds you have to imagine 729 days of listening to "Guess what? I dreamt about PEI last night." Got a wee bit tired after a while. But, I did appreciate his passion and enthusiasm.

Kev was so excited to go this year, he decided we should leave early, early. I'm talking 10 pm at night, let's drive straight through the middle of the night and early morning early. What could I say? I put the kids in their pjs, grabbed their pillows and blankets and loaded everyone in the car. All was well until Kev hit the tired wall somewhere around 1:30 am. He pulled off as we left NC and grabbed a super large coffee. I had forewarned him that I wasn't going to be doing any night driving and that he HAD to make it to daylight before I'd take the wheel. Somewhere around 5:30 am he announced he might have to pull over and throw up. I knew it was my turn.

I decided to stop for breakfast and hit Denny's for a grand slam. The kids were a little out of sorts after spending a fitful night sleeping in the car and Alfie was just glad to be out. Kev was cranky from too much coffee and driving and needed a few hours sleep. I was happy to provide it for him. Within the hour, we had eaten breakfast, visited the bathroom, walked the dog, filled up on gas and were back in the car. We had road stops down to a tee.

I don't know how I did it, but I managed to get the best leg of the trip. I was a little nervous about crossing through NYC since our last foray in the city was a complete disaster. Here's a summary of our last drive through the big apple -four hours in rush hour traffic in a stick shift car; pulling off the freeway so our boy can do his business; pulling over yet again but this time at a McDonalds in one of the worst hoods in the Bronx. I was so pissed, the poor homeless lady parked out front came and gave ME a pat on the back.

OK, back to the second drive through NYC. To make it through unscathed, you have to hit it at the exact right time. Mid-morning works just fine. Traffic was slow enough that we could glance out the window at the Chrysler Building, but not too slow to feel at all frustrated. Our GPS (or Messiah; see previous blog, end of 2008) took us an alternate route through CT, on highway 15. It was the most gorgeous drive, like a wooded drive through the forest, only one with pretty houses and quaint little gas stations along the way, oh, and no stop lights or traffic. Yeah me!

By about 2 pm, we were hungry and ready to stop. Our goal was to get all the way to Bangor, MA and spend the night there. Somehow we did it. We even lucked out and found a hotel that accepted dogs. Alfie didn't love being left in the hotel room when we swam and the management didn't appreciate it either. We decided that he would have to stay in the car while we went out for a lobster (and fish) dinner.

The next morning Kev took over driving duty and managed to get us to the island by 6 pm. After another quick lunch stop somewhere in an over crowded Timmies in New Brunswick, we continued our sunny drive and made it from Maine to the island in about seven hours. The thrill we felt when we got to the Confederate Bridge is indescribable. Anticipation, excitement, nerves, the works!

Our arrival was noticed within minutes as the kids' friends and our neighbors were over in no time. The kids took off to play with their friends as Kev and I struggled to find the power switch. OK, Kev struggled. After what seemed like hours, we took our friend Paula's advice and decided to spend the night there. We were exhausted and quite frankly, ready for their deadly home-brew island wine.

Poor Kev was a bit slow the next morning after nursing a wee hangover. Something about their wine does weird things to his head! We were anxious to get in the house, air it out, set it up and begin our island fantasy. (Or should that be fantasy island???) The house was dusty and a bit damp, but in much better shape than we thought. Yes the upstairs bathroom needs a rehab. Yes, the trees out front were completely overgrown and in need of some serious hacking. Of course we would have to upgrade the plumbing, replace the kitchen faucet, get a new water tank, replace the stairs to the basement, repaint the kitchen and do something about the decade old exterior paint. But it was ours free and clear and one of the most beautiful places on earth.

The next two weeks we spent mornings working on the house and afternoons sunning at the beach or exploring little towns. We hit an Oyster Festival, a local Ceilidh, a bunch of garage sales, a Museum, farmers market and as many shops in town as possible. We rode bikes whenever we could and never once considered bringing a lock. It's just that kinda place.

Living in a small town has its ups and downs. The quaintness and charm never seem to wear off. The people knowing your business just might but seeing as how we're only there two or three weeks a year, I'm not too worried about people talking. Mind you, we spent a few hours with a couple of local plumbers and I knew more about some businessmen in town than I cared to! Who pays the bills, who's going off to jail...definitely a lot of TMI.

One of the strangest phenomenons about small town life is that you always seem to run into the same people, or folks who know your neighbors etc. Kev and I bought a stove second hand from a guy who lives about 30 minutes outside of our town, via Craigslist. On our second day there we drove into this town to square up and met some of the nicest people ever. Turns out they used to live just down the street from our house and were good friends with our friends. How's that for small town? We met a couple at a cafe on the island, only to run into them again THAT NIGHT at the Dairy Bar on Hwy 2, eh. Yeah (imagine me inhaling and say yeah at the same time; total islander!) Well, standing in line at the Dairy Bar, I met another woman who was from Ontario and also spent summers on the island. She and I were laughing about running into the same families and she joked I would probably be seeing her again. Wouldn't you know it, her dad was performing at the St Mark's Ceilidh on Lot 7! She walked in that night and upon seeing me stuffed in the corner said "well hello stranger!" Oh how I love me some small town island!

Each day there got better. We found better beaches, ate yummier seafood, drank more Canadian beer, fixed up little projects around the house and soaked in more of the simple life. We had a bet on how many times Kev might say "I want to live here". He never did tell me how many times he said it in his head but I know I heard it out loud several times. As our vacation drew closer to the end, my mood got heavier. I was in love with my island life and sad at the thought of having to give it up.

Our last night was bittersweet. We had the kids' friends over for supper and made plans for the next year. With heavy hearts, we packed our clothes, put away the dishes and prepared for an early morning drive. We fretted over what to take back, what could be given away and what needed to be locked up. One by one our neighbors stopped in to wish us well and share invitations to dinner next year. It was almost too much.

Like always when I'm feeling horribly sad inside, I try and mask my feelings by saying as little as I possibly can and the next morning I had very little to say. I wanted to bawl but managed a scowl instead. At first I kept asking myself "why can't we just stay?" and sulked about having to leave. Kev was just as sad and even confused about his feelings for Canada, and maybe a little regretful about moving at all. Sheesh. We were a mess!

But, after hours (and hours and hours) of thinking about our time on the island, I realized that part of what makes it so special is that it is only for a short time and it must be savored. If life were sweet all the time, we would cease to know the difference between the everyday grind of life, and the sweet escape on foreign soil. That's why I love being a PFA.

See you next year, eh?

Summertime

2009-06-22T17:34:00.000-07:00

Summer has started off with not so much a bang, but more of a bong. Not in the smokin' sense either. Those days are behind me. I mean in the sense of some recent events which have been memorable, but in an odd sort of way. Not bad, but just a bit odd.

However, I did take a major memory trip back to my bong/hot knives/bt days when attending a Steely Dan concert just a week or so ago. My dear friend Deb scored some awesome (4th row, center people; read it and weep!) tickets to hear/see/embrace Donald, Walter and their amazing ensemble at the McGloghan (sp?) Center here in Charlotte. I told Deb of course I would love to go, but that she might never invite to another show after that. I promised her it was going to be a full-on, sing-along for me. And, a total trip down a foggy memory lane. Steely Dan completely represents my entire college experience. I spent years in a circle on the floor with my opinionated (journalism majors), brilliant, hilarious, groovy-ass friends talking politics and shit with "Babylon Sisters" playing in the background. I smile at the memory and my heart aches just a little to go back in time, if only for just a visit.

I digress. Anyhow, the odd part was not the concert itself, but the company I kept. It seems this concert was part of a "Music With Friends" series, in which those upper echelon Charlotteans with cash pay a flat rate to attend some of the best shows in town. Problem is, they aren't necessarily going to hear the music. Many are going just to go. I guess that's what rich people do. Otherwise I just don't know why women in St. John knit sets and lots of bling wanted to hear a sometimes disdainful, wry, often smart-alecish old rock/jazz band from the 70s. I was totally expected a bunch of disgruntled but cool former beatniks and instead rubbed shoulders with the Who's Who of the Queen City. Totally odd. Many of them left mid show. They came, ate lobster, made their appearances and split. That left just the real fans to enjoy the rest of the brilliant show, which was fine by me. I tried hard not to be annoying but just could not refrain from singing every word I knew. Deb swears it was fine and promises to invite me again.

Within a two week time period I ventured out again on my own (which means sans children) for another adult night on the town and experienced odd again, but at the complete opposite end of the spectrum. A friend of a friend invited me to a 40th birthday party, in honor of one of the moms of my kid's classmates. I went with another mom and decided that despite the free alcohol, I must be on my best behavior. After all, we were all moms of children which is how we bonded, and besides which, I work for a parenting magazine, which means I have a certain obligation or expectation to meet.

Let me tell you, this crowd couldn't give a rat's ass what I do or who I work for. They were just happy to be out and participating in the birthday. And this was no ordinary house party. The festivities were held at a local bar/pool house/restaurant/karaoke haunt and there was some hootin goin on! The pressure to perform was on and I decided that I probably would never see these people again, and they couldn't care who I am, so what the hell? Flo's book (yes, her real name is Flo) was full of country songs, ballads and hits of the 70s, with a mix of current pop tunes. I was stymied.

Normally when forced to sing karaoke, I go for jazz standards. Sadly, Flo only had one Ella Fitzgerald tune. Fortunately, it's the one song I have actually performed or karaoked before, and I managed to get it out. "A Tisket A Tasket" wasn't totally embarrassing. Deb, the other mom, is also a Canuck and we decided to honor our brethren with a number by a Canadian artist. After concluding that A) I don't know any Celin Dion B) They didn't have any Barenaked Ladies C) I hated all the Bryan Adams choices, we agreed on a Neil Young tune. This one wasn't so much a salute as it was a slaughtering. My most sincere apologies, Neil.

Things were going to go from odd to bizarre the moment the honoree announced jello shooters were in order and Flo qued a tune that had something to do with "get me the ammo", to which most of the bar knew and sang along. It was at that precise moment I knew I was no longer in Kansas with my little dog and a drag-queenish Lion. It was time to go.

As odd as these events were, the frivolity of last night balanced everything out. The Burtonwood neighborhood Summer Solstice/Father's Day/Block Party was a smashing success. Kevin and Ethan played beautiful, sweet music, neighbors shook hands and shared food, kids splashed in the pool, painted their arms and legs and had a wondrous, wonderful time. Even Alfie enjoyed himself, sniffing everything in sight and being named "dog of the night". It was the perfect anecdote to a strange beginning to summer. I am looking forward to more interesting events.

Definition - A Correction

2009-06-06T19:18:00.000-07:00

OK, so I was right. The theme from "Definition" was lifted and used for Austin Powers. MM is a Scarberian, for goodness sakes. What I didn't realize however, is that it's originally a Quincy Jones number. I know, and I'm married to a jazzer.

I'll take a couple of lumps for that one.

The End Is Near - Summer Plans

2009-06-06T18:31:00.001-07:00

No, I haven't been reading Nostradamus. That dude is waaaaay too depressing. And a total downer. And off the mark, I'm afraid.

The end of the school year is coming and I am ill-prepared to deal with a month of bored kids. Did I sign them up for camp? Nope. They aren't really campers. Definitely not overnight campers and don't have buddies to hang with at camp either. Their closest friends are kickin around town most of the summer. Good, in the sense of we can arrange play dates. Bad, in the sense of I haven't arranged any yet. No time like the present right?

I wish it were so easy. My summer is going to be consumed with work and after that, getting ready to get out of dodge. Sure I'll take them to the amusement park, the swimming pool and for drives in the country. But my schedule just isn't as flexible as it was last year. And they got bored last year. And, they had neighbor kids to play with last year. And, they weren't nearly as demanding as this year.

Remember in the "olden days", as Keller calls it (makes ME think of covered wagons, bonnets and Little House, somehow) when we just hung out all summer? Mornings were spent watching cartoons until mom kicked you out. If it was raining or she was busy, your morning TV might get extended to noon which meant you could watch The Price Is Right, King of Kensington, The Trouble With Tracy and Definition (cue theme from "Austin Powers"; side note - am I the ONLY person who figured out that MM "borrowed" the theme song from that wonderful show???) If you aren't Canadian you probably won't know those last three shows. Total TO shout out!!

Anyhoo, I like to think life then was much simpler. We would go to the pool a couple of times during the day, ride bikes, go to the store for a freezee (yes, back then we were allowed to ride somewhere on our own without total fear of being kidnapped) and wait for dinner. After that it was time to gather outside to play Red Rover, Capture the Flag or Nicki Nine Doors, and then wait for the street lights to come on. That was pretty much it.

I had always hung out with our neighbors and lifelong friends The Wilsons, and around the age of nine or so, I started to spend more time in their basement learning how to dance. Those were the heady days of the Jackson 5, and disco. We did the hustle, the bump, and the slide. My favorite songs were "Do The Locomotion", "Disco Inferno", "I Want You Back" and later "Nice Legs, Shame About Yer Face". OK, I didn't really understand the lyrics back then...

Maybe it's because my mom was way too overburdened or there was always a lack of funds, but only the few of us who had rich and sympathetic friends ever got to go to a cottage. Camp was OK, as long as it was on a scholarship. I did manage a couple of scholarships and I did go to a friend's cottage once, but my summers were mostly spent at Eringate pool and the baseball diamonds surrounding it. Someone in my family or The Wilsons always played ball and that meant scrounging up change to buy an orange pop and a box of popcorn. (I know; soooo Canadian.)

The company I work for puts out an intense camp directory. If there's a camp within a 200 mile radius of Charlotte, we know about it and chances are, they're advertising with us. I'm a little embarrassed to not have an answer to the "where are your kids going to camp this summer?" question. It's already been asked once by one colleague and I dread having to repeat "no where, really." Is it a southern thing? A Charlotte thing? An American thing? A generational thing? Do all kids go to camp????

WHAT IS WRONG WITH JUST KICKIN IT AT HOME, OLD SCHOOL?

If anyone has helpful suggestions with what I can do with my kids that's fun, doesn't cost much and doesn't take much time, please send them along. Please. My kids don't like the Jackson 5.

AI - Not Yet Ready For a Glamazon

2009-05-21T10:29:00.000-07:00

Poor America. They played it safe. Choose them the good ole country boy, church-lovin', easy-listening, vanilla pudding, Kris Allen for their next idol. Despite his mediocre talent and his "awe, shucks" attitude absolutely devoid of star power, Kris won. Am I bitter? Yes.

Somehow I got completely sucked into AI, in its eighth year mind you, and have taken the final decision personally. And why shouldn't I? I even voted! Not once, but twice! If you would have asked me five years ago if I would give a rats ass about some dumb reality show, I would have scoffed, snorted and turned my nose up at the idea. Look at me today. Sigh.

In my earlier post, I alluded to our family's current idol obsession and attribute it to my kids' desire to sing for their school. Maybe we just have too much time on our hands at night?? Either way, I'm going to try and skip Season Nine all together. I simply cannot make such an emotional and time commitment, to have it carelessly tossed aside because millions of teen and tweeny-boppers find Kris the boy-next-door Allen more dreamy and attainable than Adam the ambiguously gay single. Seriously.

I guess I should have known that America isn't ready to openly crown such a flamboyant king. I'm thinking maybe the past decade or so of moral-based politics and fear-driven policies have done some serious damage to the free-spirited souls who used to worship bands like KISS and Queen, who embraced androgyny-clad rockers like Bowie or Alice Cooper. Man, the 70s kicked some ass, didn't it? Even if you don't like those artists, you have to admire their spirit and willingness to be different.

It's a shame that Adam Lambert spent the entire season dodging questions about his sexuality, always responding with "I'm just me." What is wrong with that America??? Will it take every cotton-pickin state to be OK with gays before we can openly appreciate a reality tv star? I guess we just aren't ready to roll with a glamazon. Not yet, anyhow.

A Clark Sweep

2009-05-11T06:06:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure if it's the American Idol mania that has taken over our house, but my kids are totally psyched about singing these days. Not just singing in the shower singing (which they do a lot of), but singing at the table, singing while they do homework, singing on the toilet... a lot of singing. I do my share of singing too, only it's usually while I'm alone at home. Kev of course sings while on stage, but never at home. I guess there's only so much singing one family can do. Or is there...

A couple of weeks ago both kids entered their school talent competition, Paideia Idol. And, won! Yup, both of them!!! It was a Clark sweep. Keller did a solo song/dance number to "We Will Rock You", while Cyre entered a group competition and won for "That's What You Get", a tween favorite by "Twilight" contributors, Paramore. Even I won something, a door prize. Ironically, my prize was a bunch of beauty products and a free facial courtesy of Modern Salon. Go figure.

Anyhow, there was so much Clark love in the house at the show, some kids started a rumor that the whole thing was fixed. With Kevin in charge of the soundboard, it would be easy to see why some sour grapes would make such unethical charges. We do live in times of recent wire-tapping scandals and secret torture memos...Anyhow, let me just set the record straight; we did not cheat. Our kids sang their hearts out and were rewarded for their efforts.

Does this mean the Disney channel will be knocking on our door anytime soon? Probably not. But it means that our kids got a major boost of confidence and Kev and I boasting rights. And, some great memories to laugh over for years to come. Keller's breakout break dance during the instrumental part of the song had everyone in tears. His energy and efforts just can't go unrecognized. As one teacher said "I just love his little white self!" Though he didn't exactly inherit the funk gene, his fearlessness to put himself out there is inspiring.

Cyre, on the other hand, does get extreme stage fright but has decided it's better to face her fears than just live with them. Couldn't we all just have a little of that? Please? Her tiny but powerful stage swagger is awesome. She's just got it. I know, it sounds like a typical mother, but it's not. So many people have commented on how comfortable she seems on stage. And how crazy photogenic she is. She's not a diva or a glamazon, just a regular kid who loves to perform. Did Miley "Radiohead better acknowledge me or else" Cyrus start off that way? I sure hope not!

It's good to let kids go for their dreams. Not in a crazed baseball-mugging-dad kind of way, but in a "give it your best; winning isn't everything" kind of way. Shoot - I like to pretend to turn up the stereo to 11, rock out to Guitar Hero, and imagine I'm Kurt Cobain. (Definitely don't pretend I'm Courtney Love; don't want to play rehab) Does it mean I'm ever going to tour the country in a cruddy van? Nope. Just means I pay tribute to my musical dreams. And sometimes they can come true. Just ask my kids.

Astrological Minority

2009-04-23T07:35:00.000-07:00

The Clark men recently celebrated their joint birthdays with a little backyard soiree. There were no milestones this year, but both Kevin and Keller are definitely feeling older. For different reasons.

Of course I panicked pre shin-dig, worrying there wouldn't be enough food to eat (I know; I am married to a Clark!!), the kids wouldn't have anything to do (the default game is ALWAYS tag outside) and people wouldn't have anything to talk about (what am I thinking; this is the south).
Kevin made a huge batch of jambalaya, the kids had hot dogs, Ms Southern Hospitality brought her world famous pasta salad and I concocted a new summer drink. God bless vodka...

For Kevin, turning 51 wasn't as dramatic or interesting or memorable as turning 50. Last year, we met family and friends in New Orleans for a big get together. This year we kept it small and home based. But it had an impact just the same. The day Kevin's AARP membership arrived in the mail, his shoulders drooped just a little. He had to face facts; he was now in his 50s. I just keep telling him 50 is the new 40. The good news is, the older he gets, the more astonished people are when they learn how old he really is. Most folks figure Kevin for about 40-43. Not bad!

For Keller, turning 8 was a milestone. Shoot, turning any age is exciting for kids. He was proud to be another year older, letting everyone know he will soon be entering the THIRD GRADE. Funny thing is, people have the complete opposite reaction when learning how old Keller is. If they just listened to his conversations, they would swear he was about 17. Not because he has some freaky low voice, but because he uses word like isometric existentialism, and can rattle off facts like Mozart's birthday, the name of President Lincoln's dog, the year the great earthquake of Peru happened, and where and how the cradle of civilization began.

It's strange, but I happen to know quite a few people born on April 16. Several musicians in New Orleans and Toronto are born that day. I must really love me some Aries. Once, at a friend's kid's birthday party in New Orleans, I quizzed everyone on their date of birth and realized I was the only non-Aries in the room. An astrological minority is an uncomfortable thing to be. And of course, two of those people were born on April 16.

There's quite a few famous Aries born on this day who have left their unique imprint on this world. Charlie Chaplin, the current head of the Catholic Church, Pope Benedict XXX (or something like that), Kingsley Amis (that rakish novelist and James Bond brain), Dusty Springfield, and my personal favorite, Ducky from "Pretty in Pink" (or John Cryer as he's known in the real world). Oh, and one of those Osmond brothers...Odds were good one of them would be born on this day.

Think about it. Which astrological sign do you most relate to? Which ones are more often in your life? It's great fun to ask someone their birthday and then reply with a long, "oooooh", while opening your eyes really wide. Gets them every time. All I know is, I do love me some Aries. Especially my two Clark men. Happy Birthday, Kevin and Keller Clark!

Zahi the Rock Star

2009-03-29T16:53:00.000-07:00

This past week Kevin and I made our son's dream come true. We took Keller to Atlanta to a lecture by Dr. Zahi Hawass, the world's leading Egyptologist, a rock star-in-training. He came, he heard, he met, he conquered.

It was a challenge for sure, but an opportunity we just couldn't pass up. Yes, we were going to have to scramble with our jobs/work schedules to make it happen. Yes, we were going to have to intrude upon our relatives. Yes, we were going to have to come up with the money somewhere to pay for gas, meals, tickets etc. And yes, we would have to pull our son out of school on a day when his class would be celebrating the end of quarterly tests. Dreams are not always practical...

Unlike her brother, Cyre does not share Keller's love for all things ancient and Egyptian and decided to stay back. Thankfully our good friends were only too glad to keep her for the day and night. We dropped her off at school, took her things to the neighbors, gassed up the car and hit the road. In what seemed like no time, we arrived in Atlanta, ready to be entertained.

With a few spare hours open, we met with Justin and took him to lunch. Justin turns 24 in a few days and we're happy he's made it so far. Though we didn't get to spend as much time with him as we'd like, we are glad to spend any time at all and hope to have him back in Charlotte. He was kind enough to take us to the Fox Theatre to buy our tickets. We were really looking to kill time and didn't think it could possibly sell out. We were wrong.

Before the show, we decided to grab a coffee at the hotel across the street. Keller was donning a coat jacket (seersucker to be exact) and decided he should use his best manners and act "fancy". He held my arm, said hello to fellow patrons, wished strangers a "good day", and even used his napkin. I think I may buy him a few more jackets! We needed to kill more time and cruised up and down the street looking in shop windows, discussing ancient civilization and generally being geeky.

We arrived at the doors a few minutes early to discover an already large crowd gathering. "It's a total geekfest" was my first reaction. People of every age were there, books in hand, ready to meet the great Hawass. I was sort of nervous, unsure of what to expect, sort of Dorothy and gang just before they meet the great and powerful Oz. Seating was open and we made sure to be at the front of the line to get a good seat.

Keller had made a sign "We Love You Zahi Hawass" with lots of hyrogliphics (sp?), a special book entitled "Nile De-Nile" ("it's a joke; get it?") and some extra images just in case he was bored/inspired. While standing in line to get our seating, a little girl and her mom wanted to know how long Keller had been studying ancient Egypt, like it was the most normal thing to ask a kid. Not "how long have you been into legos" or "what's your favorite xbox game". A girl after his own heart!

Turns out Beatrix is not only adorable, but equally versed in ancient Egypt, Dinosaurs, Shakespeare, Opera and the Terra Cotta warriors. Hello!!!!! A female version of our son. If only she lived in Charlotte...Beatrix and her family grabbed seats behind us but before long, she and Keller were sharing a seat, comparing Egypt books, drawing pictures and holding a conversation most 40-somethings can't hold.

Beatrix's parents (who met at a poetry slam) are artistic, creative and totally unassuming. Home-schooling their daughter has turned out to be a huge success and it made me think I should look for other home-schoolers in town. They are members of the Hy Museum and take Beatrix to events, readings and lectures on a regular basis. She's just the sort of kid you know you'll be reading about one day who has written a great novel, or will have an art exhibit in New York at a ridiculously young age. Again, a girl after Keller's own heart.

The lecture was surprisingly interesting, engaging and funny. Hawass is the first Egyptian archeologist to have discovered anything of any value in the past century. All other major discoveries have been courtesy of foreigners. For this reason alone, Hawass is an absolute rock star in his own country. He's also versed in several languages and extremely media savvy which helps him attract worldwide media attention with every discovery. I think if he discovered he had suddenly developed a case of gout, that would attract attention too.

Along with being a bit of a smart-ass (he retold the story of discovering a new tunnel under a villager's home and when his assistant asked what he first saw he replied "I see shit"; it was apparently under what would have been the bathroom) Hawass is also extremely generous. One lucky little girl who had apparently been emailing Hawass was invited on stage. After finding her parents in the audience, he personally invited them to Egypt on his dime. I told Keller he'd better get busy!

Keller and Beatrix shared a few more laughs while waiting in line to get the great doctor's autograph. Thinking they might email each other, I asked Lynne if Beatrix ever emailed. Before I could grab a pen, Lynne whipped out Beatrix's personal card with the title "Communicator -in-training". After patiently standing in an over-zealous crowd for almost 45 minutes, it was almost time to meet the great and powerful Oz. It was late and the theater staff were a bit punchy and pushing everyone around. It was a total high-tension assembly line with one guy grabbing the book, another shoving fans in front of the table, another directing Hawass to sign, another grabbing the book out from under him and the last guy pushing people out the door.

I was worried Keller wouldn't get a chance to say anything personal, let alone talk to the guy. As we reached the front of the line, the book was grabbed, Keller was shoved and he was going to miss his chance. I took Keller's handwritten book and made sure the assistant knew it was a gift to Hawass to keep. At that point, the man himself took a minute to thank Keller, admire his sign and suggested Keller email him. Mission accomplished.

Could a trip to Egypt be in our future? Possibly. I considered starting a fund drive to raise money to send him there. Is that just too pushy? Can that dream wait? We'll keep you posted.

In the meantime, Keller is working on a new anthem and says "We will, we will, rock you!"

Isometric Existentialism

2009-03-21T13:23:00.000-07:00

Say that 10 times! I can barely say it once, but my smarty-pants seven-year-old can say it, spell it and even explain it. Apparently it's some scientific term (Einstein dug it) about the way things come together (in space?) and stay together. I dunno. Sounds way out of my league.

God bless youth for a total lack of fear. How come kids aren't freaked out about stuff like this?

Forgive me for not finding an easier segue, but it's the best I could come up with while still getting to use that ridiculous phrase. Things are coming together for us here in Charlotte. Kevin is (finally) settling into his mail thing, thanks to The Messiah (see earlier post) and a good talkin-to with the powers that be at the USPS. He has been getting a lot more calls for gigs (two or so a week; big times for Charlotte) and has a really strong job in the works which would turn things around for us. FINALLY!

Work for me is the same; over-worked and under-paid. But, I still really like what I do and if I actually got paid properly, would really, really like what I do. The freelance work remains steady and I have promised myself to start pitching/writing outside my comfort zone. My first gardening assignment should come in soon. Me, the notorious black thumb! I don't ever seem to have enough time to do everything I want, but have to pick and choose my battles.

One thing that has changed, is my commitment to taking care of myself. I'm sticking with my plan to do at least two yoga classes per week, combined with two-three walks around the track as well. Although I'm not blogging as much as I'd like, I will write about Charlotte at least once a month and have kept that promise too. I am learning to walk away from the computer on the weekend (OK, at least for work purposes) and spending more time with the kids. Tall order, for sure but oh so important to throw some "me" time in the mix.

The kids continue to do well here and are working on their "Idol" routines for the school "Padaiea Idol" contest. Cyre won honorable mention last year and hopes to have another shot at the trophy. Hopefully if she wins another, they'll actually spell her name correctly. She still hasn't gotten last year's back...things are done a little slower down here... Her grades are still straight As and she has been confirmed as accepted in a great IB school, close to home. She has also officially crossed into "tweendom" and says "like" an awful lot, and flips her hair for emphasis and sticks her right hip out when she's making a point or talking to her brother and generally, making me fear 13. See, coming together. Like, totally.

Keller is, well, Keller. Still quizzing me at 7 am about the oldest, ancient city in South America/Egypt's middle dynasty/Roman Empire, still can't find his damn shoes anywhere. He is thriving at school, loving gymnastics and is thrilled, thrilled, thrilled to be old enough to enter in the Idol contest at school this year. He and his friend are supposed to be doing a gymnastics routine but they're both a couple of knuckle-heads when they get together so my guess is, they'll probably just jump around and act goofy.

Alfie is exactly the same. Sweet, territorial, needy, loyal and way too familiar with our bed. But only we weren't not here. Oh, and just a little stinky. If only the local deer didn't use our backyard for a toilet!

We still haven't had our official "moving in" party at the new house, but we're thinking a spring/boy birthday party might be in order. We don't have anything extravagant planned for Keller, but are trying to get to Atlanta next week to hear Dr. Zahi Hawass speak. This guy is head of ancient Egyptian treasures and Keller's absolute hero. It would rock his world.

The house is good, but will always be in a perpetual state of renovation. I'm coming to peace with it. Besides, it allows me to freely purchase home decor magazine subscriptions without the slightest hint of guilt (research!) and I do love me some magazines. Kevin continues to work on things like plumbing, heating, doors and windows, whenever he can. I don't know how we missed all these in our home inspection... I mean, we seriously seem to find something broken every week. Is it because we have the time to look? I know that day will end soon so I guess I shouldn't complain and make use of him/it while I can.

One thing I'm going to definitely do, is document our progress with photos and stories both here and in my new design blog, Queen City Splendor. I'll keep y'all posted once I get some images up text together. For now, I'm going to elevate my over-worked left leg, sip some green tea and enjoy life in Charlotte.

Snow and more Snow

2009-03-02T08:39:00.000-08:00

My last blog was all about a snow day and guess what; we got us another one. Only this one is pretty deserved, seeing as how the roads down here in the Carolinas are truly a mess. Cars, semis and even emergency crews have been having a tough time with icy roads. They just don't buy salt in bulk in NC, nor do they have the truck/man power to plough everything in sight. Heck, the kids and I can't even shovel the steps anymore. This morning we couldn't find proper gloves or boots either. We gave those up (not for lent, though the season is upon us) when we moved south. Were we being too cocky?

We just returned from Canada where we encountered plenty of snow, and the weekend previous, were up in the mountains skiing. Judging from our winter endeavors and travels, you would never know we actually left Toronto to get away from snow. This winter we've had three snow days, a weekend ski trip and then travelled north back to visit the Great White North. All this white stuff has me a little befuddled. "Where am I?" I ask myself when I awake to a frozen white car.

Now, the snow up in the mountains on our ski trip was pretty, but there was barely enough of it. Luckily, the resort up in Banner Elk has enough machines to pump the hills with enough snow to make the slopes do-able. However, they skipped the extra machine for the tubing hill and the result was a big slushy mess. Cyre and I gave up after a couple of hours and they folks in the office were kind enough to return our money, knowing full well that we would turn around and spend it on something else. And we did. Cyre went ice skating instead.

My brother and sister-in-law were kind enough to take our kids down the slopes, show them the ropes (literally) and give them a taste of the good life. Kevin and I stayed back at the chalet and stayed warm by the fire. I brought my computer and got caught up on work, while he caught up on some much needed sleep. Every now and then I would look outside the window, take in the beautiful landscape and smile. I did step outside and take a few shots of the mountains, just for posterity, in case anyone accused me of ignoring my surroundings. Later that day we took a drive into town, grabbed a tea, checked out a few shops and enjoyed some free time alone. That's my idea of a ski vacation!

Our trip north was a different story. Kevin had a series of concerts and gigs in Toronto. It was Cyre's birthday and she wanted to visit a few friends and relatives. I decided we would tag along since the cost of gas was going to be even less expensive than a return flight. So, it turned out to be more of a convenience than anything. Although my friends kept asking "why the h$*! are you coming here in the worst month of the year?", we decided it would be worth it just to see everyone again.

I admit it; I was extremely nervous about driving through the mountains of Virginia in the month of February. But, we gave ourselves two days to drive and promised we would pull off (to the side, not off the mountain) if things got too hairy. Well, we were lucky. The first two hours were a bit tricky as a few trucks fish-tailed and slid around on the roads. Our trusty, all-wheel drive got us through this stretch no problem. Plus, our experience driving in Canada help us with things like distance, breaking and general common sense. Now if only I could transfer that to my NC driver's licence test...but that will definitely be a whole other post!

The rest of the trip went smoothly. On the Saturday in Canada, we drove west to the town of St Jacobs, to meet with friends while Kev gigged in the next town over. That afternoon a snowstorm blew into the region, and we caught most of it. But, somehow snow up there felt appropriate. It made me just a little nostalgic for Canada. Snowstorms in NC feel weird and dangerous. And weird. I know they aren't all that dangerous, but they still shake me. I didn't have that same reaction at all in Canada.

Anyhow, I know the snow that's outside on my daffodils won't last, and their yellow beauty will bloom once more. I know we had better enjoy our silver white winter before it melts into spring. (shout out to Sound of Music). I know I shouldn't feel lonely for crappy, Canadian winters. But I do.

Maybe next week when I'm sitting outside on my porch again, I'll forget about being in Canada and embracing the warm, beautiful weather of North Carolina. I'm sure I'll forget all about the snow until next year.

Snow Days - Southern Style

2009-01-30T07:29:00.000-08:00

Last week the kids had their first snow day of the season. Schools closed, workers called in sick, people stayed home. There was about 3 - 4 inches on the ground.

That's right people, inches.

Back in the great white north, 3 -4 FEET doesn't even get you a get-out-of-jail-card-free. The local "Severe Weather Watch Team" television crew were pumped, spitting out reports, updates, news flashes and warnings. If I didn't know better, I would have thought it was Armageddon.

My crew were happy not to have to go to school but with dad working, were stuck going into the office with me. They brought books and toys and took it all in stride. Not surprisingly, a few staff members were late getting in, citing poor roads and traffic messes as the culprits. Before the first meeting got started, our boss went over company policy with respect to severe weather. And, as a former Yankee, clearly defined severe weather with just the slightest hint of sarcasm.

To be fair, drivers in the south don't do well in snow. They don't suit up their cars with all-seasonals, and probably wouldn't know where to buy snow tires either. Sand in the trunk, tire chains and extra salt are pretty much unheard of in the Carolinas, excluding the mountain areas, of course. Southerners also don't know how to break on icy roads, how to turn the car in a spin out or why extra distance is a good thing.

What they do know how to do is to prepare for a storm. They go buy bread and milk. One friend of mine recalled a story of a woman who nearly mowed her down at the grocery a few years back, in a fight to grab the last gallon of milk. I'm not sure why, but an awful lot of cereal must get consumed during a snowstorm. And toast. Maybe it's a breakfast thing...

The kids and I drank hot chocolate, watched the Inauguration and gathered icicles to save in the freezer as a reminder of winter fun. They played outside throwing snowballs, making snow angels and developing rosy cheeks. Sadly, I didn't serve cereal or toast and somehow feel I might have missed something.

Though it got warm shortly thereafter, the forecast is calling for more cold and possible snow this next week. Will we get another free day? Should I stockpile the dairy? I'll keep you posted on all the wintry fun, done Southern style.

Celebrations: eye injuries, the Jesus kit and the Messiah

2008-12-04T18:20:00.001-08:00

The holiday season officially got started last week with a Thanksgiving feast at our place. Some of our favorite people joined us as we ate, drank, gave thanks, ate some more, rested, digested and then ate some more, again. There is a reason January is the number one month for gym membership sign ups...

Usually we put up our Christmas tree right after Thanksgiving but our weekend plans got booked quickly with family outings, work and visiting friends. We decided to wait a week and concentrate on the celebration at hand. Our dear friend Alison and her daughter Ella wanted to do something special since this was Ella's first Thanksgiving in America. A trip to "Christmastown" N.C. sounded like a perfect outing. After much deliberating on how and where to get there, we hit the road.

Riding in the passenger seat with me was my dear friend Lynn. Some of you might make the connection to my (star-worthy) cover feature in last month's Creative Loafing story Canuck in the Queen City in which I poked fun at Lynn for her sometimes questionable sense of direction. Let me just say after our trip to what?s-ville, I most definitely owe her not just an apology, but a full-on retraction.

Now I want to say up front that I actually copied the directions to our destination directly off the award-winning Charlotte Parent website, at which I am employed and for which I am fully responsible for all content. Ah-hem. The directions were all wrong and we consequently took several wrong turns. After stopping at more than one lonely gas station, we finally had the right directions. This wouldn't have been toooo bad had I not gotten lost back in Charlotte trying to find my way to the lousy freeway. Yeah, I know. You know you suck when you can't even figure out how to get out of town to get lost. For the record, I did not post those directions, and obviously didn't check them for accuracy. Another, ah-hem.

Until this trip I had never actually been up close and front at a tractor trailer/truck weighing station...now I have. I don't do so well driving in the dark and that is why I was prescribed glasses to wear at night. I kinda leave them on my desk every day and they don't do me much good on the road. So in my complete and utter disorientation, I drove not only us, but Alison and the car full of kids behind us, straight through an empty weighing station. I just beeped and waved and drove on through.

Anyhow, we finally got there. The whole town (church, gas station, residential homes, diner) band together and sling Christmas lights on every building, tree, lamppost and fire hydrant around. It's quite a spectacle. I wonder if they do fundraisers the rest of the year to pay the electric bill? Our drive there was so stressful, we just had to milk all the enjoyment out of the lights as possible and we decided a drive-thru wasn't going to do it. Nope. We were gonna get outside and get a little closer to the blinking merriment.

I have to say, we did get some "aw shucks"ish, adorable photos of the kids hanging in the trees and lots of cute shots of Ella. Every shot of that baby is cute, really. Just as we were wrapping it up, I decided to get one more shot of my son in a Ninja pose, sprawled across a tree branch. I stepped closer and stepped directly into a tree branch, poking myself right in the eye. Now I had reason not to see where I was going!

It took a couple of days to recover, but my eye got better. So did my pride. Husband and I were now on to our next celebration, our 12th wedding anniversary. We decided to buy each other a joint gift, one that would be of enormous value to us both, and, if we purchased it before the end of the year, it would be a tax write off too. We went and bought us a GPS. I know, could have come in handy on the trip to Christmastown.

Husband has a new hobby/part-time gig as a mail courier and desperately needs help with directions. As I have alluded to before, this city bites when it comes to layout, urban planning, directions and signage. So the GPS idea was a big thumbs up. I knew he'd get a lot of use out of it. What I didn't realize is how much it would affect him.

After getting a great deal online, our GPS was ready for pick up the very next day and husband offered to go pick it up. He likes toys and gadgets way more than I do and besides, I had a ton of work to do. The store was about 15 minutes away so I figured he'd be back in an hour, tops. About half an hour later, I heard him pull up but kept on working. I knew he'd come busting in the door full of excitement and waited for it. And kept typing. And waited...

As I was wrapping things up, he quietly came into the room with a strange look on his face. You know in those religious movies how "calm and peaceful" people look once they've spoken to God, or seen an angel or whatever? Yeah, that look.

"I have seen the Messiah," was all he said.

"Really?" I replied. "It sure took a while."

The GPS has changed his life. He no longer wanders in the dark (I could use some help with that one still), has direction in his life (and I'm not talking literally) oh, and has found inner peace too. From his lips to God, apparently. Me, I'm just happy I won't get quite so lost any more!

Back to the arrival...as I worked away and waited for him to come in, he sat in the driveway programming our "favorite" destinations. School, the dentist (we've only been once), his work, my work, our next door neighbor's house (even I can't get lost going there), the bank, "our" grocery store (it's seriously, right up the road) and the jewelers. Yeah. I haven't actually been there yet, but suggested I might want to go soon and get my charm bracelet fixed so he found me one courtesy of the Messiah.

I figure on those early mornings when I"m "lost" and struggling to find something to say for my website, I might just ask the Messiah for some direction.

Today was one of those mornings, but I was too hungover to remember to ask and somehow slogged my way through . Which brings me to our most current celebration, my 41st birthday. I went out for a couple of celebratory drinks with a friend last night and paid dearly for it all day. The worst part though is that I only had two and a half drinks! Pathetic if I think back on my bartending days when I could throw back several straight shots over the course of a night... Then again, that was 20 years ago.

Anyhow, I decided today would be a perfect day to decorate our Christmas tree so we asked Lynn and our dear friends Kate and Ben to come help. Ms Southern Hospitality showed up which just sweetened the pot for me. Everyone was happy to see her. The kids were over the top excited and I tried hard to muster some of that too. The funniest part so far was watching Ben, who is Jewish and doesn't decorate trees or celebrate Christmas for that matter, get into the whole thing. He had a blast and screeched with joy. I raised my eyebrows every now and then. We finally got the tree ready and our guests got ready to go when Keller piped up "where's the Jesus kit?"

That one stopped Kate in her tracks. Keller knows a lot of stuff about a lot of things (especially Egypt - but that's a whole other post) so she hesitated and waited to hear this one. We don't have a Jesus diagram or science project or set of paper dolls...we have a ceramic Nativity Scene my mother gave us several years ago. Keller refers to that as the Jesus kit. We assembled it in front of the fireplace, where it now sits waiting for Santa and holiday number four.

Just thinking about it makes me feel tired. Think I need some inner peace. At least I now know where to find some, thanks to the Messiah.

A New Car!!!

2008-10-28T18:47:00.000-07:00

I know, we sound like moneybags... but the truth is, we're just squeaking by. Having good credit goes a long way in this town, especially post Wachovia/Wall Street meltdown. We had to get another car for Kevin's new gig (he needs his own wheels) and we had been hunting for weeks and weeks, checking online sites, car lots, craigslist...even notices on the bulletin board at the local pizza restaurant.

In the end we decided to go to one of those giant used car lots, the ones with thousands of cars all priced to sell. We went for the huge selection and we went for the "no haggle" policy. Actually we didn't really just get up and go. Once we decided we would consider a car lot, we looked online and found the car we wanted. Kevin sent them an email notice letting them know we were interested; no sooner had he hit "send" did our phone ring with a "dedicated sales associate" on the other end, giving us the deets on this car. And on financing, warranties...pretty much everything. In fact, by the sounds of it, we didn't have to do much of anything else except go look at the car, sign a few papers and split. Sounded too good to be true.

Well, it was. I don't know how these lots divvy up sales, but there doesn't seem to be a seniority/experience system in place. We must have gotten the newbie, or the lowest of the low (who happen to be one of my favorite Toronto rock bands - shout out!) because our sales associate was a ding dong. Now if you had a client coming to look at a car who had already been qualified and basically said "Hey, we want to buy that car", wouldn't you at least take a look at the car first? If that client had asked you about which papers he/she needed to bring, wouldn't you check some sort of list before signing off?

Needless to say, our sales associate hadn't looked at the car and couldn't figure out how to open the driver-side door. Not a good sign...Our associate couldn't figure out how to fold the rear seats up, how to open the sun roof or even if it was a 4-wheel drive. Our associate didn't seem to know much about our car at all. We are forgiving people and were anxious to get out on the road so we overlooked the "I'm not sure" answers and took our baby for a test drive.

The ride was smooth, roomy and perfect for our family. Now all we had to do was sign a few papers, drop some cash on the table , pick up the keys and squirt the sales associate with pepper spray. (just kidding; saw that in a commercial once) We were all set to go when our sales associate asked me for my state licence. (see previous blog) Of course, I don't have one and didn't bring any photo ID with me. Now remember, I asked BEFORE leaving the house if there was anything specific I needed to bring besides my DL. I told our ding dong that I didn't have a state DL and was assured it would be fine. Well, it wasn't. Turns out I couldn't be on the title at all. So, I don't officially own the car, Kevin does. But it's OK with me...he gets to pay the note!

The car is home and looks grand parked in our driveway. Now it seems everyone in the family (even the dog is turning his nose up) all of a sudden hates our ghetto, Toyota Echo. Everyone, except me. It's my car and I'm kinda proud of the one-hubcap-missing-weirdly-dented-too-many-bumper-stickers look we got going. It's urban, a little dangerous and totally unpretentious, just like me. I don't need anyone to pimp my ride; I like it just fine.

As for the new car, it's shiny and almost perfect; just like Kevin. The kids now love to circle the car ride pick up lanes at school in the new car and shudder when I suggest taking them in our old standby. I might just take them in the ghetto car every now then for fun. Or maybe I'll embrace our new car like everyone else.

We're Staying

2008-09-12T11:13:00.000-07:00

It's official, we're staying in Charlotte. Bought a house, and there's no turning back. It's a beautiful home with an outrageously beautiful yard that will keep us crazy busy. The entire process was surreal and Kevin and I are still sorta waiting for the "home-buying fraud police" to show up and tell us it's all a big mistake. In the meantime, we're absolutely making the most out of it.

Before we left Toronto, Kevin contacted a mortgage broker here in Charlotte and told her we were planning to move, and asked what we needed to do to qualify for another home. Even though we bought a house outright in Canada, mortgage lenders in the U.S. didn't really care, especially since we hadn't had any established credit here for several years. We thought our chances were slim to none. The mortgage broker/fairy gave us a step by step plan to follow, wished us luck and most likely kissed us off as time wasters.

Well our first year in Charlotte was a struggle and financially our plans to buy a home were put on the shelf. We were happy to clear up all of our debts after the sale of our house in Toronto and took the rest of the year to scale back and re-evaluate our situation. It was sobering, humbling and even a little humiliating. Scratch that...just humbling.

After landing a good p/t job here in Charlotte and with other side assignments coming in on a regular basis, we decided to call the mortgage fairy once again. Or, Kevin did anyhow. I just signed papers and handed over pay stubs and continued on my merry(?) way. Kevin's tenacious, well-tempered personality is perfect for wading through the mountain of paperwork that is a mortgage application. He quietly gathered, copied, documented and "batched" our things and couriered them away. We then sat back and waited.

What were we hoping for? Just a reality check and a sense of where we stood. What did we get? "You guys can pre-qualify." For a hut? We were both working several p/t jobs and had established more credit here, but never did we think it would happen so soon. It just so happened the mortgage fairy is married to a fantastic realtor (not going to use the word fairy here; too great a chance for a major misunderstanding) who just happened to be free that very weekend. Whoa!

Now during our first year here we met some wonderful friends, a wife and husband who happen to also be a writer and musician respectively. And fun people too. They live in a quiet, lush neighborhood adjacent to a creek and surrounded by tons of greenery. They also happen to live next door to an amazing modern house that sat on the market for months and months and months. Every Sunday we went over for brunch we would take an extra five minutes and pull into the driveway next door and peek inside the expansive front windows. And sigh.

It was time to set up appts. to look at houses and our friends sadly informed us that the house next door was already under contract. Sigh. Out of curiosity, I had our realtor run a check on the listing to see what it went for and when it was closing. Well the mortgage fairy must have done some talking to her mother superior because the deal had fallen through and the house was back on the market. (Cue a chorus of "Hallelujahs" here) Guess where we went first?

It was everything we'd imagined and more. It was more spacious. More groovy, and more intriguing. Oh, and more stinky. Turns out the previous owners had dogs who took it upon themselves to use the upstairs carpet as their very own backyard. But other than that, it was perfect. Just to be fair, we did see a couple of other houses but every house kept being compared to our wonder house and so we decided we should make an offer.

Turns out the house had gone into foreclosure and the bank was more than happy to have someone take it off their hands. One counter later, we had an agreement. We still had a few hoops to jump through with former tax files to provide, but we were on our way. At that point we went through the motions of a home inspection but in our hearts we knew that despite anything they reported short of it's teetering on absolute destruction, we were game. A good report came back and our closing date was scheduled. Just like that. Whoa, again.

Telling our friends and family we were buying a house was fun. We'd plan who to call and then play "Guess their reaction!" Turns out everyone was equally surprised, especially after spending a year listening to us moan about money woes and debating whether we should stay in Charlotte at all.

Of course the strangest part of all of this was the actual closing. We quietly shuffled into a swanky uptown law office and met the lawyer who was professional yet approachable. She ushered us into the conference room where a stack of papers lay waiting. A side note: Our first closing on our home in New Orleans was a disaster - long, trying and definitely not hospitable despite buying it from our then next door neighbor. We didn't know what to expect.

Instead of waiting for the mortgage fairy and the realtor, we decided to take up our lawyer on her suggestion to get started. Not a sound could be heard except for the shuffling of papers as we signed and signed our life away. Every now and then I would look up and scan the room just to make sure those fraud guys weren't going to show up. In record time, it was a done deal. We now owned our wonder home. We came, we signed, we conquered.

You know that IKEA commercial for their winter sale when the woman shouts "Start the car!" to her husband as she's running out the door? I totally wanted to shout that as we were exiting the lawyer's office. But, the surreal moment was lost when the paralegal called out "Mr and Mrs Clark, wait a minute." S&!* They found us.

Not really. We had forgot to sign a whatever, whatever paper saying we didn't see any signs of termites on the property. We graciously signed our last form, said goodbye to everyone and bolted for the door. Kevin and I both let out a whoop as we unlocked the car door. This time we really did do it!

Buying a home has been satisfying in so many ways, but especially in providing a sense of stability. We now had some definite plans for the future that include Charlotte. We're staying!

The Puffy Couch

2008-08-19T11:25:00.000-07:00

You know when something just irks you sooo bad you have to do something about it? Maybe you write a letter to the editor (like my husband who's going to write the local paper about their so-called 2 page "editorial" on a crappy restaurant chain which somehow counts as lifestyle) or maybe you call your sister to bitch, or maybe you're lucky enough to have your own blog.

Here's my latest irk, beef, bitch, pet peeve...puffy couches. We are fortunate enough to have recently bought a beautiful house here in Charlotte (which means we're here to say, which is an entirely separate blog) and so have been on the hunt for a second sofa. Because I have spent every extra cent on new flooring and paint and Home Depot's pension plan, I can't afford to buy new and am trolling craigslist on a regular basis. In my quest for an amazing yet affordable sofa, I have discovered how many people here own massive, over-stuffed, faux suede, micro-fibered seating more appropriate for the Michelin Man and his puffy dog too.

Is it because as a nation, we are eating too much and becoming puffy ourselves? Is that why we must buy sofas that don't necessarily seat us, as much as they allow us to crumple into giant lumps of post mashed potatoes and gravy? It doesn't matter what jewel-toned skin you throw on them, they're all ugly. Fugly, in fact.

Despite living on a paltry salary (such is the life of regional freelance) I have champagne taste and so struggle to find the glorious furnishings I see in all of my national decor magazines. Maybe I need to subscribe to Fuggly Home. It seems ridiculous to drool over all the exquisite things that are currently out of my reach, but I do. Sometimes it's pure escape and other times like an addiction. I just need a fix of beauty every now and then. Some women read fashion rags or travel guides; I read shelter magazines.

I'll admit it; I am a design snob. I secretly mock those who are afraid of finding their own design style and go the safe, matchy-match route in all beige or cream. The irony of course is I that can't make my home decor dreams a reality right now so I suffer and dream and cruise antique/second hand websites for hours on end. Sadly, I've yet to find a Baker sofa for under $500 that doesn't need a total re haul. Is it fair that all the marshmallow fugglies are in my price range?

Maybe one day a design savvy-homemaker will take pity on me and sell me her second-hand Paul Smith sofa that sat in the parlor and only got used one Sunday a month when her in-laws came to visit. It will have strong, architectural lines, and rich velvet striped fabric and a price tag of only $199. It will not be puffy and it will be mine.

Cruise Control

2008-07-20T13:32:00.000-07:00

I have never been so wronged, for being so right. Just the other day, while driving on the highway an insane motorist honked at me for apparently getting in his way (I had to cross four lanes of traffic in about 600 feet) though my turn signal was on and I was letting everyone know where I was headed. He then passed me while giving me the dirtiest look possible; all this before HE committed the sin of all driving sins in this town, no signal.

Just so you know, I signal when changing lanes. Always. If I were totally conscious of it before moving here, I am vigilant about it now. It has become my pet peeve, my ball and chain, the sword in my side, so to speak. Apparently I am alone. What is so flippin' hard about flicking the thumb to let others know that you are changing positions/lanes/directions and avoiding a potentially lethal collision?

I've been avoiding transferring my DL here to NC. (Ok bloggers and readers, no turning me in now) I'm afraid if I do, something will happen to my left thumb and it will lose it's ability to hit the signal switch. If I officially drive in this town, will I become a non-signaler too? I just can't bare the thought...

Confession time. The real reason I haven't switched my DL yet is I'm also afraid of rejection and failure. That's right, I have serious issues with the DMV. Back in 96 when I moved to La, I went through the mind-numbing process of getting a current and legal DL in the wondrous city of New Orleans, with it's wonky streets (Charlotte decidedly wins that one hands down though - that's an entirely separate post, TBD) and its outdated, asinine Napoleonic code. In other words, they got their own set of rules that some butt-kissin', frenchy-lovin' bureacrat made up a couple of hundred years ago. In other words, all other known driving rules do not apply.

Anyhow, I take myself down to the DMV and discover I cannot "transfer" my licence from another country, I must start the process all over again with both a written and driving test. Keep in mind, I wasn't some green teen who'd only ever been in a car with an extra set of foot brakes and an instructor who needed a lot of breath mints...I had been driving for over 10 years at this point.

Needless to say, I wasn't really aware of the whole Napoleonic thing and didn't study too hard. To say I skimmed over the rules book would be generous. So, I failed. My husband (to-be at that point) was very supportive and even helped me study a little for the next round. After receiving my second rejection notice, hubby tried really hard not to laugh in front of me. Not because I failed mind you, because I was indignant, outraged and outright pissed. How could this be???

Round three nearly broke me. I failed again, this time missing by one point for not knowing how far from the end of the street to park. Let me tell you something about parking in NOLA; lots of times it's a free-for-all. Humpf. This time he never said a word as I crumpled up my results and tossed them in the garbage. I did go back and study, and studied hard.

With the written test over and done with, it was time to do the easy part, drive the car. At the time we were driving a gorgeous gas-guzzling, cream-colored, 72 Benz, with cream leather interior. It was a sweet ride, but temperamental, just like me. We hadn't the funds then to cherry it out and update it with proper seat belts so it just had the one belt across the lap. My poor driving instructor was rather large and the seat belt wouldn't fit across her girth. After yanking on it three or four times, she gave up and left it dangling on the side. I was so embarrassed, I didn't know what to do or say except apologize for having an old beater of a car. She didn't even look at me; just asked me to circle the block , scribbled on her notepad and muttered a "you pass" on her way out of the car. I had humiliated another human being just for a piece of paper.

So you see, I haven't been able to move on and get a new DL. Should I bite the bullet and study the law here, or just pay for an extra therapy session?

Father's Day - No Worries

2008-06-16T06:45:00.000-07:00

I'm a sucker for holidays. I blame it on my family. They always go whole hog on holidays, I think to make up for the rest of the chaotic year when things don't always go right. Come to think of it, things don't usually go right on holidays either. There was the time the turkey slid across the kitchen floor one Thanksgiving, or the time the main water pipe broke on Christmas morning, or the time...you get the picture.

Regardless, as Father's Day was approaching, I didn't have any grand scheme planned and was racking my brain with what to do on limited time and funds. Since it fell on a Sunday, I knew we'd be heading to church with our friend Carolyn which was always lovely. She offered to let Kevin drive her new convertible which was a wonderful way to start the day. I decided as we cruised along the quiet streets with the wind blowing our hair back, to let the day unfold and go with whatever it had to offer.

The service was remarkably simple, sweet and low key. The sermon was on "woolgathering" and how it sometimes is a good idea to indulge in. Our pastor must have somehow known that it's my husband's favorite hobby. He had given him and everyone else there permission to daydream. What better Father's Day present is there?

We took our time getting back home and got some very important paperwork completed. Another check off the list and a deep feeling of satisfaction. Just then Ms. Southern Hospitality let us know that the 3 foot deep pool she had bought and installed was good to go and that we'd all get together later in the afternoon for a pool party. A party I didn't have to plan or execute?? It was starting to feeling like Mother AND Father's Day.

Lady Dragonfly, Ms Southern Hospitality's son's girlfriend, is another kindred spirit and decided to indulge myself and my daughter by bringing over guitar hero for us to rock out with. Her boyfriend, Sir Ease, kicked it up a notch by bringing out his massive TV and setting the whole thing up outside in the sunshine. I quickly did a snack run while husband continued with his nap. The day was now rockin' and rollin!

While the kids frolicked in the water, I channeled my inner Slash/Stevie Ray/Kim Gordon. Husband, upon waking from his slumber, grabbed a beer and did lifeguard duty. Lady Dragonfly worked on her tan while Sir Ease kept us posted on the US Open which was playing inside on the other TV. Ms Southern Hospitality cooked and was her usual hospitable self, grabbing bug spray, towels, sodas and such.

We spent the entire afternoon and some of the evening next door until it was time for their family dinner. The kids were starting to fade (or turn blue in the case of Dr. Egypt) so we rassled them inside for a bath and light meal. As husband and I were discussing what to feed the kids, Ms Southern Hospitality rang the door bell and presented us with a platter of food. I swear, I am not making this up; she so has earned her title.

I decided to let the dog out one more time before it turned dark and took a seat on the newly decorated front porch. Earlier that week husband and I were talking about fireflies, and how he didn't think there were any left in the south. He so loves fireflies and couldn't wait to head back to Canada to see some. Needless to say, the Father's Day fairy heard him lament and sprinkled our street with fireflies that night. I yelled for husband and the kids to hurry outside. We all took a seat and watched our lawn and our neighbors' properties light up with tiny sparks.

"What a perfect ending to a wonderful day" said husband. I didn't need to stress or worry about a grand scheme; it all came together on its own.

The tale of ancient treasure found in the dryer

2008-05-29T07:45:00.000-07:00

The other day I was searching for bloggers to link up with (almost sounds sexy) and came across a hilarious post by a blogger mom entitled "Rocks in the Dryer". I didn't even read her first post and already I knew we were kindred spirits.

You see, doing my son's laundry is an exercise in patience, wonderful discovery and frustration. No longer can I carelessly toss his shorts/pants/jackets in the wash. I MUST go through every pocket first; I never know what treasure I might find. Seriously. In the past I might have half-heartedly stuck my hand in a pocket or two but it was more out of habit than anything. On occasion I still find a receipt or loose change in my husband's clothes which rarely turn out to be a bad thing so the instant reflex reach always kicks in.

Boys under ten usually like to pick up and collect rocks. I wish it were so with my kid. His continued fascination with all things Egypt, ancient, Mayan and now Roman means I find weirder stuff in the dryer. Miniature statues (note to aunties and uncles: we have plenty of baby Nefertiti busts) are the norm around here. Don't get me wrong. I still get excited if I find a rock; to me it means he's still got one foot in the door of regular-boy-land.

His latest thing is to draw his loved ones cartouches. (I had to look that one up) He will show you his cartouche, but he will never part with it. In other words, there are a million little scraps of paper rolled up and tied up with a rubber band with secret encrypted messages on them that end up as shreds of white dust in my dryer. I know he's brilliant and creative and wonderful...but rocks, I could handle.

It is definitely a boy thing though. Girls carry backpacks until they are old enough to carry purses and don't usually stuff their treasures in their pockets. I never do. Then again, I do have the black hole otherwise known as my purse to contend with. Wonder what's lurking in there?

Karma Chameleon

2008-04-30T19:30:00.000-07:00

It's been exactly 30 days since the last post and so much has changed/occurred, I don't know where to begin except to say, we've been eatin up some major karma this week. If you believe all that voodoo and superstition (and I do, and not just because lil Stevie Wonder sings it so well) then we Clarks have so*me karmatic business to attend to.

If bad things happen in threes, then we took care of bad things for a while. I've always remarked how lucky we were when it came to vehicles and that our car karma was great. Erase that and add until now. This week alone we have spent well over a grand on our vehicles for some really dumb s*@$! We're sorry karma gods; can you hear us???

I know it's more of a guy thing, but a car with dents just doesn't bug me. To me they are just like wrinkles on a woman's face; they have been earned and add "character" to the surface. To my husband, they are bad. In fact, he doesn't even like our car anymore because of a few minor wrinkles. Most of the wrinkles weren't even our fault. True story; a crackhead neighbor back in Toronto got really zooed one Sunday afternoon, lost control of his bicycle and crashed straight into our car. Knocked himself down, fractured his collarbone, wrecked his bike and dinged our Echo. It wasn't worth calling the insurance company and we were certain he didn't have a dime (not a legal one anyhow) to his name. If that's the worst of it, I thought, then we got off easy.

I digress. We are getting ready to go on a road trip this week and Kevin wanted the car lookin spiffy so he took a plunger (he saw this on some reality show or something) and a hammer to the door to "pull" out the dings. I guess he doesn't know his own strength, and consequently smashed the window on the passenger side door. Ouch. A whoppin bill days before our trip. A minor note; he also ripped the seat upholstery trying to vacuum up some dirt. I didn't even notice.

Though we were considering a car rental, our Budget budget was just plundered and so driving the Echo it would be. Grandma and Grandpa then called to say they were sorry they couldn't meet us in NOLA, and would we please allow them to rent a car for us. Dang! I says. Well it turns out you can't pay for a car rental in one state when the pick up is in another state so that plan was off. Oh well, it was the thought that counted.

After a difficult night's sleep, my husband arises early to drive to work on the scooter at 5:30 AM, his usual routine. The scooter has been a blessing and allowed us some extra transportation without major cost. (see previous blog entitled Liquor-sicle). However, the whole joy in not having to pay insurance isn't really a joy when it comes time to replace the stolen scooter. That's right, it was stolen in broad daylight in front of Bank of America, someplace you would think would have MAJOR security.

I don't know what to think. Is it just plain, bad, dumb luck, unlucky circumstances, bad karma or dimwitted-ness??? What is up with the car??? What is up with us??? Should we cancel the trip and just stay under the covers??? Help me friends. Tell me something good.

Liquor-sicle

2008-03-10T18:13:00.001-07:00

When I think of scooter, I think of a cool, well-dressed, gorgeous European man tooling around the Piazza on a vintage Vespa, his dark purple tie flapping in the wind. He may have an equally gorgeous, slim babe in a shift dress, dark sunglasses and chiffon covering her hair, riding on back. How chic, how sophisticated... how un-American.

Back in Toronto my husband rode a vintage Vespa that I had won in a major sales contest. He loved the freedom of zipping through downtown traffic and the cache of owning an Italian model, the epitome of cool in scooter cultural terms. His friends were envious. His best friend eventually bought a Vespa, another friend of mine bought one too. When we got ready to move back to the US, we discovered it was going to be a paperwork/logistical nightmare to get it across the border and regrettably sold it to another friend who was more than happy to take it off our hands.

Recently my husband took an early shift at work and required his own mode of transportation. We have been a one car family for so long, we had to deliberate on what/how/when to buy a second vehicle. One car families are an anomaly in this car-culture town, but a one car/scooter family is downright unheard of. Now I'm not saying that scooters aren't ridden around here because they are. But they tend to have drivers who are younger, college student types who are limited on funds. Some of them are cool too.

Taking into account the cost of a car note, insurance, astronomical gas prices and downtown parking fees, we concluded that another scooter would do the trick, especially since it will get driven ten or eleven months of the year, rather than the four or five months available in Canada. A quick search on Craigslist turned up a fairly new Honda scooter with less than 75 miles on it. To boot, no motorcycle license is required to drive a scooter (under a certain cc) in the state of North Carolina. Free parking, next to free gas prices and no paperwork...what more could we ask for!

I pictured my husband in his Banana Republic suit, driving through town, women stopping mid sentence to check out the sexy machine... Um, wrong. Apparently in this town men (grown men more specifically) on scooters are thought to be losers with too many DUIs, who can no longer legally drive and have resorted to getting around on a liquor-sicle, as they are otherwise and affectionately known.

The first clue should have been the snickers from his co-workers, men who drive manly cars, like SUVs or anything with the word magnum in its description. Our neighbor across the street plain out bust a gut when Kevin told him he bought a scooter. "You are legal to drive aren't you?" was his very next question. They just didn't seem to get it and neither did we.

Thankfully, our other neighbor, Ms Southern Hospitality, clued us in to its pseudonym. By this point however we had paid for the thing outright and have no recourse but to drive it back and forth everyday. The Fellini-esqueness has been sucked right out of our European scooter fantasy. Now it's left with a "My Name is Earl" residue. Bummer.

Face It!

2008-01-31T19:50:00.000-08:00

Something awfully strange is happening. I am "meeting" people in town and in other towns through virtual reality. I now have "friends" in various cities, though some of them I've never met. I am making online friends with people I've been phoning and emailing for weeks, to no avail. People I would like to connect with for potential job opportunities who would and have otherwise completely blown me off, suddenly want to reveal very personal information to me. I have come face to face with the realization that Facebook is the great communicator of the day and I just don't get it.

Until now I have completed resisted the phenomena that is online networking for many reasons. First of all, it creeps me out to have to/want to share that much personal information with the world. Secondly, if I want to talk to my friends, I call them or send them a personal and confidential email. Thirdly, Facebook was introduced to me by a high school kid as "the coolest way to hook up", which somehow seems highly inappropriate for a mom. Lastly, does anyone really care "what are you doing right now?" if I'm doing the laundry or cutting my son's toenails? (last night's festivities) Must I share that with the world? Oh, did I mention it creeps me out?

Why did I join then? Apparently I was the very last of my seven siblings to sign on. My sisters' weekly invites, pokes (what exactly it is in Facebook world I'm not certain of) and messages to join were relentless. My brother John doesn't even bother to email anymore and insists people "catch him" on Facebook. Even my brother Steve, who can never remember my phone number and who forgets to buy groceries, is a regular. I caved.

I have friends who, in the real world, would barely pass as acquaintances, yet somehow want me to see their wedding photo albums. Colleagues who were satisfying as contacts, now want to know what I've had for breakfast. When will it ever end? I thought perhaps I might get a gig or two, share a laugh with a real friend (note to self - my best friend has not signed on) and keep up with my sister's never-ending camping photos. I still don't get it.

If you're on Facebook and you come across my name, don't poke me or wall me or send a smile or whatever. Call me at home this weekend and we'll chat.

"Tell me about your car!!!"

2008-01-04T16:22:00.000-08:00

We all know this town is fairly flush and what better way to say "I'm successful!" than with a flashy, bling-worthy, name-dropping car? There are more Beemers, Jags, Benz and Ranges here than you can shake a stick at. I bet 28203 gives 90210 a run for its money when it comes to automobiles...

Unfortunately, I don't own one of these. My car is the much less desirable, poor-man's Volkswagen otherwise known as an Echo. (mind you, it's the sporty two-door kind) Back in the driveway-challenged metropolis of Toronto, Echos are a wise choice. They are economical, drive well in traffic (we're talking hours of idling here, not minutes) and can fit in the most minute parking spots. We didn't have a driveway or garage back home and welcomed a cheap and cheerful ride that could be left out on the street all night.

Many agree. Echos are really popular in Toronto. Two of my very best friends drive Echos, in fact. So does my step-daughter. I could go on, but won't.

Not surprising though, I haven't seen many Echos here in Charlotte. I think I've seen a total of four in the five months or so that we've been here. What did surprise me though was the reaction I got when I pulled into the driveway of a prospective interviewee in my sporty wannabee sports car.

No sooner had I stepped out of the car when this gentleman exclaimed (and I say this in the nicest way) "Wow! Tell me about your car!!". Now the Echo is rare in these parts but it's not exactly a George Jetson-mobile... I swear this man had never laid eyes on this particular Toyota brand. I didn't really know what to say. "Uh, it's a sporty Echo that gets great gas mileage and can park anywhere" is what I responded with a "everyone in Toronto drives one" for good measure.

As extreme as it sounds, picture this. We are driving down a main thorough fare in Charlotte in a prosperous section of town when we pull up next to a Beemer at a red light. Not only is it brand new, it's got "Sweet Sixteen" and "Happy Birthday" written all over it, like it just pulled off the lot of "Richie Rich's BMW of Lake Norman". What sixteen year old needs a 2007 BMW??? I didn't get my own car until I was 23 and working full-time. Even if my parents had the dough to buy one, I very much doubt they'd sign me up for a brand-spanking, accident magnet car.

My 2001 beater (fully paid off, I might add) with it's unidentifiable Canadian plates has become a sort of badge of honor. It puzzles people. Machines too. Once, a couple of months back as I pulled out of the parking garage at the airport, the parking attendee stopped to ask me which state it was from. I told her PEI. The computer didn't recognize it and settled on PA instead. Ha! It's not only sporty, but mysterious too.

Hallelujah!

2007-12-26T13:33:00.001-08:00

I think I have an answer to the all-important "Where do you go to church?" question. Though we haven't officially joined, we have frequented a liberal-leaning, thinking man's church here in Charlotte and couldn't be happier about it. Imagine; liberal and religion in the same sentence!

The you-you church is filled with a bunch of old hippies and basic disgruntled church-goers who refuse to suffer the "doom and gloom" syndrome of whatever other faith/denomination/abomination they have suffered in the past. My kinda people, to be exact.

Besides the same "all about us" classes, you-you has discussion groups, poetry groups, nature walks and yoga sessions to help in the overall spiritual healing process that attending church was meant to do. At least, that's what I think. There's a variety of small (to use office-speak) breakout groups for those who want to get involved and connect on a smaller, more intimate level. I've chosen to start with yoga. In addition to being good for me, it's a place to which I've been to before and am comfortable in and know my way around, to some degree.

My past experiences with organized religion has been hit or miss and I've come to the conclusion that I will not attend any church in order to be a good girl, or earn another check mark in the journey to the next world. Uh ah. I want to go to be a part of a community that is engaging and touches my soul in some meaningful way. To put in mildly, I just don't have the time to be payin lip service!

Speaking of service, the first service we went to was not a regular service, which was really fantastic in retrospect. The leader of this group is a former poetry professor at a well recognized university and conducts "poetry services" once a season. This was one of them, and what a service it was. Besides hearing thoughtful, beautiful stories from around the world, we listened to several sweet Beatles tunes (what screams "live and let live" hippie dippie 60s more than "Let It Be"?) and witnessed the congregation waltz together out the door. I was moved. To tears, to be exact. My soul was touched. We can't wait to go back.

I think I have found the answer.

Where have you been?

2007-12-26T13:09:00.000-08:00

It's been almost two whole months since my last post and it's hard to reason why. I got away from it, mostly. I also spent a couple of weeks in Canada and disconnected to my feelings about Charlotte. Disconnecting from something/some place you are otherwise desperately trying to connect with is, well, discombobulating to say the least.

What has happened to me in Charlotte since then? I've been busily hunting for employment and let me tell you, it has been a humbling experience. I think I have been unemployed for a total of three days since the age of 13. I've had a variety of odd/mind-numbingly normal, (I once dressed up as a Duracell battery; it paid outrageously well) good/horrible, (ad sales jobs with the freedom to wander and luncheon come to mind in the good department) well-paying/pathetically paying gigs along the way and find myself in a strange place. I am working, but not at a job that is necessarily well-suited for me and am working hard to make peace with it. Though I am grateful to be employed, I am still asking myself, much like a Talking Heads disciple, "lord, how did I get here?".

Talking to former beauty queens who live for pampering and vanity sessions is not a job I ever saw myself doing. Besides being obviously (annoyingly) over-qualified, I am spending an inordinate amount of time with people who very much care and take care of their looks. I am generally speaking, not one of those people. I'm not criticizing though; I wish in some ways, I did care more about beauty. I just don't feel natural or familiar in this territory. And let's not forget the Elephant in the room, the beauty business is fairly superficial. I'm trying to find people who are beautiful on the inside and again feel discombobulated. Sigh.

To be fair, I have met a couple of genuinely sweet people. Not everyone who works for a beauty/cosmetics company is a superficial ninny, though it sometimes feels that way. I have actually become good friends with a few and am grateful for the opportunity to meet any new people here. I can live with that for now.

For now.

A Par-tay, Charlotte style

2007-10-30T16:25:00.002-07:00

My very dear friend Lynn decided to throw us a welcome to Charlotte party and seeing as how we missed getting together with people in a big way, we said of course. I know she is saddened by my lack of friends in Charlotte and wants to introduce me to many of her friends whom she loves so much. I also know she is one helluva hostess and throws a fabulous party (she is a native New Orleanian after all) and our arrival in her new home town was the perfect excuse for throwin down.

I was a bit nervous about the party for several reasons including most importantly, my open and apparent need of new friends. Would I seem desperate? I sure didn't want to come off that way. I also wasn't sure what parties were like here and how different they would be from my own Canadian backyard summer affairs which tended to be loose and long-lasting. I didn't know if people would take off their masks, let down their hair or whatever other cliche there is for having some real fun...that's what I like to do.

To ease my anxiety, Lynn strategically made me in charge of getting everyone their first drink. This allowed me to introduce myself, get people talking, and hopefully a little liquored up. As a former bartender, it was a role I was very comfortable with. It also gave me a purpose other than sitting on the sofa waiting for people to be my friend. Blech.

My kids planted themselves out front and worked their quirky, adorable charm on all the unsuspecting guests. "I'm Keller; my dad is famous, and so I'm famous and I like armchairs" was a particularly memorable opener. Cyre on the other hand, shook hands and directed traffic. Her manners are impeccable at most times and shone this particular night. My husband planted himself in a chair beside the piano and played jazz tunes with his partner in crime, Ethan. I couldn't help but relax and smile.

The music, food and wine worked wonders. Before long, people were laughing and chatting up a storm. Friends sat with friends as per usual at a party but were quick to make room for someone new. The kids got tattoos from the hostess and one mom took it upon herself to put them every kid there (and herself of course). Food just kept showing up as did bottle after bottle of Shiraz's, cabs and Merlots. Things were heating up!

With all the good food and free-flowing wine, it wasn't long before other guests decided to get in on the entertainment. I just prayed my husband, the paid professional, wouldn't roll his eyes when the amateurs stepped up to the mike. To be fair, Lynn had warned us that a few friends had anticipated a well-heeled hootenanny and were going to bring along their instrument of choice. One friend was even going to bring a pair of tap shoes; this I couldn't wait to see! Another friend had a song to sing and when I asked her about it at the beginning of the night she replied "not yet honey. I'm not nearly drunk enough!". Ooowee.

What started off as a trumpet/piano duo became a trio with the additional of an accordion, a quartet with the addition of an African drum, and an accompaniment to both the hoofer and the belter. Channeling her best Ella Fitzgerald (well, more like Ethel Merman really) one guest sang a tribute to our host that had us in stitches. "Bravo!" we shouted, though I noted how quickly my husband counted down another song he was certain she wouldn't know. The tap-dancing professor proved that one isn't restricted to using just the left or right brain. I was inspired.

I was also flattered by the friendliness of the folks there and the warm welcomes I received. I'm making a list of names and email addresses so I can send out thank yous and tell our guests how much it meant to us to have them there. I know I won't be BF or BFF (what does those mean anyhow?) with all of them, but I do know I'll be friends with more of them. It was a wonderful way to meet some wonderful Charlotteans.

Flea Market: The Future of America

2007-10-22T13:35:00.001-07:00

As much as it pains me to say so, Jeff Foxworthy is right on the money. About some things anyway. The other night while channel surfing I came across a comedy panel with JF on it and he was waxing poetic on his favorite topic, Rednecks. His brilliant remark "Show me a three year old in a diaper walking around a flea market with a baby bottle full of coca cola and I'll show you a future NASCAR fan" rings oh so true. I know because I saw that three year last week at a flea market just outside of Charlotte.

Someone told me the flea market south of Pineville had really great antiques on Saturdays so being a second-hand/thrift/consignment store junkie, I naturally decided to drag my poor family and visiting friend down to the Carolina border to check out all the great finds. My kids have been down this road before and are automatically suspect of any such invitation which means bribes are in order. A new toy, a junk food-like snack or cold hard cash to spend are what get Cyre and Keller into the car. My husband on the other hand, loves the social petrie dish that is flea market culture; he was game . My poor friend from out of town had no choice but to tag along.

To say I was disappointed with the offerings is a major understatement. No antiques, junky electronics and cheapo fleece blankets with pictures of wolves and football teams did nothing for me. Although there were some truly far out, glow-in-the-dark, neon palm tree and blessed Madonna lanterns for sale, most of the stuff there was forgettable. It takes an awful lot of awful for me to travel to a consumer gathering of any sort and not spend a dime. My daughter did pick up a couple of books and my son got a coffin-like incense burner but I left empty handed. Humpf.

What I did get out of the trip though is really hard to explain. It was worthy of a comedy special on its own, JF style of course. How to do justice to the phenomenon that is Dave's Ministry...let's see. We were walking down a main aisle, browsing at rows of imitation name brand sneakers and such when we heard the strum of a gee-tar, followed by a lonesome voice. "They have paid entertainment at this place?" was my first reaction, followed by "what the hell kinda busker is that?". Hell no, heaven, ummm...maybe. You see, Dave drove down to the market every weekend to spread the gospel of Jesus' love to all those poor families who were willing to park themselves on the nearby benches and listen up. He had a hand-written sign with his name, a bucket to collect money for I don't know what exactly, some pamphlets to hand out and a microphone to sing from.

I couldn't make out what his handouts said or which song he was singing for I dared not venture too close. I really wanted to get my hands on his words of wisdom but fear kept me a safe distance apart. As surreal as it was, I was mesmerized and couldn't tear myself away. I looked over at my husband and friend just to compare their reactions with mine and validate that what we were witness to was truly unbelievable. Yep, same stunned look. My husband then raised his eyebrows in "Oh ya, baby" glee and my friend turned away in "only in America" embarrassment.

Now to be fair, his voice wasn't awful and his gee-tar playing passable. But Dave was 100% sincere and that's what gets people in the end anyhow. I imagine Dave engages in one or two Christian discussions every weekend and I also imagine that's good enough for him. Shoot, if I get one or two comments per blog entry, I'm thrilled! Maybe like blogging is for me, Dave's singing is therapeutic for him and satisfying without any measured response. Or is it? We'll have to check with JF on that one. He'd know.

PLEATED PANTS

2007-10-16T19:22:00.000-07:00

I never noticed it until the other day. There I was, innocently cruising the aisles of the local department store with my husband who was on a quest for new black pants, when he pointed out the obvious. "There's nothing but pleated pants here." "Is that weird?" I replied. "Haven't you noticed that so many of the men folk around here wear pleated pants?" I hadn't.

I am not a fashion moron nor a savant nor a fashionista. I regularly read fashion magazines and even check out the Satorialist on a semi-regular basis and therefore consider myself "in the know". But the pleated pants syndrome had escaped me...until now. Row upon row of khakis and slacks in the department store with their neatly pressed pleats hung there waiting for average guy to take them home. If jeans could have pleats, I'm sure they'd sell them there too.

Maybe it was just that store. I decided at that very moment to do an informal survey of every guy I saw for that day and every day going forward. (I'd probably forget after a day or two but it seemed like a great social experiment nevertheless.) It would prove to be a bit tricky, staring at men's lower halves, without coming off like an over-sexed cougar or a castrating man-hater. I had to be casual, sneaking sly glances at all times.

No sooner had I stepped out the door did I almost ran into two guys wearing you guessed it, pleated pants. Khakis to be exact. Wow. It could have been beginner's luck, I told myself. As I crossed the street toward my car, I pretended to look for traffic, but instead did a quick pedestrian scope. Pleats, pleats, pleats, wait; shorts. It was unbelievable. I felt like I was witnessing a clothing cult of some sort.

What is it about this town that loves the pleat? I was sure it was just another male fashion faux pas until I spotted a woman walking downtown in a pair of pleated pants later in the week. Khakis again. I hit the brakes and risked a rear-ender when she passed in view. Could it be spreading?

In a complete panic that night, both the husband and I scoured our drawers and closets looking for any sign of pleats. As he pulled out an older pair of khakis, a "HA!" erupted from my lips. Wait, they weren't pleated. Good to know they still made khakis sans pleat. What I really need to know though is whether the pleat is unique to Charlotte or not. Any feedback America?

I'm thinking a "What Not to Wear" marathon is in order for this town. What do you think?

SPIN CLASS - MBA or M Div required

2007-09-28T06:54:00.000-07:00

One of the things I've always wanted to do was take a spin class. Hunched over their machines, dripping in sweat and looking like they might keel over at any moment, these cycle warriors seem to be the ultimate fitness fanatics and I wanted to be one of them; at least once anyway. After weeks of observing the dedication required, I decided to take the plunge. I was sure all that great indie rock blasting from the cycle room was just what I needed to keep me motivated.

Imagine my surprise when my instructor, who shares the name with a despised ex-colleague and who also, if you play the name game, rhymes with muck or better, a curse word which truly described the old office mate's personality, announced this particular class was his 3rd Annual Christian Ride. Gulp. It was like Sunday school all over again. "Children, God is everywhere. In the trees, in the birds, in the spin class..." Kumba ya just wasn't going to do it for me and I silently debated fleeing.

Luckily, his choice of Christian music wasn't half bad and if I ignored the lyrics and concentrated on the guitar, I was OK. How bizarre to have an entire genre of music be completely foreign. Then again, I don't know much about Scandinavian Death Metal either. Regardless, my instructor got me and my machine sized up and in-sync and off we went. Tunes blaring, pedals in motion, I was excited and nervous all at the same time.

Spin classes work like this; ride for a given span of time, at a certain level and gear and at a specified frequency. How naive of me to think you just pedal. I decided my instructor must be in banking. Either that or he's devised a clever system that keeps his class moving (despite wanting to stop every moment) with non-stop number crunching. Yep, we were constantly calculating our base number, adding percentages, time intervals, degrees, and gear changes. I was so busy trying to figure out my base number and how many rotations of the knee it was and then how many more rotations it would be if I gave it 10% more and how many it would total for the 30 second challenge, that I was oblivious to the obvious issue at hand...pain!!

Just when I thought I couldn't take it any longer, my instructor would instruct us to take it down a few degrees and shift gears by 10%. I'd be doing the math and next thing I knew, it was time to do something else. It was amazing that an hour of my life could whiz by so quickly. At points during the ride my head and body seemed to have separated and focused on their own specific tasks.

It wasn't until I got off the machine that I realized how hard my body had worked. I was wobbly-legged for a good five minutes. After that came the pain. I ached for the rest of the night and into the next morning. But all the indoctrination and math didn't dissuade me from trying again.

The meek are supposed to inherent the earth; but only if they skip Spin Class.

Calm, doggie, calm!

2007-09-24T12:27:00.000-07:00

Dog training, dog walking, dog grooming and just plain dog owning has changed. Gone are the days of carefree canines wandering the woods, exploring the smells and sounds of their surroundings. Today's number one domesticated animal is a mammal with a mission, with serious business to do. And be had for that matter. Dogs are big business and today's over-achieving, over-earning middle class are more than happy to dole out the dough for their Jakes and Marleys.

Somehow it seems our need for perfection and status and stature has transferred over to our pets. We are obsessed. Just take a look at how many recent novels on the New York Times bestseller list are tales of living with dogs. Dog boutiques, dog spas, dog retreats...I can think of entire subcontinental nations that aren't fed and cared for as well.

Sadly, for example, it's no longer acceptable to leave a dog outside for no specific purpose other than to perform bodily functions, exercise or guard the homestead. Dogs must be entertained, socialized and trained. It's not enough to turn out well adjusted children. Our pets also speak volumes about what kind of a person we are.

What does Alfie say about us? Probably that we are loose, unstructured and bohemian creative types. Some of that may be true. Then again, we have one of the sweetest dogs, one who thrives on the love and affection he is given. That part speaks to the warmth and closeness in our home.

Much to some of our neighbor's chagrin, Alfie is free to wander our fence-less property and saunter next door to visit with the tamest Bull Terrier ever bred. On more than one occasion we've heard a knock at the door and opened it to discover a kind-hearted neighbor holding Alfie by the collar with a "he was wandering out front" explanation for their impromptu citizen's arrest; I mean, kind concern. We now let him wander out back only and make sure someone is out front with him, or that he is tied to the light post. It's not that we don't trust Alfie; we don't want to worry anyone else.

However, sometimes doggie encounters happen and our "he's a dog" attitude clashes with the "he is a well-adjusted, thriving member of our family"attitude of other dog owners and mayhem ensues. A couple of days into the move I decided to take Alfie for a walk and give him a chance to let the other dogs in the hood know he had arrived. Not only did I put the leash on, I even made him sit while I put it on. I was ready to make a good impression with the neighbors and show them how obedient and well turned out our pooch was.

A few feet from our driveway Alfie let out a long and loud bow wow. I admit it was startling; mostly because I didn't hear or see anyone else approaching on the street. Unfortunately it did more than startle the taut and tuned Vizela-esque dog and his equally taut and tuned owner exercising (OK, walking) across the road. Alfie's "hey, I'm Alfie from Canada and I'm new here" introduction sent both poor creatures into absolute trauma mode.

Immediately the owner stopped, turned to the dog and commanded it to remain calm. While firmly holding the dog with one hand, she directed the dog to look into her eyes by bringing her two fingers from her eyes, to the dog's eyes and back to hers. Again she commanded it to remain calm. There was no "hey, who cares" or "hey, welcome to the hood" or "hey, I'm Franz" from this canine. Not a wimper nor a wag was allowed.

I was mortified. I didn't know if it was the horror we had created or the horrible reaction to a seemingly average dog encounter I witnessed that made me want to scuttle back into the house. I could just hear the recounting at the next therapy appointment..."and then, this explosion out of no where! I still shake when I think about it". Sniff, sniff. Pass the kleenex please.

I probably should have felt shame for upsetting the apple cart so. But some carts are simply driving down the road in the wrong direction and need some shaking up. Just to be sure I haven't totally lost my mind, I'm going to rent Lassie or Old Yeller and reminisce about the good old doggie days. Do you think dogs ever think that too?

A Welcome from the Mayor's Office

2007-09-17T08:49:00.000-07:00

I bet I'm one of the lucky people arriving in Charlotte to have gotten a personal and warm welcome from the Mayor's office. Of course how it came to that point is a story in itself and would not have been possible without the assistance of my dear neighbor, Ms Southern Hospitality.

One of the key things to learn when arriving in a new town is how garbage disposal and pick up works. Every city does recycling differently, on different days, with different materials and bins etc. Let me first off, pay the city of Charlotte a big compliment for its efficiency; when they say something will happen, it does. When people complain about government services, they listen.

During the first week here, we did a lot of unpacking in a short period of time and it seemed as if we were never going to unpack the sky-high pile of boxes sprawled across our house. As the stack of empties got higher and higher, my anxiety about the amount of work we were creating for the garbage men rose higher and higher too. Back in Canada we had made friends with the garbage guys, offering them sodas on the road, tips at Christmas, help in loading up the truck...I swear by the time we left we could have put a dead body out on the curb and they would have thrown it on the truck without batting an eye...

Here in Charlotte it doesn't quite work that way. First of all, any boxes that don't fit in the bin are considered bulk and require special order pick up. Secondly, all boxes must be piled in single form, measuring a precise 3x3 foot area. Of course we weren't aware of the new policy and quite frankly were arrogant enough to figure we'd just butter up the new crew like we'd done before and all would be well. Garbage duty has generally been up to my husband, with the occasional pinch hit by myself on the rare occasions he's on the road. Not surprising, our first week here he had to dash out of town, leaving me to deal with the box debacle.

The first time the garbage truck passed by without picking up the boxes was puzzling until Ms Southern Hospitality clued me in to the 3x3 requirement. So I spent over two hours that night out front, cutting, breaking, bending, and re-stacking those high end, heavy duty boxes we bought from the reputable moving company in Canada. These weren't your scraggly leftovers from the liquor store. I saw all those colorful Canadian dollars go up in flame with every tear in every box...

After much huffing and puffing I got the job, a small sense of smug pride on my face as I thanked my neighbor for her direction. She was kind enough to find me an old phone book and stack all the packing paper in her and other neighbors' bins who had the extra room too. Her willingness to offer directions, tips on where to shop for the best produce and where to get a good haircut at a decent price went above and beyond the call of neighborly duty and I felt immediately welcomed. Just to ensure that this new pile would make its way into the truck however, I left a couple of sodas and a thank you note on top of the 3x3-ish stack. They just had to take them now!

The next morning I awoke to find my stack still there; my heart sank. What the heck was I going to do? Get a measuring tape and a paper shredder? I decided I'd wait for my husband to get home and we'd discuss our options which so far included midnight runs to the dump and paying the guy with the red truck on the next street over to come and rescue/dispose of them himself. That night over dinner we decided we would slowly take a smaller pile to school with the kids each day and throw them in the "cardboard waste" bin there. Sneaky sure, but problem solved.

Indeed. Seems Ms Southern Hospitality is hooked up with some city officials and got on the horn on behalf of her clueless neighbors. She "gave them what-for" as she put it and explained that we were foreigners who were unaware of garbage policy in Charlotte and how she personally witnessed hours of back-breaking labor on my part, trying to make it right and what kinda welcome was this?

That very next day the pile disappeared. No word, no note (no sodas either). I saw Ms Southern Hospitality out front that evening and she told me the Mayor sent her an email, apologizing to us and offering a personal welcome to the queen city. Talk about neighborly love!

Well, most of the neighbors anyhow. Our landlord (and neighbor) showed up later that week with a citation from another disgruntled neighbor who had taken a picture of our boxes and sent them to the city along with a nuisance complaint. We of course explained how the matter had already been taken up with the city and how the Mayor had sent us a personal welcome. I wonder where he lives?

The Y - Paging all fun people

2007-09-16T09:00:00.000-07:00

We decided once we got to Charlotte, that we would find a gym that would offer something for the whole family. Fortunately, this city has amazing YMCAs, with several locations to choose from. As a former Y member, I found myself imagining how great a shape I would get in, how my husband might finally commit to exercise and relax more and how my kids would have somewhere to do some physical activity, along with meeting new friends. Y's are extremely social places and having friends to work out with makes the experience so much more palatable.

The Y we joined, like the first church we visited, is also in the same upscale neighborhood. We chose it mostly because it offers a ton of extra courses for kids, which some other locations do not. Though it's not totally inconvenient, it's definitely not the closest to our house either. Nevertheless, it is a massive, gorgeous facility with tons of classes and equipment to chose from, not to mention immaculate. I feel great about working out there, something not easily accomplished. Exercise to me is equal to taking cod liver oil...good for me but not exactly fun.

However, I think there's some sort of weird, fungal, mutant disease going around Charlotte that has not been properly identified, and which might have sprung from the floors of my Y. I encountered not one, but two YMs (Y Members or Yummy Mummies, as my husband calls them) who had complete meltdowns this week over their kids sitting on or touching the floors of the Y with their bare skin. The first YM scolded her daughter at the pool for walking on the tiles without shoes...unfortunately you aren't allowed to wear shoes in the pool, or I'm sure this kid would have had hers strapped on permanently like flippers on a duck...

I realize my kids were born in the free-spirited mess that is New Orleans and I therefore do not get freaked out about dirt, but honest to gawd, you would have thought this kid was squishing her toes in a cesspool, the way her mama was carrying on. I was stuck on the bench directly in front of her so I could neither move, nor distract myself with a book (I didn't' have one) and was forced to witness the horror that was. To emphasize her point, the YM gave me a "duh" eye roll/head shake, as if her poor kid was the only one there not getting how disgusting those floors really were. I shudder to think about that family shuffling through the French Quarter during carnival, trying to avoid stepping on revelers, throws, take out containers and half eaten lunch...

Episode number two happened in the change room. This time, some poor kid had the audacity to park her butt on the carpeted floor...I mean really, think of how disgusting it gets between daily vacuums! It wasn't as if there weren't an alternative to the floor either...each change room comes equipped with a bench, which was specifically designed to create distance between gym members and those nasty floors. YM number two emphasized this point to her daughter several times in a row, like the kid had some sort of hearing or learning disability. Once again I had managed to position myself directly in the line of fire and could neither bolt nor blatantly ignore her. Suddenly the change room curtain fabric became fascinating, as if I had missed it the first time we changed and now just discovered its pink and green, 1980s, chevron-patterned beauty.

Both experiences made me reflect on my complete disregard of the dangers of public floors. After giving it a couple of minutes of thought I concluded both YMs were probably just nuts and had some deep rooted control issues and I could therefore relax about my own laid back attitude... I am firm believer in what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger and that most definitely includes cooties.

Though the Y incidents might seem trivial, there was something about them that ran much deeper and left me feeling disturbed . I finally figured it out on the drive home though. I need to be surrounded by fun people. Call me judgemental, but folks who are germ-a-phobes just don't seem the type who, generally speaking, wanna kick it up a notch.

So next time I go the Y, I'm going rush the front desk and page all fun people and invite them to come work out with me...in bare feet, of course.

Are there any Queens here?

2007-09-15T06:52:00.000-07:00

No, I'm not talking about royalty. I mean the other queens, the ones who worship Barbra and Liza and Pottery Barn.

I can't imagine how difficult it would be to gay or lesbian in this town, a town which worships Jesus and by default, does not approve of homosexuality. The closets here are full and it ain't because there's a sale on at Marshalls...

Don't get me wrong, there are gays and lesbians in Charlotte. I have some friends who fit this category and they are some of the most interesting and joyful people I know. But so many other people I've met are church goers and there aren't many churches that are accepting of this lifestyle. It makes me wonder how difficult (or not - feel free to post your responses on this one) it is to be a queen in the Queen city.

Speaking of church goers, the quest for a "home" church continues...apparently it is required of a successful Charlotteer (mousekateer???). In fact, one of my husband's colleagues hipped us to the three most important questions we will be asked which include "what church do you belong to", "which Y do you work out at" and, I've blocked out the third. Do other cities have a success checklist too? If so, send me a list and lets compare notes and failures.

On the quest to be saved, we've managed to check out two extremes of the worship spectrum in our first week alone. Our first Sunday found us outside the doors of a modern structure with a soaring sanctuary tower, in a tony established neighborhood...it's NOT where we live. Some new friends recommended we check it out, as it has a contemporary service for young families, of which we fit the description. Shocking news...we prefer a more traditional service with old school hymns, comforting scripture readings and sermons we can relate to but which don't include any references to sports teams. Too much to ask?

Without going into all the juicy details, let's just say the sermon on investments and portfolios (how are you investing in Jesus) fit this banking congregation to a tee, but made me feel like both a financial and now a spiritual loser. Great. One of the local public school principals made an appearance as well, to appeal to the congregation to come out and support her poor, underprivileged student body. The colorful anecdote on why their presence was needed included a quaint recalling of one student trying to use dismayed in a sentence and coming up with "my mama dis made me a sandwich to eat", all of which got uproarious laughter. I didn't dare look at the one and only African American family to see their reaction...it would have been too much.

Later that week we attended a gospel service at a well known African American church. The music and the message were fantastic and literally brought me to tears. It made me realize how happy and spirit-filled these folks were and at that moment, I wanted to be one of them. Unfortunately I cannot sing like Mahala and rarely feel that expressive, particularly in public. The soul food dinner served beforehand filled us in the literal sense and added to the "I'm not in Kansas anymore" experience. The spoiler to an otherwise amazing experience was one church member exclaiming "there as many white people here as blacks!", an unnecessary reminder I am indeed in the south.

Tune in again this week for further stories including "The Y - paging fun people" and "The Dog Walk - calm, lady, calm!".

The Queen City

2007-09-15T06:46:00.000-07:00

As a fresh transplant to Charlotte, I'm surrounded by new people, experiences and scenery; much of it is wonderful, some of it strange. My blog is an attempt to sort it all out (cheaper than therapy) and amuse myself and hopefully others, with my observations. If you're like me (70% of population is from some place else) you'll understand how confusing it is to arrive at the corner of Sharon and Sharon and not know which way is up! Enjoy!